Blacktail Deer Plateau I call through the fog

She looked so distraught, the poor girl. And he thought he detected a hint of embarrassment to her expression, too, though it was dark and he didn't know her well enough to be sure. There was dew on her fur, and in the fey light of the stars it glistened and sparkled with subtle, ethereal beauty. She was so beautiful. He hated to see distress on her face.

When she told him she'd had a nightmare, he felt something soften within him. So that explained her flight of fury through the woods, and her embarrassment now over being seen. Atticus was no stranger to nightmares himself. He'd had them on an almost nightly basis after he'd been driven from his birth pack by his elder brother. On more than one night, he'd awakened himself screaming and thrashing as visions of his brother's scarlet teeth and hateful eyes flashed and tore at him in his dreams. She commented that it seemed silly to be so frightened of dreams at her age, and Atticus shook his head. "Oh, Blue," he said, compassion in his eyes. He knew her fear. "Not at all. Not at all." He moved closer and sat down beside her, leaning his shoulder into her for support. "It's okay to be afraid of those ugly memories in the dark. I have them too, you know."