Buried, Alive

She didn’t understand how the black wolf had found her, but since she had been phasing between forms as she ran to ground, she must have left trace trails everywhere.

How she fashioned her thought creations must be like dropping formed petals of hopes and desires along breezy trails that got swept up by little gusts of wind and carried off floating until they landed, fluttering for others to find or miss along their own paths’ travels.

And it was getting colder now as the seasons shifted rapidly from bright leaves falling as their energy spiraled down into winter’s underground dreaming.

He seemed to be asleep, resting against her back, his strength’s heat keeping her system shock shivering down to a minimum.

So she carefully turned, hoping to not wake him, and breathed in his warmth more fully, nestling her face into his long scruff that smelled of green grass, sheltering earth, and the spicey hint of forest detritus that releases into the air as it gets crunched underfoot.

Daring further, she brought her arms up to protect her chest with hands under her chin and tentatively extended her fingers to feel and gently brush the nape of his glossy jet fur.

He was still there with her, but she didn’t know why.

If he were a man, would he welcome her into his arms and protect her like this?

She imagined her head resting upon her mate’s chest, listenimg to his heartbeat, as their arms wrapped around each other like the roots of trees, securing.