Everything is black. Overwhelming. I can't breathe. Desperation. I need to breathe. Flashes of color and sound suddenly take over my senses, whispering softly to me, filling me with breath. Purple and blue tendrils of smoke drift out of the darkness, and my world slowly becomes illuminated by a pale greenish light. It bubbles up from nothingness, getting brighter until it's so bright it hurts my eyes. Then the wolves come. It's always wolves. They appear in the mist, creatures that at a glance don't belong in this world. Charcoal black wisps of smoke, held together by a tangible hatred. Their blood red eyes, fierce points of light, seep out of the darkness surrounding them. They move toward me without ever seeming to have taken a step. Crimson eyes bore into me. Their mouths hang open, and blackness takes over my body, suffocating me once more.

“Leira?” A voice.

Gasping, drawing in as much air as my lungs can hold.

“Leira...”

Another nightmare. I remember now. “I'm fine sweetheart. Just a bad dream”

There's a pause, and I know he's thinking about what to say. He's woken me up from so many bad dreams before. It's always the same. I wake up, he asks if I'm alright, I say yes, and we drift back to sleep. That, or I wake him from his own nightmare, and we move on.

“What was it about?” His voice sounds calm, but there's a hint of desperation. He's never actually asked that before. Our nightmares have always been our own personal torments.

As soon as I think about the dream it seems to fade away. Like waves along the beach that seem so forceful before they slip away into nothing. I can remember the feeling of terror, but even that evaporates. What was I afraid of? I try to reach into my memories but they slip through my fingers. I can't seem to actually remember what it was I was dreaming about. I was running away from something, I think. Something dark.

“I can't remember.”

We both lay still for a moment until he puts his arm around me and lays his head next to mine.

We've almost fallen asleep and I hear the whisper of his voice. “I love you.”

The fear left over from the dream leaves me and I close my eyes. “I love you too.”

A scratching noise wakes me up, followed soon after by a whine. Ranger. Every morning, faithfully, he scratches at the door to let us know that it's well past time he should be fed. I glance at my husband, who's still snoring peacefully. Another whine from the other side of the door.

“Alright.” I say, convinced. “I'm up.”

The noise stops, and I know Ranger's ears have perked up and his tail is wagging. If ever an animal could make you smile, it was that one.

* Hruuhff * A pleading look as I open the door.

“Oh hush.” The stern glance I give him does absolutely nothing to calm his wagging tail. Still, I can't help but feel like sometimes he understands what I'm saying. “I'm working on it, give me a second.” It pacifies him briefly.

I fumble with my shoes, turning them upside down and giving them a rough shake to detach whatever creature may have decided to make a nest in them for the night. It's a hard learned habit that's resulted in a few very embarrassing moments, and on one occasion, a sprained knee.

The morning air is crisp and cool as I step outside, trying not to make the front door creak. It's an impossible task. The hinges have been rusting for some time now. There never seems to be enough time to fix it, or when there is the time, enough care to do so. Ranger runs ahead of me, not quite bouncing like he would have in his youth. His muzzle is grayed, his fur somewhat greasy an unkempt. It's been a number of years since I first started worrying that he would pass on.

He came to us on his own, already a few years old and gentle to those around him. He's never tried to break into the rabbit hutch’s like so many other wild curs in the area. I've always wondered what happened to his family before us. Did they lose him, or did he lose them? I may never know. He's far past him prime, but I hope he will survive a few more years yet. I'm sure he'll wander off on his own again when he feels the time is near.

Still, for all his age, he's at the shed well before I am, waiting patiently, tail still wagging. * hhurrh * It's more of a cough than a bark, but I'm sure he feels it hurries me up, as it only takes me a few seconds to take three smalls fish down from the drying racks for him. Racks that, with a sigh, I realize are far too empty. Winter is around the corner, and we only have enough food to last half of it.

The Brindlefish run is late this year. Normally there are thousands of the tiny speckled fish swimming upstream to spawn, but this year there was only a short spate of them a few weeks ago. Since then there's been nothing. I've been told that even the crab pots are coming up empty as of late.

Fear tries to take hold of me but I manage to shove it aside. My family needs to eat. We need to survive the winter. That hasn't been a guarantee for years, but knowing what needs to be done keeps me focused. It's a few weeks yet until I can harvest the rabbits, so I grab a few woven baskets and my net from a shelf and look at Ranger again.

“Ready to catch some fish?” I ask him, but he ignores me and looks out the door, his tail slowly comes to a stop, and he cocks his head to the side.

Suddenly there's yelling coming from my house. No, it's screaming. My blood turns to ice and my heart beats faster. What's going on? It's my husband that's screaming. The pain in his voice is apparent as I rush from the shed. This time Ranger can't hope to keep up, but I can hear him huffing somewhere behind me. My heart sinks as my home come into view. The door is ajar, the wooden crates usually so neatly stacked near the door are scattered about the entry way, and all I can hear is more screaming...