3 comments/ 16943 views/ 0 favorites How Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth By: Adrian Leverkuhn The woman walked up the scrub-brush and sage covered hillside; from a distance it was apparent she was having trouble walking up the loose shale and gravel that covered the modestly steep slope. She had a walking stick, a whittled cedar staff really, that she used assiduously to pick her way up through the rocks and brush that peppered the hills and bottom-lands of Montana's Paradise Valley. For all her apparent effort, however, the woman appeared happy as she whistled old show tunes - her pace revealed that a measured, leisurely day was unfolding. She paused every now and then to stop and look out over the valley - the staggeringly majestic mountains that lined the east and west walls of this valley that led to Yellowstone National Park- and occasionally she bent down to examine a bright purple wildflower, and a gentle smile would cross her face. To anyone looking on the scene, she would have looked like a woman lost within the overwhelming beauty of a glorious summer day. The mountain air was crisp and cool, the dome of the sky bright blue - and not a single cloud crossed the sun-dappled mountains that held the women within their embrace. The reddish rocks often gave way under the woman's feet, and she would slide for a brief moment, then catch the drift with her staff. These capricious slides upset the woman not at all; she seemed to relish them - revel in her proximity to the dangers of nature - then she would resume her upward trek. The sage and scrub thinned as she gained elevation; taller trees loomed in the distance, perhaps another five hundred feet higher up the slope. The loose shale gave way to broad swathes of granite covered with dark grey boulders and rust colored rocks, and the vibrant wild-flowers that had covered the lower slopes grew more stunted at this altitude - if they grew at all. The woman heard it on an instinctual level before she reacted - the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake - and she seemed to freeze in mid-stride. The sound was difficult to locate, in fact, it seemed to come from all around her. The buzzing rattle filled the air, an occasional hiss accented the warning and filled the woman with a cold dread borne of instinct. She remained still, but turned her head slowly as she tried to locate the viper. She saw it! there! between a rock and some brush. But no, this snake was motionless; in fact, a wad of translucent stuff was massed about halfway down the serpents body. It was molting - shedding it's skin - and was in no position to rattle. Still the sound continued, indeed, seemed to increase. The woman looked around to her left, up the hillside, and her heart froze. Not more than a yard away she spotted a small rattlesnake coiled, looking at her, readying to strike. Even as she took in this threat she saw another to the left of the coiled viper, and watched in horror as this rattlesnake moved down the hill toward her. The coiled rattlesnake launched through the air - striking - and the woman reacted in time to move her walking staff. The three foot long snake struck the staff, and sensing it's mistake, fell to the ground at the woman's feet and began to re-coil. The woman hopped down the hillside - away from the coiling snake - and the rattling grew louder still! As she came to a precarious rest, she looked down the hill to her right and saw one, no, two more rattlesnakes. Too late, the woman realized that she had walked into a nest of molting rattlesnakes. Hadn't the woman at the inn warned her that rattlesnakes were aggressive when molting? She heard another viper join the chorus, this one she sensed was behind her, and she spotted another one right ahead of her position. She was surrounded. The closest snake that she could see was about five feet away and coiling; she swung around wildly now, trying to identify the nearest threat, and she kept the staff firmly in her hands to counter the next attack. Which came from a rattlesnake right behind her - one she hadn't seen - and the impact of the strike felt like a burning hammer-blow as the serpent's fanged-head drove into the calf-muscle of her right leg. She screamed and swung her staff around, knocking the snake off her leg and down the hill. The woman looked down at her leg and saw a small tear in the taupe gabardine of her trousers. She saw a small red stain beneath the fabric, and she felt her heart race, the blood arcing through her veins, pounding in her temples. Presently, she became very afraid of death, of dying on the side of a mountain in Montana while on vacation, away from her beloved Manhattan. Visions of her son spending the summer with his father flashed through her mind's eye, and she recoiled from visions of the bitter divorce and custody fight that had defined the past two years of her life. The woman lifted into airs of recent years - of her life reeling off in sepia-toned playback, the mistakes, the simple joys, hopes realized and dreams deferred . . . . . . Another rattlesnake was readying to strike, but the woman was now almost oblivious to the threat. She seemed to sway, her staff began to falter . . . Through visions of her son's happy smile, the woman heard