Dark and Deep

      “No, no, no, don’t cloud up on me now!” Jessie complained to the skies.
      They didn’t hear. Or, hearing, chose to ignore her plea. The scuds of mackerel-scales had given way
to puffs of darker grey against a thin blanket of white that didn’t so much block the sunlight as diffuse it.
In the distance, barely visible above and between the treetops, thunderheads were piling purple-black.
      Jessie voiced her opinion. “Grrr!”
      She turned back to the sketchpad balanced on her knee. Was there time to finish? She’d gotten the pond
dead-bang perfect, and the autumn sapling leaning out over it like a red-headed child precariously attempting
to dip a toe in the water. But the mossy rock on the far side, the one with the flowers that were now closing up
as the light dwindled -- she had only barely begun to draw that.
      The wind exhaled and blew a few golden leaves across the pond, making ripples in that mirrored surface as
they skipped and twirled before coming to rest.
      It decided Jessie. Those ripples, yes, exactly, just what she wanted to convey when she added the elements
of imagination to the drawing. Not leaves, no, but fairies, coming down to dance above the water. This spot, a
secluded slice of paradise that had no business in a tiny stand of woods near the university, was just the right
setting for that envisioned scene. Damned if she was going to give up now!
      Thunder chuckled as if mocking her. The clouds moved in with slow and inexorable grandeur, underlit by
flickers of lightning.
      Jessie bent over the paper again, quickly tracing in the pattern of the ripples and then going back to work on
the rock.
      The wind pushed harder, momentarily lifting her short dark hair straight up. A leaf flew in the side of her
glasses, its point pricking at the corner of her eye. She plucked it away with a wince.
      The day, which had been so warm when she set out, now cooled rapidly. In shorts and her favorite T-shirt,
the one which read “Property of Ringo Starr,” Jessie shivered.
      A few stray raindrops, advance scouts for the main force, spattered on the dry leaves and made a sound like a
hissing snake. More struck the pond, sending out their own patterns of ripples.
      “Okay, okay, I can take a hint!” Jessie closed her sketchbook and secured it in her nylon bookbag. Just as
she closed the clasps, thunder barked like a guard dog and she saw her own shadow cast on the ground by the
blue-white strobe.
      The advance rain scouts reported back that the territory was ripe for invasion. Jessie had taken two steps
away from the fallen log where she’d been sitting when the clouds opened as if someone up there had spun a
faucet. Icy water sluiced down, that initial downpour so severe that she couldn’t see anything but the sheeting
drops.
      A startled and pissed-off screech burst from her. She instinctively cradled the bag holding her art supplies
close to her chest. Her T-shirt was soaked through in an instant, her shorts plastered to her butt, her hair a soggy
cap. Her glasses were in such a state that she longed for one of those corny head-mounted windshield wiper set-ups.
      She hurried out of the clearing. The crisp leaves and grass that had rustled so pleasantly under her bare feet
when she came out here were now a clammy, sodden mass that squelched mudpuddles around her toes.
      A worm wiggled across her foot and she squalled in disgust, kicking out. Mr. Worm sailed through the air and
stuck to a tree like a strand of well-cooked spaghetti.
      The wind quit fooling around and slapped at her so hard and suddenly that she went to her knees, splashing
a fan of muddy water halfway up her thighs. The only good thing about the pelting rain was that it washed her
clean almost at once.
      Thunder again, like giants dropping a stack of boards -- ka-bam! ka-whap! ka-boom! -- and lightning in three
sharp stitches. One of those stitches touched the top of a tree not a dozen yards away, and wood exploded into
flaming matchstick splinters.
      Jessie yelped as the splinters showered down, but all of them were extinguished by the time they reached the
earth. She tried to wipe her glasses, hadn’t a square inch of dry cloth anywhere on her person, and just gave up
and took them off. With or without the help of the lenses, she still could barely see worth a damn in the howling
storm-tossed shadows.
      Where was the damn path? Had she missed it? Crossed it?
      “Ducky,” she said, squinting around. That tree over there, that looked like the one that grew beside the path,
the one that some jerks had carved on so that the bark was forever scored with their initials.
      She reached the tree just as the first hailstones came whistling down. Air support for the rain army. Bombers.
White pellets that could have fit in the moon of her pinkie nail soon gave way to ones the size of popcorn kernels,
then clods of ice as big as human teeth.
      The big tree’s branches offered a little shelter, so Jessie huddled against the trunk, squeezed her bag between
her knees, and held her arms over her head to ward off the worst of the hailstones. They stung her upturned inner
forearms, tumbled like pebbles down the back of her neck, heaped in irregular drifts around her bare feet.
      Jessie hollered a few choice cusses, her voice lost in the roar and crash of the storm. Okay, first it had been
funny, not funny ha-ha but funny I-may-laugh-about-this-later, but now she was getting worried. And cold.
Goosebumps had broken out all over her body.
      The hail eased up a little as a particularly black and ominous patch of cloud shifted to the west. Figuring she’d
better take advantage of even this small respite, Jessie rounded the tree with anticipation of how glad she’d be to
get on the path. Path, campus, home, shower, warmth, couch, cocoa.
      She stopped in her puddly tracks.
      No path?
      But this was the tree! It had to be! Here were the initials right ...
      Right ...
      Right where?
      She skated her hands over the bark. Gnarled, creased, but otherwise unmarked.
