One day to a New Moon and five to the beginning a promising new year. Twelve to my twentyfifth.
There are hints everywhere. Little tremors of magic. An evening with my love in an old theater at the feet of a legendary storyteller. A fleeting exhibition in a bank and the planning for one in the Flywheel. Making a friend at the BookMill. Tales of past adventures. Our own legends.
More caves. More trolls beneath bridges. More walking.
In any case, tremors.