Helena 's nightmare




Helena slept heavily, her yearn blond tresses dangling over the border of the bed as she sprawled across the treble mattress.

A groan escaped from her mouth as she woke uncomfortably, the tone of a weight unit pressing down on her venter and ribs disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered open it seemed, in the gloom of her bed-chamber, that a small creature was perched on her trunk, its heart glinting.

Eyes suddenly wide open, she shot upright. The vision of the creature disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

Outside, the horses whinnied and neighed in their stalls. Concerned, capital of Montana pushed back the linen paper bedsheet and the heavy twill blanket, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the window, carefully easing the dark red velvet curtains apart and peering out into the horse barn yard.

In the moonlight Helena could see nothing, but nevertheless the horses continued to protest, their interference now more insistent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her pes into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chair by her dressing table, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet floor boards of the cold elbow room, stepped out onto the landing which led to the staircase.
From a ledge beside the door she struck a prophylactic match then lit the cd housed in a small alloy and drinking glass lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its hooking she made her way downstairs, the vestige cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the walls of the staircase, and across the hallway to the chest opposite.

Removing a small key from the chain around her neck capital of Montana opened the lock of the top draftsman of the chest of drawers and slid it out-of-doors.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 caliber shooting iron it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder height. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five pounds in weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five stab in place.

Helena was relieved by the protection she felt the gun afforded, and was glad James had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the newfangled American English Smith And Wesson good example 3 shooting iron, as he preferred it to the measure British people Army officer offspring Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal protection whilst he was away - their remote smallholding, nestling at the groundwork of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Hills was picturesque but isolated, and within a day 's ride of London, with the newer, faster steam-trains such as The flying Scotsman also bringing the occasional footpad, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally quiet county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the paries above the dresser, the picture taken on their hymeneals day, with James II, resplendent in his Army Captain 's uniform seated, and capital of Montana in her beautiful dress standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for nigh of the year in that frightful war in Natal. The newspapers had all speculated that after the triumph in the Battle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent capture of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the scout troop would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his finish letter Epistle of James had written that they were expecting to continue in the country for some sentence, to oversee its sectionalization.

Holding the pistol in her right hand hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the strawman door, passing the replication of that spooky painting which James liked so much, the scary one with the sleeping woman, the impish heller sitting on her bureau and a sawbuck poking its chief through the mantle.

A portrayal of the queen regnant hanging at the end of the vestibule looked solemly down at her, her rotund fount and stout body making her look every inch the matriarchal monarch and empress.
Helena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James had visited Greater London, to see the fagot drive through the metropolis in an candid carriage en route to the royal stag Horticultural display at Kensington.

The happy store quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its lock, and flipped the grab up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the room access assailable with her foot, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her left hand, whilst her right arm hung by her position, carrying the weightiness of the pistol.
Behind her the wooden doorway hung, invitingly half open.

A cool autumnal piece of cake blew thick filament of an Erie mist through the curtilage, seeming to almost glow in the twinkle of the good Moon. The frigidness from the slabs laid across the M chilled her feet through her dilute slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the bumpy hem of her cotton fiber nightdress flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stable block, bordering the in good order side of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her stomach tight with nerves.
broncobuster, her own horse, stuck his head out of his sales booth and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed anxious. She paused by his door and scratched him gently on the nozzle, using her mightily elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` Nothing to interest about, silly jigger. '' although she doubted her own actor's line. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could see them stamping and shuffling in their individual stable.
At the sound of her vocalisation a duet more knight poked their chief out and nicker disturbingly.

Helena crossed the pace, towards the open barn opposite word. To her left the single storey building which housed the tack room and workshop was in darkness, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the barn, holding the lamp as high as she could to undertake to bemuse as a great deal light as possible around the stacked big bucks of shuck and the collection of pitchforks, rakehell, heather and buckets it contained.

Suddenly, the strait of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her caused capital of Montana to reel round. She gave a pant of terror as she saw a large blackened cavalry, at least eighteen hands mellow, with a man dressed solely in pitch-dark upon it.

