Picture a field that morphs each night—trees turn to rivers, hills become velvet pillows, and the sky flickers like a thousand broken mirrors. The trick is to choreograph a dance with that fickle canvas. Start by mapping the most predictable pattern: when the moon hits a certain angle, the ground shifts to a lake. That’s your anchor. Then plant your troops like seeds—some in the floating grass, some in the rock, and a few brave ones who follow the wind currents. When the dream flips, the soldiers swap positions automatically; the strategy is less a plan than a living poem that adapts, so long as the rhythm of the dream is respected. It’s like writing a song on a sheet that rewrites itself every beat, and your best move is to improvise with the melody as it changes.