Two Eyes Cenote linen

Bless for reading my mind

He dreamed in the halls where he would soon hold his power, teeth red with the evening’s berry. A coldness passed through him. A trick of the moonlight, or some hallucination of wine and present solitude.

He started blearily and circled close for a confrontation of the thing that refused to be shaped. It sifted like smoke. A wolf anatomized. His Toula; and not.

“I know you,” his eyes widened.