      The wrong damn tree? But if this wasn’t the ... then where was the ...
      “Oh, come on, give me a break,” Jessie said, making a complete circuit of the trunk.
      No initials. No path.
      In fact, nothing that looked familiar in any direction.
      “Don’t be a doof,” she chided herself. “You just can’t see, with the rain and without your glasses and all!”
      But another voice, this one the voice of the primitive animal that lived in us all, spoke up and told her that she
was fooling herself, that she’d gone and gotten her silly self lost, and would that be something to laugh about later?
      “No way,” she argued. “Nobody gets lost in these woods. They aren’t even really woods, for crying out loud.
Just ... just a greenbelt! All I have to do is walk straight, and I’ll come out somewhere.”
      The primitive animal voice only snickered.
      Setting her jaw determinedly, Jessie swiped rainwater from her face and started walking. The thunder growled
as if she was spoiling all the fun, but it was growling from further away now as the storm moved on. The rain had
lessened to a heavy but no warmer cascade.
      Her feet were numb, just two pale hunks of meat plodding through melting heaps of hailstones and mulched
leaves. Jessie’s brow knit anxiously. She could be walking on sharp rocks, shards of glass, ragged nails for all she
knew. It was like wearing blocks of frozen Silly Putty below her ankles. Any minute, she could wham her toes into
a root or raised stone, and would only realize it when the dull impact reverberated up her leg.
      “Come on, come on,” she said, not even aware that she spoke aloud. “Let’s just get the hell out of here, what
do you say?”
      She trudged along, watching for those aforementioned buried hazards, scanning the growing dimness with
mounting concern. No lights, not anywhere that she could see.
      “Power outage,” she told herself. “Sure. Lightning blasts like that, bound to happen.”
      How big was this greenbelt?
      How long had she been walking?
      She peered at the watch that she always wore strapped to her wrist. The glass face was clouded with moisture,
but she could make out the time. An uneasy thread of fear twisted through her.
      An hour?
      That couldn’t be right. No way had she been out here for an hour!
      But she remembered checking her watch not five minutes before she’d first realized the day was turning ugly. So
it had to be right.
      “What, am I going in circles?” she said, unconsciously wringing a stream from the bottom of her T-shirt.
      Rucka-rucka-rucka-hhhrrrrrrrnnnnn!
      Jessie about jumped clean out of her goosebumped skin as that strange glottal cry rang above the mutters of
thunder. Wild adrenaline whipsawed along her veins.
      She spun, trying to look every way at once, and saw nothing but the bowing shifting branches. Still, that could
conceal something, couldn’t it? Something could be creeping up on her right now, and she’d never see it coming --
      “Stop!” she said, louder than she meant to, nearly a shout. “Don’t freak yourself out, woman. It was a ... a
bird or something.”
      She paused to see if the gang running her nervous system believed it. The message that came back was a strong
How dumb do you think we are?
      “A bird,” she said again, trying to sound more sure. “Just a bird.”
      No answer came, either from the woods or from her nerves. One part of her brain did clear its throat, as if to
speak up with the information that she had never, never heard a bird make a noise like that. Hadn’t, in fact, heard
a noise like that before in her entire life.
      “Forget it,” she ordered, and walked on, hugging her bag the way a kid might hug a pillow to ward off the
boogeyman. 
      Half an hour later, the rain had let up but the wind was gaining strength, and Jessie was morally sure beyond a
shadow of a doubt that she was indeed lost in the goddam woods. And sure, no matter what her rational mind might
say, that there was something out here with her.
      The part of her brain that had tried to venture the information about the noise was miffed at being ignored, and
made up for it by reminding Jessie of every scary movie she’d ever seen, every creepy story she’d ever read, in
which some poor idiots went wandering and got themselves snuffed by a fill-in-the-blank (werewolf, witch, psycho
killer armed with a posthole digger and other gardening implements, you name it).
      To her list of increasing miseries, she was soon able to add hunger. Thirst was easy enough to slake; the water she
wrung out of her shirt could bring agriculture to the Third World. But she’d promised herself a nice lunch when she
got back, and now it was looking like she was never going to --
      No, unproductive thought, let’s stay positive here!
      She scanned the bushes, but saw nothing that her limited knowledge of such matters told her was edible. And
anything that might be had surely been battered to mush by the storm. The hail must have been worse here, because
branches were cracked and leaning, and some of the remaining stones were as big as her closed fist. If she’d been
here when those monsters came hurtling down from on high, her other miseries might have had to take a backseat
to a fractured skull.
      Her teeth clattered and chattered as the wind picked up another notch. She raised her face to the sky, hoping to
see a patch of blue, but all she saw was another roiling grey-black mass that made her heart sink. The next wave of
the storm was almost on her, and as she paused to listen, she could hear the rushing of the rain as the front approached.
      Grimly determined not to break down and cry, Jessie turned to continue on the way she’d been going. She got
two steps before she realized she wasn’t alone.
      Her sinking heart now leaped up her throat and partway out her mouth before she saw that it was only a deer,
and gulped the ejecting organ back down where it belonged.
      The deer was standing serenely by a bush, stripping off tender twigs and chewing them slowly. Its coat was a
rich tan, twinkling here and there with a few droplets. It raised its head and regarded Jessie with eyes of deep
velvet-brown.
      Wonder shoved all other emotions aside. Jessie even smiled. She edged closer, holding out one hand.
