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But the moon was so beautiful. |
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He dreamed. It was the most wonderful dream he had ever dreamedthe wettest of wet dreams. |
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He was running through the woods, leaping over fallen trees and scaling boulders and chatter marks like they were pebbles. The ground rose to meet his feet, pushing them along as if he were riding through the forest on a supersonic treadmill. The wind sang to his ears. Near the summit of a strange mountain, the forest gave way to short stubby trees and a garden of small boulders under a series of wavelike nappes. He slowed, finally pausing at the edge of a clearing. |
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In the half-light, a silver shadow slipped into the shelter of a split-faced rocka shadow that moved like raindrops flowing over wet leaves. The wind carried a scent: warm, musky, clean. He felt a cauldron of conflicting emotions: the desire to keep runningjust running and runningyet he wanted to investigate the sexy smells too. |
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The shadow shot across the ground between boulders like an arrow made of ice. And suddenly she was standing in front of him. Her coat was sleek, silver and shaggy. Her eyes were obsidian chips, her ears twin peaks of curiosity. She took several more steps toward him and paused, her nose wrinkling as she took in his odor. |
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Other than the excited trembling that he couldn't control, Cyrus didn't move. He was afraid, and yet thrilled. Like watching a horror movie where he wanted to close his eyes but didn't want to miss anything. |
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The bitch closed the distance between them, whining softly and wagging her bushy tail. As she came she kept glancing back over her shoulder, back to a shadowy cleft in the rock face. Sensing her unease, he raised his nose to the wind. A cold wind came from the cave, dank and musty. It was a dangerous winda death windand Cyrus snorted hard to clean his palate. She came close and touched his face with her nose. Her nose was so cold that it branded his skin like fire, and |
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