a tinkling sound - bells! she thinks. Bells?! She feels light-headed, and her right leg burns - like a muscle cramp, and she seems to remember the sensation from some other existence. She suddenly hears the warning from the nearest viper, the one off to her right, but she continues to hear bells. Little bells . . . coming for her. Are they Angels? she thinks. Oh, God! Not now. . . She watches with cold dread filling her soul as the snake strikes, and seems startled by a brown and white blur that flashes through her field of view . . . as the snake arcs through the air the blur intercepts it in mid-air, and it is gone. A dog has the snake in it's mouth, and she watches with curious detachment as it viciously shakes the snake in it's mouth and tosses the broken body away. The woman is barely aware of another dog behind her, and then the beating of a horse's hooves drumming up the rocks farther down the slope. She hears the loud report of a rifle, and bits of rock fly up from the ground by her left foot. She looks down to her left and sees the bloody mess of a dead rattler twitching and roiling as death consumes it, and the feeling of dissolution becomes overwhelming . . . The woman feels herself falling . . . . . . as she hits the ground she becomes aware of another rattler - on the ground - looking her in the eye . . . readying to strike. The viper seems huge, it's body as big as a large grapefruit, and as it coils, preparing to strike the woman in the face, she has the feeling that an endless evil is looking down right through her. Within the fathomless black eyes of the snake she feels the eternal emptiness of death . . . . . . And then the snake strikes . . . . . . And again the woman is aware of a brown and white streaking blur - and the snake is gone. In its place she hears the howling screams of a dog in agony, and she tries to lift her head and look, but her face feels like hot asphalt melting in the sun, and she is glued to the rock and gravel that bind her to the earth, to this life. . . . . . She sees boots on the ground, moving around, moving . . . . . . She feels her disembodied self rising in the air, but she feels strong arms under and around her, lifting her; she smells sweat and sage, and then she is swinging through the air. There is nothing left to feel, she thinks. She senses a man, feels his shoulder against her face, and she can hear the hurried beat of the hooves as the horse makes it way down the mountain. She thinks she feels cold, but isn't sure, and suddenly it is night. ________________________________ When her eyes open, it is dark. She is aware of pain - pain everywhere. Her right leg seethes with pain, as does the top of her left hand. She feels as if her body is on fire - yet she is cold to the innermost core of her being. She feels sweat running down her face as her leg boils and ripples in poisoned agony, yet on another plane she is aware that she cannot really feel her leg, that it is dead to this world. She is living in the mirror of her dreams, past and present fused in silent agony, echos of unknown futures fill her hearing, and destiny denied covers her eyes with the darkness she loathes. A woman - a nurse - is bending over her, shining a light in her eyes. A probe in her ear, soft-warm fingers reading delicate pulses, a cool wash-cloth soothes her burning face. She tries to speak, but her throat feels like gravel. A spoon of crushed ice, then another, and the waiting darkness returns. ________________________________ Sun-dappled waves reach distant shores. Lavender air roiled in coiled memory leaps at unsuspected innocence, and pain sears the blind man. He cries 'How could this be' as his life washes away from his sightless eyes. So soon, too soon, was it but a dream?' Who was the man? ________________________________ The room is full of early morning light, and she looks at her left hand. The coiled plastic viper has struck, and the serpents fang has lodged in her hand. Clear fluids flow into her, and she screams in horror, reaches for the wound, pulls at it. Searing pain, blood, and it is night again. ________________________________ The blind man is there again. He is holding her in the womb of night. He is caressing her face. She can hear him. 'You'll be alright. Just hang on.' Spider's webs of lightning dance across her mind's eye and she smells the man, feels his strength flowing into her, feels the core of his resolve pulling her from the cold grasp of night. She has never known such peace. ________________________________ And he is there. The room is full of light. Mountains float above pale mist as in a Chinese landscape. But the smell, disinfectant? Not sage covered hills. Beige walls, the steady hum of electrical equipment, she notices an IV bottle hanging from a metal pole. Her left hand is heavily bandaged, a new IV line dangles from her right arm, and her hands are bound to the bed. She tests the restraints, and she wonders why they are there. The man is there in the room, he is sitting in a blue chair looking out the room's solitary window. She watches him, studies him. He is an older man, maybe fifty, perhaps older than that. His skin is sun-worn and rough, his face is creased from the simple cares of a hard life, and his hair dances between