      Rather than run, the deer flicked its tail and stepped daintily closer. It nuzzled at the outstretched fingers, pressed
its warm nose into Jessie’s palm.
      A deer? she thought, incredulous. Here?
      Then again, she wasn’t all that sure where here was anymore, now, was she?
      Something caught her eye. She looked closer and realized that there was something around the deer’s neck.
Something that glinted, like gold ...
      Jessie reached for it.
      Rucka-rucka-rucka-hhhrrrrrrrnnnnn!
      The deer whirled and bounded away in a ballet of grace.
      Jessie cried out; that horrible noise had come from close, too close! The panic that had been quietly simmering
now boiled over and splashed all over the stove of her sanity, and she charged after the deer, breaking branches
and getting whipped in the face by leaves as she went.
      Her breath rasped in her lungs, her pulse hammered in her ears, thunder shook the sky like a train getting up to
speed, and through it all, she heard the worst sound imaginable -- the sound of pursuit.
      The deer was gone, but her mind seized on it as a good luck charm, and she ran in the direction she thought and
hoped it had taken. Her vivid imagination treated her to how she must look, fleeing and bedraggled. In that mental
image, she saw it the way the movie people do the monster-cam, coming in low and fast, ducking aside from boughs,
closing in, closing in ...
      A log in the way!
      Jessie knew she could never stop in time. Instead, she just sprang up and over like Wonder Woman clearing a wall.
Except Wonder Woman never landed on slippery slopes of wet leaves and mud, never skidded and somersaulted.
      The earth and sky revolved in a tumbling circle. She had a brief view of what awaited her below, and only enough
time to suck a deep breath in and vent it in a shriek as she went off the edge of the embankment.
      She landed with a splash and a thud in a mucky swamp-brown hollow fed by rills of silty water. Somehow, she’d
held onto her bag through it all, despite the bumps she’d earned on her bruising trip down the hillside.
      Small victory, but it gave her a much-needed boost. Otherwise, she might have still been laying there, feeling glop
seep into the back of her shirt and shorts, when whatever had been chasing her loped over and tore her head off.
      She sat up, and saw the woman.
      Jessie’s breath locked in her lungs, and only a faint wheezy “whooooo” like the call of a squashed owl emerged
from her gaping mouth.
      The woman glanced at her, raised a slim hand before her mouth as if to silence Jessie, then returned her attention
to the slope. In her other hand, she held a wooden staff topped with a cluster of what looked like feathers, claws, bits
of fur, and animal teeth. She held it as a walking-stick, not a weapon, but her posture suggested it could easily
become one.
      She stood, and she waited.
      Jessie didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see. She knew that usually actually seeing the monster was far better
than the horrors the mind could dream up, but in this case, she thought even her imagination might fall short. Instead,
she fumbled her spotted and smeared glasses on and looked at another creature that defied imaginings.
      She was very petite, perhaps a full foot shorter than Jessie’s own height of nearly six feet, and couldn’t have
weighed more than a hundred pounds even in the heavy woolen cloak she wore. The hood was thrown back, leaving
the woman’s waist-length hair to stream wild in the wind.
      That hair ... Jessie had never seen anything like it! It shifted colors as if every strand was of its own unique hue, no
two the same. Pure white, platinum, sunshine-yellow, honey-gold, strawberry-blonde, foxbrush auburn, mahogany, and
more.
      Her face was intently drawn into concentration, but the expression couldn’t change the fact that her features were
exquisitely fine. Her eyes were almost too large, slightly tilted, and try as she might, Jessie couldn’t determine just
what color they were.  Under the cloak, the woman wore a homespun skirt of russet-brown, a creamy silken peasant’s
blouse unlaced to the modest swell of her bosom, a wonderful sash in shades of green and gold, and low leather shoes.
A gold necklace with a pendant shaped like a spiral around a central emerald encircled her pale throat.
      A rustling came from above. Jessie, still sitting in the mudpuddle, tensed and curled her body over her bag, trying to
prepare herself for the heat of her pursuer’s breath on the back of her neck, the invasion of its fangs.
      “Sa-ha-thal!” the woman called, and etched a design in the air with her forefinger. Jessie hallucinated that she
actually saw the design, hanging there in a shimmer of green-gold light. A spiral, the same as on the woman’s
necklace. “Eska abda, taia!”
      The creature hissed, and then, horribly, spoke. “Nakada, Rhianne. The fleshthing is mine!”
      “I say you nay, Sa-ha-thal! You come too far! She has crossed over, and is in my realm now!”
      “My prey, Rhianne! I have chased it, I have found it. Now it is mine!”
      “Take, then.” The woman, Rhianne, took hold of her staff in both hands. “But I tell you, Sa-ha-thal, you will
not have a last meal.”
      Another hiss, this one fuming and frustrated, drifted down.
      “You make the wise decision,” Rhianne said. “Hunt elsewhere.”
      Sa-ha-thal’s enraged snarl made the hairs on the back of Jessie’s neck stand up, but still, she didn’t look. Bad
enough that she’d heard its voice; that was going to haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.
      “He departs,” Rhianne said. “But the storm, his ally, returns. You need shelter. Come with me.”
      Jessie stared at her. “Who are you?”
      “A friend.”
      “But ...”
      “My house is not far. You will be safe there.”
