I’ve got… memory troubles. I go somewhere new and all is fine and dandy, all is exciting and enjoyable, but after it a few hours and it just… slips away.

I remember bits. I remember if it was high up, or if it was cold. But was it dry scrub on that mountain, or grass? Forest? What did it smell like? What kind of blue was the sky?

You don’t miss what you don’t know, I suppose, but my witch Marcy finds it hard to enjoy herself, knowing I won’t remember it.

But we have devised a system that benefits us both. Whenever we travel, we find the extra time to pause a while. Marcy will sketch, paint, write, all the things she enjoys, creating a diary of the place. I will nap (something I’m rather good at) and sometimes my mind will store things in dreams. I remember smells, or the feel of the wind, or the sound of the birds. When Marcy shows me her diaries and sketchbooks, I can recall deeper things – we searched for the Upland Biskweed up there, or found skytrout in that lake.

It’s not a cure, and maybe there will never be one, but at least this way not all is lost to the darkness of my memory.