silver-grey and reddish-brown. The beard he wears is white, it covers a chiseled face capped by piercing blue eyes. The man is wearing an old work shirt - faded blue from years under the undiluted sun of the high Rockies, and his jeans appear faded from honest work. She sees wisdom in the man's face, and peace. His eyes turn toward hers, and he sees her eyes as if for the first time. A smile crosses his face. "So, you're back with us, huh. Decided to rejoin the living after all?" She tries to speak, but nothing emerges from the sand and gravel that fill her mouth. "How 'bout some water? Nurse said it's OK." She nods her head and he is beside her, holding a plastic cup to her mouth. He takes the curved straw and places it in her mouth and she pulls a sip of ice cold water into her mouth. Then another, this one much longer. The liquid catches, and she coughs; the water spills out of her mouth onto her pale blue hospital gown. The man pulls the glass away and has a towel under her mouth in seconds; he blots her dry. "Take it easy, girl. There's plenty and I can get more." Without having to ask, she feels the straw at her mouth and she cautiously takes it and drinks again. She has never been thirstier in her life and somehow this man knows that. She can see worn out empathy all over his face. "Better?" he asks. She nods. "Dogs . . . I saw dogs." "Atticus Finch and Scout," the man says. "You a lawyer?" she asks, a little smile dancing across her face. "Don't believe in 'em," he says, smiling. "I heard one scream. Was it . . . is it OK?" "Yeah. That was Scout. She's still at the Docs. She knows better, but that was one helluva big snake. She knew you were a goner, so she took a chance. She had a tough two days, but she's gonna make it." "Two days?" "Yeah. I pulled you down the mountain Saturday morning. It's Tuesday. Tuesday Afternoon." "Where am I? Tuesday Afternoon? Isn't that a song?" "Bozeman. Bozeman Methodist Hospital. You were pretty sick, girl." "I think I would be pretty dead if you hadn't come along." The man looked down at the floor, his face flushed a little. "Well, you got yourself into a pretty bad spot, Mam. Finch heard your scream, I think, before I figured out what it was. He led me to you. You'll need to thank him, not me." "I will. What's your name?" "Jake. Jacob Corrigan, Mam. Nice to meet you." He reached out and put his hand on hers and gave it a familiar pat. "Just thought I'd drop by and check and see if you were doing better today. You had 'em pretty wigged-out after you yanked your IV out." The woman looked at her left hand. "That's what that was?" "Hasn't anyone talked to you yet?" asked Corrigan. "Nope." "Figures. Uh, is there anyone I can call for you, Mam?." "My room at the inn . . .?" "All taken care of. When I rode in, Mrs Parker called the paramedics, and she packed your stuff up. I brought it down yesterday." "When can I get out of here?" The man shook his head. "No word yet." "Oh, excuse me, Jake. My name is Madeleine Townsend, and I'm from New York." "Well, OK, Madeleine Townsend from New York. I'm gonna go find a nurse or a doc and find out what the program is. Back in a minute . . ." Madeleine sat there in the bed, and for the first time realized that her right leg felt very, very strange. She felt the room spinning, and darkness reached out for her . . . __________________________________ "Madeleine, Miss Townsend, I'm Dr Payson. You awake?" Madeleine shook herself awake, tried to focus on the woman floating above her, but she felt foggy and on fire. She nodded at the woman. "Madeleine, the antibiotics and anti-venoms haven't done the trick. Gangrene is setting in. We're going to have to operate on your leg. I don't think we'll have to amputate, but we'll probably have to take some tissue. Do you understand what I'm saying, Madeleine?" "Yes, ah, where's Jake?" Jake, she's thinking. Who is Jake? "I'm here, Madeleine." Her head moves toward the voice, and she sees the only friend she has in this strange new world. She looks across her now-tented leg, across the bed, across the infinite gulf of her little room to the face she now trusts above all others. "Will you be here when I come back?" "You betcha," she hears the man say, his smile warm and his eyes radiating hope. "When do you need to do this," Madeleine asks. "Sooner the better. Now. We've got an O.R. all set, all I need is your OK." "This is the best option?" "I'm afraid it's the only one at this point. If this stuff spreads up into your thigh . . . Well, I don't want to think about that right now. We're not gonna let that happen, OK?" "Then let's do it." The physician patted her on the arm and gave her a gentle squeeze. "OK, I'll see you upstairs." "Jake?" "Yes, Madeleine, I'm here'. What is it?" "Jake, I, uh. Have you been able to get in touch with my son?" "They're on their way. Your son and your, ah, husband." She hears the concern in his voice. "Ex-husband, Jake." "I'm gonna meet 'em at the airport. Five-twenty." "Is it Friday?" "Nope, Girl. Saturday. My, you can sleep!" "Jake? I love you . . ." __________________________________ Madeleine is sitting up in the blue chair, talking with her son about his kayak trip around Mount Desert Island with his father. She listens as he talks about seals and eagles and the sun