      Hesitantly, Jessie took Rhianne’s extended hand. As she stood, she was keenly aware of what a sight she must
be, soaked and caked with every kind of sludge in the universe, scraped and dinged up and generally a mess. Even
the increasing rain couldn’t do much for her this time.
      She was struck again by how small Rhianne was. Somehow, when facing down the unseen Sa-ha-thal, she had
seemed huge, gigantic, towering and powerful and majestic. But her head didn’t even come to Jessie’s shoulder, and
her hand was so tiny it might have belonged to a child.
      Up close, those remarkable eyes were a dark velvet-brown, hauntingly familiar. Jessie hesitated again, tugged by
a qualm of fear, but Rhianne’s smile erased her worries.
      “Such a day you must have had, poor girl! Follow me.”
      Rhianne led her swiftly and surely, and though Jessie ached from head to toe, she kept up. The thought of lagging
behind and meeting Sa-ha-thal again did wonders for dispelling fatigue. So did the first few spats of hail on her face as
the storm swelled in intensity.
      They left the swampy place behind, passing into a section of the woods where the trees had leaves of softest green.
Spring leaves, at this time of year? But there they were. And limbs as smooth and pale as those of Rhianne herself.
      Low bushes rustled in the wind, bent even lower under the weight of wine-red berries. A creek meandered down a
staircase of tumbled boulders, flanked on both sides by ferns and lilies.
      Although the clouds were still dark and burdened overhead, here they seemed less threatening, their darkness only
setting off the clean, clear beauty of the surroundings the way a background of black jeweler’s felt might make jewels
look all the more dazzling.
      Still, Jessie knew, this place would be even more incredible by bright morninglight, when the dew sparkled on the
grass and the petals unfolded to greet the sun.
      Nestled in a grove of the soft green trees was a house. No, not a house, a cottage, with a thatched roof,
whimsically-carved windowframes, and a garden of herbs growing in lush profusion behind a fence made of sticks
lashed together with twine. The chimney was made of stones that looked plucked from a riverbed, and a coil of
smoke floated from it to be torn into shreds by the wind.
      A single light glowed in tiger-stripes through the closed shutter. Not electric; it had the uneven flicker of a candle’s
flame.
      Not a power outage, either, Jessie thought, her eyes darting to the roofline. No wires. Not of any sort. No electricity,
no phone, no cable, no nothing. She was consumed with questions, but couldn’t even begin to frame them in words. At
the sight of the house, at the scent of the smoke, everything was dashed apart by her overpowering need for fire
and food.
      Rhianne opened the door. “Enter and be welcome,” she said, and laughed a gentle, melodious laugh that nearly
rivaled the cheery fire blazing in the hearth for warmth.
      Jessie wasted no time but made a beeline for the fireplace. Its orange glow enveloped her and she crowded so close
she was almost in the coals. Now the shudders set in, huge spine-convulsing, jaw-clacking shudders. Her hands started
to tingle at once, and her feet, on the baking-hot bricks, came alive with voiceless howls.
      “Here, this will help.” Rhianne brought a brimming basin and Jessie began shaking her head.
      “Nuh-uh, I’m cold and wet enough already!”
      “If that grime cakes upon you, it’ll itch something fierce,” she said reasonably.
      Jessie looked down at herself and grimaced. With no further objections, she took the basin and the cloth that
Rhianne offered.
      “You can wear this,” Rhianne said, holding out a robe. “And we’ll hang your clothes by the fire to dry.”
      Blushing, feeling self-conscious and enormous next to the woman, Jessie quickly stripped off her soaked
clothes and bathed her shivering bluish body. The water was deliciously hot and mixed with some sort of herbal oil
that seemed to permeate her skin and soothe away the various aches and pains in muscles and joints.
      The robe was soft as a cloud and warm as the sun on a summer’s day. Jessie shrugged into it and finally,
blessedly, let herself sigh and relax. Then she glanced down and chuckled, for the robe clearly belonged to her hostess.
Knee-length on Rhianne, it only reached to mid-thigh on Jessie, and wrapping the front of it around her much larger
cup size was a lost cause from the get-go.
      She and Rhianne exchanged a bemused look, and then the smaller woman shook out a blanket in the same light
green as the leaves outside of her house. She draped it over Jessie’s shoulders, and motioned for her to sit by the fire.
      Wanting to be as close to it as possible, Jessie spurned the chair and sat on the floor, bundled up and nearly
content. She heard Rhianne moving around behind her, a clatter of something here, a clank of something there, but
didn’t turn to see. All she wanted to do was bask. To her amazement, she even felt her eyelids getting droopy,
drowsiness sneaking up on her with catlike stealth.
      She actually did fall asleep sitting up, for the next thing she knew, Rhianne was tapping her on the arm. She came
fully awake with a start, and then the most wonderful aroma caught her attention.
      “You must be hungry,” Rhianne said. “This stew is made of nutmeats and dried berries. I hope you find it
satisfying.”
      “It smells fabulous” Jessie said, gladly accepting the wooden bowl and antler-handled spoon. She dug in, and had
polished off half before belatedly realizing that she’d never introduced herself. “My name’s Jessie, by the way. You’re
Rhianne?”
      “Yes, that’s right. Are you well now, Jessie?”
      “You have no idea!”
      “As you’ve eaten, would you care for some drink? I didn’t dare give it before, in your weakened state.” She
poured two clay mugs full from a gourd and gave one to Jessie.
