Snowforest Taiga mangosteen

"you don't even know what my dream is." his words were soft, yielding, but he rose to step away from her now. the gentle pulse of her threads sought to entangle with his own.

how odd to choose you of all. perhaps there is something here. she speaks of dreamers.

she speaks of her own dream.

the look he gave her now was anguished, tendrils of want threaded with a deep dread. to give of himself was to lose the dream which guided each breath. his surrender could only be to the star web, not to her, not to himself.

the dreamer turned away from the woman and moved into the taiga on aching, hesitant legs.