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Description
In my capacity as exiled prince Wesley, I sail a fine dream ship (which I am calling the Oneireme Argos for the moment, because it didn't have a name before now). It is anchored in my imagination, and I take it out on occasions of great change and for adventures.
My faithful owl accompanies me on his moth-glider, and scouts our path through the stars, often in tandem with an angel.

A chamber in this ship contains icons of memory, where those things most dear to me which I can no longer reach in life are stored in bottles, as statuettes, or as paintings.

The good ship Argo is not fixed in its construction, but it often has sails, sometimes wings, and always a wheel at the helm. It is crewed by the guests and permanent residents of my mind; characters invented or borrowed, and various incarnations of myself. It can be defended if necessary from hostile forces. The ship's steward is a stalwart and faithful Rabbit, while its guardian is a snarky and wise tabby Cat.

The terrain we fly over is varied and indescribably beautiful. Sometimes it is assimilated from a physical location, sometimes it is entirely fabricated, or it belongs to a specific land of myth. It is sometimes the imaginary provinces that I preside over in my official post as Prince or General.

The weather depends on mood and the turbulence of a given situation. A foul or desperate mood generates storms. Depression or misery stagnates the ship, becalming it or causing it to sink or fall. Joy and love create fast, fair winds for good sailing. The spirit of adventure overcomes the obstacles in its path.

On most voyages, I don't know where the ship is taking me. My maps change with each destination, and only the fates know where those lie.

Description
In my capacity as exiled prince Wesley, I sail a fine dream ship (which I am calling the Oneireme Argos for the moment, because it didn't have a name before now). It is anchored in my imagination, and I take it out on occasions of great change and for adventures.
My faithful owl accompanies me on his moth-glider, and scouts our path through the stars, often in tandem with an angel.

A chamber in this ship contains icons of memory, where those things most dear to me which I can no longer reach in life are stored in bottles, as statuettes, or as paintings.

The good ship Argo is not fixed in its construction, but it often has sails, sometimes wings, and always a wheel at the helm. It is crewed by the guests and permanent residents of my mind; characters invented or borrowed, and various incarnations of myself. It can be defended if necessary from hostile forces. The ship's steward is a stalwart and faithful Rabbit, while its guardian is a snarky and wise tabby Cat.

The terrain we fly over is varied and indescribably beautiful. Sometimes it is assimilated from a physical location, sometimes it is entirely fabricated, or it belongs to a specific land of myth. It is sometimes the imaginary provinces that I preside over in my official post as Prince or General.

The weather depends on mood and the turbulence of a given situation. A foul or desperate mood generates storms. Depression or misery stagnates the ship, becalming it or causing it to sink or fall. Joy and love create fast, fair winds for good sailing. The spirit of adventure overcomes the obstacles in its path.

On most voyages, I don't know where the ship is taking me. My maps change with each destination, and only the fates know where those lie.