      The liquid was a rich magenta, heady and sweet. It hit her belly and exploded outward in silent fireworks, leaving
her pleasantly dizzy.
      “What ... what happened out there?” she asked. “I was drawing, and then the storm came ... and then that thing
was after me ...”
      Rhianne hoisted one shoulder and tipped her head toward it. “Sa-ha-thal.”
      “But ... what, is Sa-ha-thal?”
      Rhianne pursed her lips thoughtfully, and it struck Jessie almost like a physical blow how beautiful she was.
Beautiful, but not like anyone she’d ever seen before. That hair ... by stormlight it had been impressive, but by firelight
it was alive with colors, ever-shifting. And those eyes, so dark and deep and hauntingly familiar.
      At first, she’d assumed Rhianne was young, for she looked young, but there was a wisdom in her eyes that hinted
at great age, and great secrets.
      Jessie’s breath caught as she finally let herself think what had been lurking in the back of her mind ever since she’d
first glimpsed Rhianne. Up until that moment, she’d been way too concerned with mundane matters, such as dying of
exposure, or hypothermia, or getting torn to bits by some creature that she hadn’t even dared face (well, maybe that
wasn’t what you’d classify as a strictly mundane matter).
      “You’re not ... human, are you?” she ventured.
      “I am whatever I seem to be,” Rhianne replied.
      A chill swept over Jessie, not a chill born of outside cold but of inside wonder.
      “You asked about Sa-ha-thal. To fully understand, you must know of the world as it once was. Long ago. Before
people lived here, before people lived anywhere. There were dragons in the earth in those days, Jessie. Dragons in the
earth.”
      The chill intensified. Part of her speculated that she had fallen down on the path and banged her head, that this was
all a dream. Dragons in the earth? A woman who could ... yes, go on and say it ... do magic?
      “They were ancient and wise, with powers that I cannot even begin to explain. But over time their children became
impetuous and foolish. Some of them changed shape and bred with beasts: dinosaurs, serpents, lizards. Had you looked
on Sa-ha-thal, you might have seen some of each of those ancestors in his form. Like them, he is a hunter, and
territorial. Had you not crossed into the land that I claim, he would have slaughtered you, and feasted on your flesh.”
      “So I should be glad I fell into the mudpuddle,” Jessie said, going for levity and having it come out shaky.
      Rhianne nodded soberly. “You’re lucky that you did.” Picking up a brush, she began taming her wild hair. “I could
not have stopped him from the hunt on his own land.”
      Jessie watched the slow, even strokes of the brush with fascination. “I’ve never seen hair like yours. It’s so ...
so ...” words seemed hopelessly inadequate.
      “Would you like to brush it for me?” Rhianne asked.
      “Oh! Um ... sure.” Jessie hitched closer to her and tentatively touched the multi-colored strands that were finer
than silk. She began pulling the brush through that dawn-day-sunset thickness, making it shine.
      Rhianne murmured approvingly. “You have a lovely light touch, Jessie.”
      As she was behind Rhianne, the other woman couldn’t see how red her face turned. She knew she had to be
imagining the invitation she thought she heard. Just concentrate on brushing, she told herself. Never mind the catlike
curve of Rhianne’s spine, the tempting line of her neck as she leaned her head to one side. Never mind all of that.
      Easier said than done.
      “You live here alone?”
      “Not quite.” Rhianne gestured around the cottage.
      Jessie hadn’t bothered noticing the decor before; her only goal had been the fire. Now she saw that the place was
all one room. The floor was of polished wood strewn with mats woven of grasses, each piece a marvel of pattern and
craftsmanship. The same could be said for the furniture, all of it artfully made and cunningly designed.
      In the area that served as a kitchen, roots hung from the rafters, colorfully-glazed clay pots lined the shelves, and
a bowl held berries from the bushes outside. Presumably, the source of both the dried berries in the stew and the wine.
Another section was partly partitioned off by a sheer curtain, the shape of a large pillow-heaped bed visible through
the gauzy fabric.
      Her eyes were so captivated by the furnishings that it took her a few minutes to detect the animals. Once she saw
them, she couldn’t believe it took her so long.
      An owl blinked sleepily at her from the high chimney corner. A red fox’s sly, knowing face peeked from under the
bed. A puppy ... no, that was a wolf cub! ... sprawled on the floor with hindpaws twitching in a dream. A pair of fat and
sassy squirrels chattered at each other on one of the rafters.
      “My little friends,” Rhianne said fondly. She snapped her fingers and beckoned, and a plump raccoon waddled over
to plop into her lap.
      Jessie’s mouth hung open. It wasn’t often in her life that she was caught without words, usually being the one to
find a sarcastic comeback to just about anything, but she had apparently finally exceeded her weirdness threshold.
      Rhianne petted the raccoon, rubbing its belly when it rolled. Bright inquisitive eyes watched Jessie out of the
black robber’s mask.
      “Cool!” Jessie finally said, beaming with a wide grin. “How’d you catch them?”
      “Catch them?” Rhianne frowned. “Oh, no. I found them. Like you, each of them was a narrow escape from
Sa-ha-thal. I offered them a home to share, and these agreed.”
      “Oh ...”
      “You sound doubtful.”
      “No, really, I believe you.” She laughed and the next words popped out before they’d cleared the censors in her
brain. “I don’t know anyone who’d turn down an offer like that!”