dancing like white diamonds on the cold black waters of Northeast Harbor. She can feel the chilly warm scene on her skin like the memories that gave birth to the smile on that boy's face oh so many years ago and she is back there, lost to the present, drifting. "Mom? Did you know he was an astronaut?" The words jerk her back into the present. "Who?" she asks. "Jake. Man, Mom, he was a shuttle astronaut. Made three trips. He's really cool. You didn't know?" Her son is talking, relating all he's learned about the man from nurses and other locals, but she doesn't hear him anymore. She sits in her silence, pondering the meaning of it all. An old cowboy with two dogs saves her from a herd of rattlesnakes, and he's some kind of national hero. She feels like she's been falling in love the Horse Whisperer and all of a sudden she feels like a fool. She wonders where he is; she hasn't seen him in what feels like days, and she knows in her heart she misses him, wants, no needs, to see his eyes and hear his voice. She feels like she'll never be able to breathe again unless he's there. And now she knows it's all been a dream, her need for him, the intensity of what she feels in her heart for him. She looks down at the stump that was her right leg, and she feels an emptiness like she's never known before, and it feels as if she's falling into a black hole, and all that lies ahead is a yawning chasm of infinite despair. She hears her son's voice again, and pulls out of the dive that threatens to consume her. "Really? An astronaut?" she says. She feels a hand take hers and looks up at Jake. But . . . she was listening to her son; where is he? "How you doing today?" she hears him say, and she looks down at the stump of her leg with that consumptive emptiness spinning in the air all around her, and she feels herself falling. "Where's Toby?" she hears her voice, so thinks she must have asked a question. "Where are you, darlin'? That's the question I'd like to know the answer to. Where are you?" She is looking at Jake the cowboy and trying to do the calculus that says the man in front of her is an astronaut, a hero, and it doesn't compute. She feels a sudden fullness in her face, and her skin begins to burn. A tear forms in her eye, and falls, a silent sentinel guarding the walls of her resolve, but the wall crumbles, and she is aware of nothing but shame. She covers her face with her hands and falls into the darkness that hovers in the air around her like a vulture. She feels old, time-worn hands on her hands, then wind-chapped lips brushing her forehead. "Madeleine, I'm here. You need to talk to me . . ." But she is gone, drifting in silence. He holds her face, kisses her forehead again. He looks into her eyes, watches as the blackness of her depression envelopes her, watches as she withdrawals from the world of the living. _____________________________________ She is sitting in a wheelchair on a small concrete patio, a nurse at her side. The air is much cooler now, the sun lower in the sky. She looks around at the mauve colored brick walls of the hospital; it feels like a prison to her now, but it feels like home, too. She shifts in the wheelchair, her stump lifts the blue blanket covering her lap and it begins to slide from her lap. She reaches for it, but too slowly, and it falls to the ground. She tries to reach for it, but can't, and feels angry at her inability to do even simple things anymore. She can feel the depression beating in the air around her, and resolves not to give in to it. She sees Jake walking toward her, and her heart soars. And there is a dog. Brown and white, curly hair, a short tail. It looks like a Springer Spaniel, she thinks, and she is instantly focused on the animal, watching it as it comes closer, feeling an infinite love for the deep brown eyes and proud demeanor. The dog walks beside Jake, seems fused to him, but there is not deference in the animal; he walks not beside a master, but a friend. She watches as Jake leans down and points toward her, and the dog trots ahead and comes right up to her chair. The dog looks at her face, then her legs, and noticing the stump of her leg he moves his head there and sniffs. How Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth She is mesmerized by the sight of the dog, and the awareness the animal has for his surroundings. He continues to look at her, not breaking contact with her for a moment. "Well, say howdy to Finch!" Jake says as he draws closer to her. He seems very quiet, almost expectant as he watches his friend and the woman. "Well, hello there, Mr Finch. So you're my hero, heh? How are you, good boy?" She watches him even more closely now, becomes aware of the gentle strength deep within the animal, and she feels more attentive to her surroundings than she's felt in days. Finch hops up, placing one leg on the arm of her wheelchair, and the other very gently on her stump. He whimpers, as if asking her to lean forward, and as she does so he licks her face once. She is startled by the kiss, disoriented by the gentle wisdom on the dog's face, and she leans back in her chair. He continues to look at her, then she reaches for his face with her hand and gently scratches his neck. His eyes soften into a half-closed look of sated bliss, and his