Whitewater Gorge If I Beg, if I Plead

she dances forward in the pallor of the moon--venemous and yet subdued. his dome turning in her direction. ambiguous movement inclined to draw nearest the newest sound. sinew ripples beneath a near-colorless pelt and he halts many a length from her bosom. she had preseneted herself as an apparition. encompassing feminine vision: she is near godliness. he, though, has surpassed such a feat. 

 "magnificent," drawling words with carnal tune, "you're alone?" his interest is gathered--his intention furthest from what blood-curdling thoughts should transpire. tail maneuvers behind him with idle obscenity. he would not act further--lust was not his resolve.