      Rhianne turned slowly to face Jessie, who was all flushed and embarrassed again.
      “Is that so?” Rhianne asked with a hint of playfulness. “What about you, Jessie? What if that offer extended
to you?”
      She laughed again, this one a bit forced. “Like I said, I don’t know anyone who’d refuse!”
      “An interesting thing to consider.” Rhianne shooed the raccoon from her lap. “I do sometimes need better
company than my friends here can provide.” She leaned toward Jessie, and her dark, deep eyes seemed to fill the world.
      “Do you?” Jessie’s voice sounded as if it came from very far away.
      “It can be lonesome out here in the woods.”
      “I bet.” The brush dropped from her fingers; she hadn’t even been aware that she’d still been holding it.
      “You’re a very pretty girl, Jessie,” Rhianne breathed. “And a very special one, as well. I knew that the moment I
first saw you.”
      “Yeah, falling on my rear in the mud,” Jessie said, trying to cope with the sudden whirl of confusion and longing in
her mind.
      “Even before that.” Rhianne’s voice was barely audible now, but that didn’t matter because she was so close that
Jessie could almost hear her thoughts. So close, inches apart, almost touching.
      Then Rhianne did touch her, a feather-soft brush of fingertips just barely skimming Jessie’s cheek.
      Jessie gasped but didn’t move away as the other woman’s caress moved to her ear, tracing its contour and flitting
over each of the jeweled stud earrings she wore like someone crossing a stream with stepping-stones. She didn’t dare
shut her eyes for fear that when she opened them, she’d find out she was still dozing in front of the hearth.
      “Pretty Jessie,” Rhianne said. “So tall, so ...”
      Her gaze dipped to Jessie’s cleavage, well-revealed by the robe that didn’t quite reach; the blanket had slid down;
when had that happened, who cared?
      “So well-formed,” Rhianne finished in a pleased purr. “And how rosy your skin has become! My fire has warmed
you, then, has it?”
      “Uh ... that must be it.”
      “You’re trembling, pretty Jessie. Why?”
      “You ... that feels ...” she couldn’t finish, couldn’t express it.
      “But you’re not afraid?”
      “No. Not of you.”
      “Good. I’d never want to harm you.” Rhianne leaned that last fraction of an inch and delicately brushed her lips
against Jessie’s in a brief, testing kiss.
      Jessie uttered a soft sound somewhere between a sigh and a mewl. Rhianne pressed the kiss more firmly, combing
the fingers of both hands through Jessie’s still-damp hair.
      Her arms went around Rhianne as if of their own accord, sliding under that magnificent fall of hair. Silk whispered
in a thin layer between them. The slightness, the fragility, of Rhianne’s body were in such marked contrast to the sense
of power radiating from her that Jessie twitched in surprise.
      The blanket fell off entirely, leaving Jessie in just the robe, which hardly concealed anything of her chest, nor of the
long legs that were folded beneath her on the woven mat. All Rhianne had to do was push it with her thumbs and it
slipped open, leaving Jessie bare to the waist where the belt still maintained some vestiges of modesty.
      Rhianne’s kiss moved from Jessie’s mouth to the side of her throat, pausing to nuzzle briefly at the hollow of her
pulse, then continuing down over her collarbones to the upper part of her breasts.
      Jessie was breathing in quick shallow sips, not daring to look, not wanting to ruin this beautiful mirage. She held
Rhianne to her, stroking her hair and back.
      “Such lovely ripe fruit,” Rhianne murmured, dropping her hands to Jessie’s breasts. “And these rosebuds ... lovely.”
Her tongue flicked in hummingbird wingbeats at the taut tips.
      “Ahhh ...” was all Jessie could say.
      “Oh, were that I were a fawn and you a doe, that I might nurse at such sweetness all day!” Rhianne left off the
quick teasing licks and drew one nipple deeply into her mouth with devastating suddenness.
      “Ahh!” Jessie said again, more loudly. Her back arched. She clutched Rhianne’s shoulders.
      “Pretty one, my Jessie, bountiful as the harvest,” Rhianne murmured, switching to afford the other breast the same
attention. At the same time, one of her hands moved lower, caressing the exposed length of Jessie’s thigh, pushing the
bunched cloth of the robe higher and to the side.
       “You’re ... so beautiful,” Jessie managed between gasps. She found and cupped one of Rhianne’s small but firm
breasts, and felt the nipple through the silk grow rigid against her palm.
      “I want to see all of you,” Rhianne said, pulling at the belt of the robe.
     “I want to see you, too.” She grasped a lace, widening the neckline of Rhianne’s blouse.
      “Easily done.”
      In a swift motion, Rhianne rose up on her knees and drew the blouse over her head. Her skin was fair as milk, her
upturned breasts tipped in palest pink. She stood gracefully and untied her sash, smiling teasingly as she swept the
fringed end across Jessie’s chest. Then she unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall, revealing slim legs and a thatch of curls
that matched the multi-hued tresses flowing around her.
      Jessie drank the sight in awe and longing. Feeling very coarse and clumsy by comparison, she undid the belt and
tossed the robe aside. But she saw her own reaction mirrored in Rhianne’s eyes as the other woman knelt beside her,
slowly scanning her.
      “Ohhh,” Rhianne purred. “So tall, so proudly made ... an Amazon, a Titaness! Spirits of the abundant earth! Lie
back, do, and let me travel as an explorer from mountains to valleys!”
