I’ve had dreams of a man who is me but not me. This man is nothing like my waking self, instead he’s both fierce and fabulous and lives in a land terrible with snow under the pivot of the stars held by hasty and evil-tempered folk who have the nature of bears. This man eats raw meat and fat and the eggs of fen fowl. He is unnavigable, shrouded in fur, known only to Him who created him. The man of my dreams worships within a cloud of wheeling horses, and is as curious and dangerous as a nightmare. I’ve had dreams of a man who is not me, but is.