Sequoia Coast [m] pineapple

why do you torture her like this!?

the dreaming took him again, and away, away from the reek of metal and the woman shivering against the churned and bloody floor of their previously alabaster snow shelter.

but wolf dreamer saw no more, his eyes fixed upon the shapes which formed in the flurries of snow.

for what reason is she tormented? he demanded of the skeletal Wolf, back in that cave so lightless it was as if no soul had ever touched it before.

the jawbones clattered in a horrifying parody of laughter, dust rising from the joints.

the empty pits where eyes once stared now seemed to narrow, dragging wolf dreamer close, closer.

she is part of the dream.

but you said to take her out of it!

Wolf shrugged, bare scapula and humerus and clavicle working together in a visible, sickening, impressive show of mechanics.

how can a dreamer leave a dream?

how could he wake them both?

look. Wolf flexed his phalanges in a vague motion.

in pain, she dreams. look at her pain. see its color.

oozing black and sickly green, the purple of blood clots and the ghastly yellow of a dead face — these hues spiraled up in many threads beside the golden ones of her life.

wolf dreamer stared.

is she dying? he almost asked aloud, and outside the dream his body shook beside that of dancing fox, a tremble of terror and rage and agony catching his veins fire.

Wolf rolled his head on loud vertebrae to stare at the woman.

that depends, dreamer. can you cut those threads without breaking the golden ones?

the sunflower hue, which glinted in and out and between the rotted others; that's impossible! he whirled on Wolf. and if i should try, if i should cut one of the golden threads? what then?

she dies, dreamer.

back to himself he came with a gasp — he stared down at dancing fox and then drew her close, gently, pillowing her body against his own. she was so frail. he could feel her weakness, her utter exhaustion; he could see it in her exhales. three times horror; three times no life.

he did not know what to do! he was only a man. he placed his paw upon her distended belly, feeling not for the shape of the children but for their souls; eyes closed as he hunted through the strands for —

"dancing fox, listen. listen. focus on my voice. listen. see in your mind a web, a - a large, white web, like a spider might make. see it? instead of dew beads, it holds stars. it's a web of them, and millions of threads in all directions. do you see it? listen. listen to me. do you see the golden ones? that is — oh, dancing fox, that is life. see it. see it in me and see it in you. there is — gold inside you. i can see it. let go, let go. walk on the web. walk on the strands. you can do it. i - i am watching you do it."