tongue comes into view as he starts to pant. After a moment he hops down and sits by her side, then, noticing the blanket on the ground, reaches for it with his mouth and lifts it up to her lap. Madeleine and the nurse seem shocked at the dog's humanity, but Jake seems to take it in stride. "Well, looks you two are gonna be friends. I think he's been worried about you." Madeleine looks at Jake, her eyes scrunched up in confusion. "He . . . worried?" "Oh, yeah. Once Scout came home from the vets and he knew she was alright, well, he's been kinda sour-faced that I wasn't bringin' him here to see you. I could only hold him off for just so long, you know." Jake had a smile on his face . . . . . . And she couldn't tell if he was serious or not. She looked from Jake to Finch, and back to Jake again. "I . . . uh . . ." she managed to get at least that much out. "Maybe Scout can come over one of these days. She's the one you really need to talk to. She's pretty rattled, no pun intended, and I think she needs to see you almost as much as Finch needed to see you. Or maybe you could come over and meet her? Feel like getting out yet?" Jake watched Madeleine's reaction when he mentioned leaving the hospital, and he could feel her uncertainty, see the hesitation in her eyes. He was becoming very concerned that she had lost the will to fight, and he knew a life hung in the balance. "I don't know. Maybe. I wonder what the docs would say?" "Already checked. Look, Madeleine. You can go back to New York, start rehab there, or you can stay out at the ranch with us for a while. Personally, I'd like it if you stayed with the three of us 'till you got your gears back down." He watched the battle play out behind her eyes, yet his eyes soon drifted back to Finch. The dog was sitting attentively, looking directly at Madeleine, willing her to release the fear that held her back from living again. His eyes drifted from Madeleine to Finch and back again, and he began to discern the contours of a battle of wills that would rage in the coming weeks. He watched as oh so gently as a smile spread across Madeleine's face. He knew then there would be no losers in this battle. __________________________________ Jake's old gray Land Rover wound slowly up the Paradise Valley highway, and he nursed the cumbersome truck gently around curves and sidestepped potholes, all in an effort to smooth out the ride. He watched Madeleine out of the corner of his eye, conscious of every grimace and sharp exhale she made. Though he was getting on in years, he did have some small experience in handling a wild variety of military aircraft, and of course there were those three Shuttle missions, the last two as Shuttle Commander. Yet he felt insecure for the first time in his life, felt as though the woman by his side was the most precious cargo he had ever handled. It staggered him every time he felt those electric butterflies in his stomach, and he felt them every time he looked at her. She had the most beautiful face he had ever seen, and he loved to watch her hands for some reason. Her fingers, so long and refined, intoxicated him. Madeleine watched Jake's hands, too; watched the surgical precision of his movements as he muscled the ancient truck along the serpentine roadway. There was something seductive in his movements, an assurance in his deliberate motions that she found both reassuring and exhilarating. No, she found his hands frankly erotic. She wanted to feel his hands, feel them on her body. And as soon as she felt that impulse - like a hammer blow came the reminder that the stump of her leg had deprived her of every innocent expectation. She looked at Jake and suddenly resented him, resented him because she knew he would reject her, be revolted by her. _____________________________________ He turned off the paved highway, and headed east up a straight gravel road that crossed the valley floor. As they neared the dense tree-line that defined the eastern edge of the valley, where the green-cedared floor turned into a steep-sided granite-slabbed mountain, he slowed, and turned into a driveway off the right side of the road. Just ahead a few hundred yards was his house, a very modern structure of concrete, glass, and steel that looked for all intents like a high-tech Swiss chalet. Finch was sitting on the cantilevered deck that hung out over the valley, looking at the Land Rover as it drew near. Jake watched Finch as they came closer, watched as the dog saw the woman in the front seat beside him, saw his head perk up, his nose raising to scent the air. As the Rover came to a stop beside the house, only then did the dog jump off the deck and saunter over to the driver's door. Scout was nowhere to be seen. Jake noted that the wheel-chair ramp was finished, and that the way was clear into the house. He hopped out of the truck and moved around to the tailgate, pulled Madeleine's wheelchair out, and set it up beside her door. He opened the door and swung her leg out, and he looked at her looking at his house, wondering what she thought of it. He just stood there, watching her, looking at her every movement. She turned and faced him, and there was wonder on her face, in her eyes. "Oh, Jake, it's so beautiful . . . so beautiful up here. The air is so pure . . ." Her voice trailed off as she took in the purple clouds that peppered the blazing sunset that burned fiery red over the mountains. It seemed to her that the air was on fire, and for a moment she forgot her leg and the wheelchair that waited for her like an insinuation, and she felt the repressed emotions of the past several weeks welling up deep inside an empty spot in her heart, threatening to break through the walls she had built around that deep wound. She was balanced on the knife-edge of her anguish for a moment longer, and then . . . . . . The dam broke. From deep within the bruised terrain of her soul, she convulsed in a deep, wracking sob, and through the released fury of her tears all Jake could hear was her fragile voice reaching out to him. He leaned into the gales of her sorrow, and took her to his breast, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her ever closer. He held her as the wrenching emotions took control of her, and he gave her free rein, let the power of her release consume her. He heard his name through the storm, heard her calling his name softly over and over, and he felt his heart breaking under the weight of the burden he felt so inadequate to. He ran his arms up her back, cupped the back of her head in his hands, ran his fingers through her hair. He felt her stiffen then release as her response to this first touch penetrated the core of her anxiety. "Oh, girl," he said, "you're home now. It's all over, it's all over; we're gonna get better every day now." He regretted saying those words almost as soon as they passed his lips, knowing how hollow those words must sound to anyone not facing the horror she faced. He could feel the wheelchair by his side - pressing into his leg - and he could feel his shame crushing through his self-centered recklessness. It wasn't all over . . . her ordeal was just beginning, his journey as her companion through this darkness was inconceivable. But here he was. And still he held her, and she felt wondrous to him. He leaned forward, buried his face in her hair, and reveled in the scent of her. He felt her weight against his chest, and he marveled at how well she fit there, how he loved the feel of her there, and how he longed to keep her there. He had taken it for granted that he would never feel this way about a woman; all of the relationships he had known had been superficial, unsatisfying affairs that had reeked of sour drama and shallow adulation. His career had as such been his chosen companion, and he knew well the cost in human terms. The painful reconciliation of his choice had haunted him, especially when he watched married friends grow comfortable in their advancing years - together; he had questioned the wisdom of this choice more than once in recent years. He felt the waves of anguish subsiding through Madeleine's body; she seemed to sway in the ebb and flow of her uncertainty. Then he felt her trying to push her way toward the side of the Rover's passenger seat, and he sensed her resolve, her desire to begin. No words were needed; he moved away but held her arms around his neck, steadied her as her left foot sought the ground. He stepped back, held her arms as she let go and felt her weight reach the ground; he watched her body for signs of dizziness and saw none. "You ready for the chair?" he asked. She was holding his arms, but her tear streaked face was turned toward the house, and he could see sudden conflict raging on her face. But there was something else there on her face as well, some awesome horror in her eyes. "What is it," he asked as he looked at her, then he turned his gaze toward the house, and he saw Scout standing there. Standing there on three legs, her right front leg gone, amputated when gangrene had set in three days after saving Madeleine. ______________________________________ Scout stood on the deck, looking at the woman standing next to her human, and as recognition set in, the chords of memory struck deep inside. She seemed to stagger momentarily, lose her balance, but she held her ground, knew she could not show weakness in front of this new human. She watched as the woman struggled to move, fighting to cross the small distance to the chair by her side. It was then she saw the woman's leg, saw that one of the woman's legs was missing, and again Scout seemed to stagger and sway as the realization hit her. Her head tilted to one side for a moment, communicating empathy and understanding, then she turned and walked with as much dignity as she could back into her house. ________________________________________ Madeleine sat on one of the black leather sofas that looked out on the now almost completely dark sky; only the faintest sliver of copper-bronze light streaked the western sky, and she was mesmerized by the beauty of the scene spread before her. The severe modernism of the home's exterior was gone once inside, replaced by more comfortable though vaguely Japanese textures and furnishings, and she felt comfortable if not exactly at home in the new space. Soft music dropped down like warm rain from the loft above, and she could smell pine burning in the fireplace behind her. A log popped, scattering it's dying fury against the fireplace screen, and she felt herself jump at the sound. Finch was