1.2 But the night

swept against me and carried on her tide the night's world. Caravaning by, dark giants strained their sinewy necks and whispered me deeper into the black folds. Rancid leaves, spurred by her breath, clicked and scratched about my ankles. Whisper, whisper, click and scratch. Nothing chills me like that breath. The breath of a Queen. Beautiful, horrible. It sung softly in the dewy grass, and I cried out for beauty. Then it shifted, like a bolt of light, through the arms of the swaying giants, and I shook. Then She leapt, panther like, dark and sleek, graceful, fearful.

***