I was one of four kings in a play; naturally, I had somehow missed the rehearsals and I was anxious about not knowing my lines. The lines were to be spoken on the slopes of a river bank, and we were on a boat traveling to it.
A bunch of us were in a wooden shack or cabin. The house was in the middle of a dry place, like eastern Oregon. The ground was dry and sandy, but there were pines or cedars growing here and there. I recall a window with a grid of window panes or a grate over it. I think there were curtains or hanging ornaments in the window. I have a sense of arriving at the shack at sunset and spending the night there.
There was a grimoire that I read my name in, but then I lost my place in the book and I kept flipping back and forth through the pages to try to re-read what it said.
There was also, for want of a better word, a witch (like someone’s witchy mom) in the shack.
I think we may have gone shopping for groceries at a Walmart or a Winco or maybe even a Safeway.
I might have dealt with the witch. Who as a result might have revealed there was a troll in the shack; troll’s not the right word, it was a spirit, a guy, kind of large. Sort of like a trailer trash dad.
I was telling the either the witch or the troll they had no power over me.
Near the end of the dream was a small cold sprite or spirit or gnome. It was trying to be brave in the face of the troll. At first this worked because the troll tried to freeze it with winds or just by being scary. But then the troll tripped or tricked the gnome into a warm fireplace and the heat of the hearth singed the gnome’s head painfully.
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