"Listen more often to things than to beings ..."

Hand and Shore did harvest and store just enough beans and corn from the gardens on the prairie front. They were used to gleaning from the lot of cultivated rows, taking a little and leaving much. Their mixed heritage was finely tuned to listening more often to things ... like the wind when it gathered bluster like the stones and rocks that seeped sweet honey like the moon who appeared during the daylight hours unnoticed by most others.

Slipping in and between the purely human beings and those who, like themselves, were wrapped with Other, these children of Wild wore their skin loosely. When words or opinions wafted through the place near them their sensitive noses sorted, their whiskers unfurled. When Human machinery growled and cut the fragile grass barely sprouted after the long heat of summer, Shore pulled at her skin making herself smaller, protective of her very gentle soul. Hand on the other hand proceeded in the opposite direction, puffing life into the musculature of his powerful shoulders and rump. "He on the machinery is a bully and needs to be taught a lesson."

The man on the Machine wore a cap and cuffs over his ears as he drove the orange growling thing in ovals over the prairie's thin skin. Hypnotized by his power his eyes were not protected and though he would miss the sight of the giant Hare with powerful gloves brandishing the path, his dreams would remember and confusion would reign. Bruises to the ego leave funny stains. Shore wondered how her brother managed to get in and out of Human dreams unharmed.

The man would be gone from the prairie before the next Full Moon.

Hillary Storm has another question.