Hovering over a broad feudal landscape, I watch as the daily exchanges of thousands of peasants and merchants and soldiers unfold below me. Then a rift: a mighty black insect has ripped through the sky and in one beating of its leathery wings can send the hills and huts and armies spinning out into cataclysm. I feel the magnitude of the loss, though I do not fear it. And then the real rift, as I am torn from that sky back into my own body and feel the loss, small and personal and terrifying, of the world I had been dreaming.