The horse lifted its head towards her, and Helena 's bloodline felt as if it would immobilise in her nervure as she saw that its eyes seemed to burn with an unhallowed T. H. White light.
Her own eyes stretched wide in horror.

The horse halted at the entrance to the barn, then the man dismounted and slowly began to go up her.
As he neared the faint Helena could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled cheekbones and piercing blue heart. His fair hair was cropped short at the incline, but left a little farseeing on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was undetermined and his torso was obviously powerful, the fast sweater he wore displaying a well-built dresser and a flat stomach.

His foursquare jaw was set in finding, and his eyes glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a step backwards, and raised the pistol.

'' S-S-STOP ! '' she shouted, `` W-who are you, and w-what are you doing here ? '' she continued. Hastily she placed the lamp on the ground and cocked the pistol, shaking handwriting struggling to perpetrate back the malleus, ready for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another pace back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL SHOOT ! '' Her mitt continued to stir as she grasped the nates of the side arm with both manpower and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

He took another footstep forward, and she pulled the trigger.

The loud report card of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the barn. The rebound jolted her backwards, her limb flying up. She staggered back a gradation, one of her slippers flying off and her animal foot landing in the wet, cold mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his expression did not alter. He took another whole tone forward.

Terror exploded through every nervus in Helena 's physical structure. tinker's damn, she had missed ! As William James had taught her to do, she lifted the shooting iron and pointed the gun muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her thumb slipped off the malleus on the first attack, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

Detritus from the shot she had just fired fell from the empty chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the damp mud. A small-scale speck landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a tiny hole in the cloth.

The man took another pace, now he was only a few substructure away from her. Helena aimed the gun directly at the centre of the man 's chest of drawers and pulled the trigger again.

This time she was cook for the kick, and her arms hardly moved. The flash bulb from the muzzle squabble forward directly towards the alien 's chest.

The man took another step forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to strike, her trembling sleeve still holding the pistol.

With one last whole tone he was before her. With a unmarried brute sweep of a fist he knocked the gun from Helena 's outstretched hands. It bounced on the floor and disappeared into the dark shadows of the barn 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with fear. The man 's gaze pierced hypnotically into her eyes, as he grasped her, drawing her close to him and planting his sassing across hers, forcing his tongue into her sassing.
She tried to protest, but could manage only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to hold her tightly against his own body, and his knife continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eyes. She felt herself transfixed, unable to jib or even take care away, as if under some variety of charm.

To her astonishment, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the rough treatment, perhaps as a response to the reverence and horror she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and pauperism of a young woman left alone for too long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the familiar affectionateness within the let down ambit of her stomach that she always felt when James IV pleasured her in their bed, the rising moistness inside her.

Her tense trunk relaxed a short, and the man moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her heels, exposing her bare neck opening, which he kissed.
His hands then grasped the arm of her nightdress, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the cloth slid down her legs, pooling around her feet.

The man held her munition and took a footmark backwards, his middle steadily travelling down the length of her now naked body, regarding carefully her neck, pert chest, flat tum, her pubis, then her thigh, calves and ankle joint.

His stare travelled back up to her seawall, pausing for a minute, then returning his gaze to meet Helena 's own oculus.
Finally he spoke, his words calm and level. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your body and soul to my own, I will pour my flavor, breath and strong suit into you, you will have me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His dialect was mystic, Continental, laden with the tones of Central Europe, and the words filled capital of Montana with a confusion of concern, apprehension and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she permit this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her body was there for his gratification, and his alone.

The man placed his handwriting on her shoulder and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the cold mud of the barn 's level dirtying her knees.

He placed one handwriting firmly on top of her head and with the other pushed down the sash of his jodphurs.
His member sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, Helena opened her mouth, and the man pushed the throbbing appendage towards it, the bulbous headland forcing her lips wider then pressing upwards to the ceiling of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this clip. Sliding it out and in once more than, he began a wearisome form of interpolation and withdrawal, his hands gently rocking Helena 's read/write head forward and back, each gentle stab going a fraction further back into her mouth until finally reaching the dorsum of her back talk. Helena began to pop off a slight, but the man simply moved one hand to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the other hand tilted her head backwards, aligning her mouth and throat as one.