      Jessie nodded and reclined on the blanket, which had somehow landed in a smooth square before the fire instead
of the heap she would have expected. Its softness cradled her, so that there didn’t seem to be hard wooden floor
beneath, as if she was suspended in the midst of a warm cloud.
      Rhianne bent over her, making her exploration a leisurely and coaxing one, lips and tongue and fingers in adoring
harmony. She kissed a path from Jessie’s breast down over her stomach, then along one leg inch at a time, down and
down, licking tickling behind the knee and in a startlingly sensitive spot just inside Jessie’s ankle, making her squirm
as she came to the bottom of the foot, kissed each toe, and then moved to the other leg and repeated the process
starting at the bottom.
      By the time Rhianne reached the knee, Jessie was in delightful torment. Rhianne nudged her legs apart and Jessie
complied with more than willingness, but Rhianne only spent long minutes nibbling at her inner thighs before rising and
continuing up, until she’d reached the pinnacle of the other breast.
      Moaning helplessly, Jessie pulled Rhianne into an embrace. The kiss was deep, breaths and tongues mingling, and
Jessie was dizzied at the feel of Rhianne’s cool, satiny skin against hers. Their motion was languid and at the same time
needful, a slow rolling and writhing.
      “Now, my pretty Titaness,” Rhianne whispered, sliding down Jessie’s body like an eddy of breeze, “I’d know what
secrets you hide in this dark-mossed cleft.”
      Jessie nearly shrieked with pleasure as Rhianne’s knowledgeable touch sent waves of melting passion coursing
outward from her hips. Slender fingers first stroked, then parted, the tender folds of flesh.
      “How like a blossom, and I am the sun, opening to me,” Rhianne said. “Ah, here is the blossom’s hidden heart!
And now I shall be a bee, to taste of its nectar.” So saying, she dipped her head.
      A long cry of pure joy escaped Jessie, but she barely heard herself, so caught up was she in the overpowering
sensations.
      She knew how the flower felt when it was first bathed by the sun’s glow and unfolded its petals; she knew how a
tree felt as its fruit reached perfect ripeness. In that timeless span of time she not only knew but was all of those things
and more besides. She was every animal waking from hibernation to the fresh scents of spring, she was every bird
finally yielding to the undeniable call of migration, she was the river as the thaw broke it free of icelocked stasis.
      It came from her and went through her and tossed her like a leaf in a hurricane, and beneath it all she was wracked
with the rapturous shudders of climaxes, one after another until they fused into a continual cresting wave that swept her
through unseen gates into a world of dark mist and distant voices.
      She had no idea how much longer, but eventually the dark mists cleared, the voices became not-so-distant, and she
opened her eyes to find Rhianne stroking her face and looking down at her with concern.
      “Huhhaaaah,” Jessie said. “Huh. Oh. Oh, whoa, what happened?"
      Rhianne smiled, a bit shyly. “In your passion, you are so lovely ... I wanted it never to end, and I fear it was too
much for you.”
      “Mmmh.” Tingling aftershocks were still shooting down Jessie’s limbs. When the rushing in her ears subsided, she
realized that it was quieter in the cottage than it had been before. The rain, the wind ... “The storm’s over?”
      “It has passed. The night is clear.”
      That filled Jessie with unaccountable sadness, but she shoved it out of her mind. “Rhianne ...”
      “Yes, my pretty Jessie?”
      “You still need ...?”
      Her gaze grew soft and smoky. “Only if you wish to.”
      Jessie nodded and drew Rhianne into her arms, and then it was her turn to be the explorer.
      Rhianne’s scent and taste were that of the woods after a rainfall, the same scent and taste that must fill the woods
even now. Her curled thatch was plush as a foxtail, the flesh beneath as pale and dewy as the dawn. She at once
surrendered and guided, pleaded and urged. When she reached her height, her impassioned cries bore an echo of
every voice of the woodlands.
      After, they moved to the bed, which was even more comfortable than the blanket had been, and lay side by
side stroking each other’s hair. No words, no need for words.
     Their eyes and loving hands said all that needed to be said.
      Until, finally, and with a reluctance that tore at her heart like a fish-hook, Jessie did say something that needed
to be said. “Rhianne ... I wish I could stay, but ...”
      “I know, pretty Jessie. You have a life awaiting, back home.”
      “You’re not mad?”
      Rhianne shook her head and brushed errant strands of hair from her eyes. “Not at all. This isn’t your place. Not
yet. Someday, possibly ... but not today. You’ve given me great joy, my Titaness, but I would be selfish to keep
you here.”
      They kissed, a long and lingering kiss that was a promise in itself.
      Jessie rose from the bed and took down her clothes, which had dried thoroughly. As she dressed, she saw the
animals emerge one by one from their places. Realizing they had observed all, she felt suddenly embarrassed. They
were looking at her with smirks, she was sure. Especially that fox.
      The animals scampered or hopped or flew to Rhianne’s side. Resting there surrounded by them, with a scrap of
cloth partly wound about her hips and waist and her hair a loose torrent, she looked more wild and beautiful than ever.
      It hurt Jessie’s heart to pick up her bag and say, “Good-bye.”
      “Farewell, Jessie. Not good-bye, for we will meet again, some time.” She scratched the raccoon between the ears
and then nudged its rump just above the start of its bushy ringtail.
