waiting for a dream, and sometimes things are added in, things I didn't even know about, or touch. Like—well, like Hee-Haw."
She looked up at him. "He was part of the woman's childhood," she said. "Part of her story. 'Once there was a little girl, and she had a toy donkey—' would be the way her story begins. I already knew her story, from the things I'd collected. It's a long story, and it has sad parts. I get a lot of sad fragments from the photograph of the soldier—feelings of never-coming-back, feelings of now-I'm-all- alone. But the kiss is there, too, in that photograph, so I always collect there, just to keep that kiss fragment for her.
"And you know what, Thin Elderly? Sad parts are important. If I ever get to train a new young dream-giver, that's one of the things I'll teach: that you must include the sad parts, because they are part of the story, and they have to be part of the dreams."
"You'll be a good teacher one day," he told her.
"Thank you," she said demurely.
"But you must stop sucking your thumb."
She sighed. "I know. Soon I will."
***
"Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I felt as if I knew Hee-Haw a little, somehow, before she brought him from the attic. Then there he was! In the boy's room! And you know what, Thin Elderly?"
"What?" He smiled at her earnestness.
"I think maybe we gave her some fragments in a dream, some bits of her childhood, happy things, and there was Hee-Haw! She'd forgotten him until the dream! But then she remembered, and she went up to an old trunk, and found him again, and brought him to the boy.
"And somehow, when I saw him there, I understood about the trunk, and how the donkey had waited all those years to be given to a boy."
"And now the boy sleeps."
"We all helped him. You and I, and the woman, and the dog, and the donkey," Littlest pointed out, with a happy sigh. "We strengthened him." She giggled. " Strengthen is a hard word to say," she confided sleepily.
"Still," Thin Elderly reminded her, "we must be very watchful."
"Will—" She hesitated, not wanting to say the terrible name. "Will the S-things try to come back?"
"Oh, yes. I'm afraid so. They're always out there. I just hope—" He paused, not wanting to worry her.
"Hope what?"
"Oh, it's nothing."
"Please tell me. I'm brave. And I hardly ever do that with my thumb anymore, really."
"Well," he admitted, "Most Ancient still feels the Horde gathering. I'm fearful that they're frustrated by the boy's resistance.
"I'm afraid there is a Horde attack coming."
She looked at him, wide-eyed. He helped her to her feet and took her hand. "But not tonight, Littlest One," he said. "Tonight the boy is safe."
22
The young woman's dream-giver, Strapping, had had several different assignments in the past; he had bestowed many dreams. But his work had always, until now, been somewhat ordinary. It had even been boring, he occasionally thought (though he knew it was necessary work, important work; he knew that people could not exist without dreams). He had worked in the home of a famous actor once, and another time he had followed a circus as it traveled, assigned to give dreams (imagine this!) to a clown.
He had bestowed colorful dreams upon drab, dull people, and he had given grim, colorless dreams to people whose lives were vibrant and exciting. There seemed no real logic or order to the kinds of people and the kinds of dreams they received. It was all in the gathering; it was all dependent on the memories and the fragments and how they fit together in the jigsaw-puzzle world of dreaming. Strapping paid little attention to any of it. He did his job. He did it energetically and according to the rules, but he did it without enthusiasm or interest.
Then he had been assigned to the young woman. The assignment had been a mild punishment for his disinterest. His Heap's leader had simply grown tired of Strapping's casual attitude. She had decided to place him where meticulous attention was badly
She looked up at him. "He was part of the woman's childhood," she said. "Part of her story. 'Once there was a little girl, and she had a toy donkey—' would be the way her story begins. I already knew her story, from the things I'd collected. It's a long story, and it has sad parts. I get a lot of sad fragments from the photograph of the soldier—feelings of never-coming-back, feelings of now-I'm-all- alone. But the kiss is there, too, in that photograph, so I always collect there, just to keep that kiss fragment for her.
"And you know what, Thin Elderly? Sad parts are important. If I ever get to train a new young dream-giver, that's one of the things I'll teach: that you must include the sad parts, because they are part of the story, and they have to be part of the dreams."
"You'll be a good teacher one day," he told her.
"Thank you," she said demurely.
"But you must stop sucking your thumb."
She sighed. "I know. Soon I will."
***
"Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I felt as if I knew Hee-Haw a little, somehow, before she brought him from the attic. Then there he was! In the boy's room! And you know what, Thin Elderly?"
"What?" He smiled at her earnestness.
"I think maybe we gave her some fragments in a dream, some bits of her childhood, happy things, and there was Hee-Haw! She'd forgotten him until the dream! But then she remembered, and she went up to an old trunk, and found him again, and brought him to the boy.
"And somehow, when I saw him there, I understood about the trunk, and how the donkey had waited all those years to be given to a boy."
"And now the boy sleeps."
"We all helped him. You and I, and the woman, and the dog, and the donkey," Littlest pointed out, with a happy sigh. "We strengthened him." She giggled. " Strengthen is a hard word to say," she confided sleepily.
"Still," Thin Elderly reminded her, "we must be very watchful."
"Will—" She hesitated, not wanting to say the terrible name. "Will the S-things try to come back?"
"Oh, yes. I'm afraid so. They're always out there. I just hope—" He paused, not wanting to worry her.
"Hope what?"
"Oh, it's nothing."
"Please tell me. I'm brave. And I hardly ever do that with my thumb anymore, really."
"Well," he admitted, "Most Ancient still feels the Horde gathering. I'm fearful that they're frustrated by the boy's resistance.
"I'm afraid there is a Horde attack coming."
She looked at him, wide-eyed. He helped her to her feet and took her hand. "But not tonight, Littlest One," he said. "Tonight the boy is safe."
22
The young woman's dream-giver, Strapping, had had several different assignments in the past; he had bestowed many dreams. But his work had always, until now, been somewhat ordinary. It had even been boring, he occasionally thought (though he knew it was necessary work, important work; he knew that people could not exist without dreams). He had worked in the home of a famous actor once, and another time he had followed a circus as it traveled, assigned to give dreams (imagine this!) to a clown.
He had bestowed colorful dreams upon drab, dull people, and he had given grim, colorless dreams to people whose lives were vibrant and exciting. There seemed no real logic or order to the kinds of people and the kinds of dreams they received. It was all in the gathering; it was all dependent on the memories and the fragments and how they fit together in the jigsaw-puzzle world of dreaming. Strapping paid little attention to any of it. He did his job. He did it energetically and according to the rules, but he did it without enthusiasm or interest.
Then he had been assigned to the young woman. The assignment had been a mild punishment for his disinterest. His Heap's leader had simply grown tired of Strapping's casual attitude. She had decided to place him where meticulous attention was badly
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