curled up on the sofa beside her, and she absent-mindedly twirled her fingers through the soft, fine hair on his neck. She heard a contented sigh from the dog and smiled inside at the thought of his acceptance of her. She had been turned completely upside down after seeing Scout, and had felt small as she watched the dog standing there on the deck, proud, almost defiant. Madeleine had looked at the hair shaved away from the dog's shoulder, the deep-red sutured wound an angry reminder of their shared encounter on the mountain. Madeleine had wanted to reach out to the dog, touch her, thank her, and had been visibly upset when the little girl hobbled away. But she had watched, too, as the dog held it's head high, and walk as best as she could back into the house. What strength of will, she thought, possessed that girl. Did dogs not just give up? Could they conceive of such a thing? Were humans really so weak? 'Am I so weak?' Madeleine thought. Jake walked into the room and put a glass in her hand, and she looked at him, then the glass. "Mineral water," Jake said, "slice of lime. Caesar salad coming right up, some cheese, hell, just hope I don't poison us all tonight. I'm not really the best cook up here on the mountain." She took a sip of the water, and smiled as the bubbles and the scent of the lime tickled her nose. She turned her smile toward Jake, felt her eyes melt as she took in the sight of him. "You'll do," she said enigmatically, the double entendre slipping casually from her lips. "You'll do just fine." "Made a friend, huh?" he said, motioning toward Finch, hiding his embarrassment. She looked down at the dog and simply nodded her head. "Do you ever get the feeling that they're running the show? You know? Not like you own them, more like the other way around? That they own us?" "You must not have owned a dog before, Madeleine," Jake said, grinning. "At least not a Springer! I've always thought that because their lives are so much shorter than ours they just live more intensely, pack life in more intensely. But there's more to it than that. They know us. Instinctually, you know what I mean. They know what makes us happy, what makes us sad, and they know how directly they can influence our feelings. That's a lot of power, you know, that we give them. And they so rarely abuse that trust. That's frankly what amazes me most; they extend so much trust to us, and how many people abuse that trust. Yet that trust never falters. We have so much to learn from them." He turned and walked back toward the kitchen. She could hear him working away in there; then she heard Scout walking around in the kitchen with him, and she listened as Jake talked to her. Such familiar words, bathed in those soft comforting tones of his. No wonder they loved each other so. She drifted into those words and the comfort that swirled inside sudden mists that enveloped her as she listened. She could hear love for her in his every word, and she felt vaguely jealous, then she laughed at herself with the thought. Just as suddenly, Finch turned and raised his head and placed it on her left thigh; then he looked up at her with soulful eyes. Madeleine looked into his eyes - met his stare, and she saw the trust there, was drawn into the warmth that radiated from the dog's eyes. She continued to rub the dog's neck and ears, and smiled as his eyes glowed in satisfaction with her. They ate in silence, the three of them. Finch ate some cheese with them, but studiously ignored the salad. When Jake brought in some sliced roast beef, the dog did manage to choke down a few slices. Scout remained secluded in the darker recesses of her house. _________________________________ Once upon a time there was a princess. She lived in a white tower high above the battlements of a castle that was perched on a hillside. She lived quietly, peacefully, above clouds that drifted over the sun-studded land and the valley that lay spread out below her like a wounded lamb, and she studied poetry and painting when the sun came out each morning. When the moon came out she sang, and to all who heard her voice a spell was cast, and time stopped. The moon above would stop and listen to her song, grizzled old men would remember the fire that had spread through their loins when they were young, and old women would feel new life again in their withered wombs. She lived to walk through the woods of the land below when the sun returned, she loved above all else to walk beside the animals that lived among the trees and the flowers, and she would sing her song of love, cast it to the wind, and the land would remember when all had been new and pure. One day the princess was walking through the woods and she came upon a creature she had never seen before. It was long and slender and was covered with golden diamonds, and it lay across the path the princess was walking on. The creature did not move, neither did it pay attention to the princess when she asked the creature it's name. The creature only looked at the princess; there was no malice in its eyes, but neither was there recognition, or joy, or hope. The princess moved to walk around the creature, but as she moved the creature moved quickly toward the princess and bit her on the leg. The princess felt betrayed, lost, and full