      The raccoon seemed to grumble resignedly as it lumbered to the edge of the bed. It jumped down and waddled
over to Jessie.
      “What’s up with him?”
      “My little friend will show you the way back to the woods that you know.”
      “Rhianne ... there’s still one thing -- okay, lots, but only one I’ll ask about -- that I don’t fully understand. You
told me what the dragon-thing was ... what ... what are you?”
      “All that I seem, and only that I seem,” she replied with a cryptic smile.
      “Okay,” Jessie said, knowing she wasn’t going to get anything more. She followed the raccoon out into the night.
      It did have that same scent, the fresh and green aroma of post-rainfall. The moon had risen, a white orb that
turned the few remaining puffs and streaks of clouds into frost and shed enough light to let Jessie trail the raccoon, as
long as she paid attention and didn’t let it get so far ahead that its grey and black pelt blended into the shadows.
      In shorts and T-shirt again, still barefoot, she wasn’t exactly toasty. But it was a far cry from being drenched and
half-frozen. Remembered heat at least kept her inwardly warm.
      The raccoon trundled along and Jessie stayed at its heels. When it paused and rose on its haunches to sniff warily
at the air, she did the same.
      The clean scent of the night was tainted with something darker. A cold/blood/hunger smell that brought a mild rash
of goosebumps to Jessie’s arms.
      “Come on, Bandit, let’s hustle our buns out of here, what do you say?” she muttered to the raccoon.
      It dropped back to all fours and picked up the pace as if it understood. Soon, Jessie spotted a familiar tree ahead.
When she drew near, she saw the initials and carvings scarred into the bark. And there, looking as wide as a highway
and as well-marked as the Vegas strip, was the path.
      She stepped onto it with great relief. “Hey, Bandit, we -- Bandit? Where’d you go?”
      There was no sign of the raccoon, not even the crumple of leaves that had formerly marked its passage. But on the
brighter side, she could no longer catch even a whiff of that other smell.
      It had taken her more than an hour to get back to the path; fifteen minutes after that, she was out of the woods and
on her way back to her apartment.
      “They were bigger,” she said. “The woods were bigger. Where was I?”
      Ponder as she might, she couldn’t come up with any logical scientific explanations. Other theories popped into her
mind readily enough, but out here in the sane world of concrete sidewalks and streetlights, they were even harder to
believe.
      She returned to her apartment, saw everything just as she’d left it that afternoon -- a time which now seemed long
ago, like, say, a year or more -- and tumbled into bed without a second thought.
      Many hours later, Jessie awoke to a competition. In this corner, sore muscles from a day of hiking, running, and
going bum-over-teakettle down slopes and into swamps. In the other corner, the smugly pleasant ache of a sated body.
She also awoke to the uncertainty of just what had happened yesterday.
      By the rational light of a Monday morning (Monday afternoon, she amended after checking her watch), could she
really believe in reptilian monsters or beautiful magic-women? In woods that sneakily expanded and landmarks that
changed?
      The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she became, until she finally realized the only thing to do was
go back and see for herself.
      She dressed more sensibly this time, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. And shoes; something that would have
drawn startled exclamations from the friends who would have sworn she only donned footwear for snow or dress-codes.
      The sky was that particular vibrant shade of blue that can only be seen in the autumn, the fall foliage standing
out against it in a riot of colors. Jessie recalled other plans she’d had for the day, but it was past noon already so they
were shot; she had to see what there was to see or she’d spend the rest of her life wondering if she was going
crackers.
      Half an hour later, she was at the pond where she’d been sketching. The big tree was still the big tree, complete
with monograms. The path was still the path.
      She struck out cross-country, heading in the direction she’d been sure she was going the day before. After ten
minutes of walking, she emerged overlooking a sheep pasture.
      “Oh, great,” she muttered, and tried another way. After all, she had gotten pretty turned around during the
storm. This time she was bound to find the slope, the mucky puddle.
      No, she found a bunch of kids playing paintball; they almost mistook her for one of the enemy. She came that
close to being splatted with a dozen capsules of red paint.
      More distressed by not finding anything than she would have been if she’d actually found it, Jessie backtracked to
the pond. She sat down on the log and rubbed her temples.
      Dream? Hallucination?
      But it had seemed so real! Maybe she could have dreamed up someone like Rhianne, but was even her imagination
good enough to supply all the convincing details?
      Dammit, she wasn’t imagining the stiffness in her muscles. Or the scrape on the heel of her hand; she had bashed
it trying to grab a handhold when she slid down the hill.
      Leaves rustled behind her. Jessie looked up sharply, and sucked in a breath when she saw a deer standing on
the path.
      The sounds of the distant traffic and yelling kids faded from her awareness. She was fixed on the dark, deep,
velvet-brown eyes of the deer. Eyes that were hauntingly familiar.
      Jessie got up slowly and took a step toward the deer. It had something around its neck, something from which
sunlight glinted briefly into Jessie’s face, making her squint and blink.
      When she could look again, the deer was leaping away, the gold spiral necklace flashing in the sun. Jessie uttered
a startled cry and ran after, but the deer was too swift, vanishing into the underbrush.
      She stopped in dismay, then saw a belling sheet of pale green. A blanket, draped over a branch. A cloud-soft
blanket, which, when she gathered it to her, still carried their mingled scents.
      Smiling to herself, Jessie folded the blanket over her arm and turned back toward town.

  *  *

The End