White Dragon

I was inside a boxcar, moving along the tracks.  When I took a peek outside, I saw a large tornado spinning through the trees, destroying everything in its path.  It headed straight for a ship docked near the shore.  Suddenly, I was at the ship when the tornado exploded into a giant dragon, towering over […] the sailors – its body an almost clear white.  It threw its head back and roared, the flames burning inside of it clearly visible through its translucent skin – the yellow fire rising from its belly and through the length of its neck before alighting its nose for a brief instant and shooting out into the air […].  But this dragon was really the work of a magician and his daughter.  The dragon itself was actually a woman – the daughter, perhaps.  With the magician’s help, she was able to transform herself into a dragon and terrorize the people.  On board the ship, she turned back into a lady, wearing a black outfit and holding a claw.

Across the land, I could see an army of soldiers sent to fight this dragon.  The soldiers were dressed completely in suits of white – plain, skin-tight suits with tight hoods that wrapped around their heads – bare of any armor or decor.  Their only defense were swords and shields of the same white hue.

The magician had a contraption to defend against this pale army – his ambition to kill the army leader.  The contraption looked much like a large, wooden crate supported by four, wooden wheels – like a cart.  Fastened to it, at an upward angle by numerous coils of thick rope, was a spear.  It was like a harpooning contraption.  However, the magician’s daughter somehow got caught in the ropes (I think it was the result of a struggle between the two sides – between the magician and the white army leader) and the ropes […] caught fire, killing the woman tangled within and thus destroying also the white dragon.  But before her death, she murmured something about “the water of life,” perhaps instructing the magician to find it in order to restore her and bring her back for a fiery vengeance.

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Moonlight

It was a room in a […] castle tower […].  The walls were made of stone and outside the glass-less window was a night sky filled with stars and a full moon that glowed white and brilliant.  In front of this window was a large book with a brown, leather cover on a[n] [old and wooden] desk […].  […] there was a fireplace near me – set into the walls.

[Ana] was standing in front of the book and I think it was a feathered pen she held […].  Everything seemed to be tinged with a soft […] tint of blue.  I think [Ana] was a wizard […] and she grinned at me […], as if she knew something I did not.  It was as if she was saying, “Watch!”  And then she touched her pen to the book and I saw that the light from the moon was being pulled down […] in a single, wide, silver beam that stretched across the sky and through our window before spilling onto [Ana’s] book and pen.  I was amazed.  It was like a patch of pure moonlight that connected our window with the moon itself. […]

[Ana], you made the light from the moon come down!

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