“Are you afraid of dying?” Creative thought has eluded me for weeks now. I can’t concentrate on an idea longer than the span of time that it comes to me. And if it doesn’t contain pictures, I haven’t managed to involve myself with a book. It’s a dry spell. One I cannot shake off. My dreams have taken a turn to the nearly indescribable. I’m lost in the wilderness and happen about two colonies of people on different ends of the island. There is a force—a person?—threatening our well being. I am a stranger on both sides and cannot be trusted. When one camp is attacked, its survivors and interim leader turn to me to guide them to the other camp. These dreams become…