of sorrow as she looked down at the creature. "Why have you done this?" the princess asked, but the creature only looked at her. "Why have you done this to me?" the princess wailed again. The creature's black, lifeless eyes only considered her briefly, then it moved to the princess's side once again and bit her once, then a second time it bit her, then a third time it struck, each time on the princess's leg. The princess could feel her life slipping away, could feel her soul dissolving all around her, her life transforming itself as if she was becoming mist, and she felt as if she was drifting off into the woods. The earth rose and swallowed the princess's legs, and she felt herself slowly being consumed by the earth. As she dissolved into the earth she tried to sing once again, but her voice was empty, hollow, and she felt terror for the first time in her life. She watched as the earth grew closer to her face, but there on the surface of the earth was the creature, looking at her with it's black, empty eyes, and she knew as soon as she drew nearer to the creature it would bite her once again, on her face. She was consumed with terror, and she knew if only she could sing the creature would understand and take pity on her, leave her to grow again, renew herself, return to the world of the living. She tried to sing but no sound came from her mouth, and she looked across at the creature, saw the creature drawing near, saw the creatures mouth opening and the sunlight gleaming off the sharp fang that sprang from it's mouth. She tried to move, tried to defend herself, but her hands were gone, consumed by the earth. Time slowed, altered, and soon stopped, and frozen in that moment like a crystal-hued nightmare was the creatures mouth, open, malevolent, ready to take her life, moving slowly toward her through frozen time, drawing nearer, black, empty . . . _________________________________ Madeleine was aware of the wild terror that was closing in, of the wild scream that was struggling for release, release from the grasp of the earth, from the creature. She felt her pulse thundering through her head, saw lightning crawling across her closed eyes, and she was aware that from deep within her dream she was screaming. She felt the tears that ran down her face; they felt like molten lava spilling down the side of a mountain, and she was afraid. She felt the empty bed all around her, and she opened her eyes to see that all was blackness. Terror closed in, she felt caught in it's grip, in it's bite, and she screamed in wild terror at death, death that must surely flee from the fury of her scream. She saw a light turn on far away, but she heard the door to her room opening, and the creature was upon her, it's dark eyes searching hers. It moved slowly closer, she could feel its breath on her face, and she felt herself turning inward, away from the truth in those eyes. She felt herself turning toward the fear that protected her, the fear that concealed her from the truth of her denial. How Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth She felt as if she was choking on life, that the breath that sustained her was being cut off, and a wild panic filled her. She pushed herself up in the bed and felt her left leg sliding against the cool fabric of the sheets, and she remembered the rattlesnakes, remembered her right leg, and what it had felt like to walk unassisted across the scrabbled face of a mountain. She struggled to remember what it had felt like to not fear life. She opened her eyes as the light in her room switched on, and she saw Jake running toward her, no running toward a dog on the bed next to her. He seemed angry at the dog, which she couldn't understand, but then she could see it all too clearly; Jake thought the dog was menacing her in some way. He was reaching for the dog, his anger was clearly there on his face, and she could see Scout there beside her, but looking back at Jake, confusion on her face. "Jake, NO!" she screamed, and she watched as he froze in mid-stride, his reaching hand just inches away from the wounded dog's side. Scout felt her world closing in on her, the trust she knew violated, but instinctually she knew the reason, too. She turned to look at the woman in the bed, and saw understanding in her eyes, felt the terror of the woman's dream in the air all around her. She moved forward, slowly, until her face was next to the woman's and she kissed her. Once, on the cheek, then again, and again, and she felt the woman's convulsive motion, the water that ran down her face, and she kept kissing the woman, willing her to feel the freedom that comes from acceptance. Scout felt the woman holding her, and it felt good. The warmth of the woman's breath, the release that shuddered through both their bodies, it all felt so good. The woman lowered her self back to the bed, and Scout followed her, flowing into the space between the woman's body and her left arm, and she came to rest with her chin on the woman's shoulder. She felt the man sit on the edge of the bed, felt him rubbing her back, and then the bed shook as her friend jumped up on the bed, and she heard him licking the man, then moving over to her side, licking her face. She looked at the woman; she was laughing now, and there was hope.