Standing now at the edge of my word cloud I look down into Webland and from here I spot the unmistakeable four towers of the White Fortress looming atop a mountain.
A goal reappeared.
I hold the staff tight in my two clammy hands, the creases and nooks of my journey in its skin feeling comforting as I hold it. I turn and walk back to centre of the cloud grabbing my blogging backpack that lies at the wolf’s feet. He looks up at me, a questioning tilt in its head.
Then I turn, running in long great strides. I feel the air beneath me before I can be afraid. As I leap from the cloud I see out of the corner of my eye, a blur of a shape as the wolf leaps with me.