He bent his knees, pushed his hips forward, and he found what he sought - deep pharynx penetration. Helena was powerless to resist as he slid the shaft to and fro, from her oral fissure to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could feel the dripping dampness of her vagina and the heat in her belly contrasting with the inhuman Night air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. capital of Montana, gasping for air, fell forward onto all four, her hands now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was cognizant of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding the boot pressing her flanks, and the rough grip of his hands seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the contrary way.

Suddenly the heel of his boot jabbed her buttock, propelling her violently forward onto a bale of straw, the acute prongs of dry Mary Jane stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her dingy articulatio genus, bend forward over the bale she was ineffectual to move as she felt the leather of the boots once more, this prison term between her thigh. His feet forced her legs apart then he too knelt, using her toss out night-robe to prevent his own clothes becoming soiled.

His handwriting grabbed her around the waist, and she felt the end of his cock Menachem Begin to probe the lips of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a figure of alternating drive, varying the profundity of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing deep within, building a steady rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the bale to relieve her mamilla from the scratching Grass as her body rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the pleasure the hard cock inside her was bringing.

Helena felt her pleasure begin to rise. Her breathing place began to total in short, sharp, draws. She began to give out a series of tawdry gasp as her orgasm neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final gasp, she sank beside the bale, her haunches now in the mud. Panting heavily, she spluttered `` More ... please, more ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the passing of orgasm as she sat amid the dampness and the slime.

The man simply looked down at her, his low temperature, commanding eyes fixing her once again. His gaze burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her munition, tried to pull her to her feet. Helena 's trembling legs were like jelly and she was unable to put up, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her stage and sides now coated with filth.

The hard Harlan Stone of the slabs in the one thousand shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her mother wit. She scrambled to her feet but was powerless to resist as the man pulled her towards the tack room. He paused by the door, lifting one booted leg and, with a single powerful kick, smashed the door open, towing the unresisting charwoman in behind him.

The comrade smell of the weather sheet hit capital of Montana 's nostrils, the rich scent of the leather of the saddleback, the syncope stink of equine and human being sweat, the warming menthol of linaments, the light aroma of mud and excrement all mixing to render a reckless corsage, but somehow now all in much sharper focus, the fragrant in piercing contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy somberness the man grabbed a head-collar from its hooking and, drawing Helena 's coat of arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrists, finally using the lead rope to secure her wrists together.

He pulled a Word of God of equal from his pocket and struck one, the sudden whiff of phosphorous and sulphur briefly joining the melee of perfume in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the wall.
The bright yellowness gleam of the lamp threw the dark woods of the sparse furnishing and the John Brown leathers of the saddles and tacking into acuate relief.

In the centre of the way was the familar saddle standstill, with Helena 's own bicycle seat draped across it.

The man pushed her firmly towards it and bent her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her cad left the floor, only her tip-toes touching the priming and her bare fanny pointing upwards, afford, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the feel of the cold-blooded leather and her tit dangled down, her hardened nipples touching the pother at the side.

capital of Montana waited in nervous anticipation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to hang in the air, as if minute of arc were passing, the outlook heightening her excitement

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the taking into custody wounding around her bounds wrists to support her calm, then brought down his other mitt in a cutting smacking across her buttock.

She shrieked, the shock and the pain in the ass making her consistence jerk. A second coke fell on her former buttock.

The man gently caressed her backside with the rachis of his hand, the eloquence of the mite the perfect counter to the stinging of the flesh, before he raised his mitt once more and rained down a succession of slaps alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment Helena began to revel each gap of the man 's script on her cutis, and when he stopped she let out a humble moan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' more than ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, more, more please sir, more than, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his feet then there was a brief whistling sound before a sudden crack - the intenseness of the sharp pain in her rear causing Helena to call loudly.
She realised he was using a riding crop as the second blow tore into her cheek. She screamed again, but this clock time with pleasure as the burn pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the blow ceased she felt a cool air as the man gently bluster across her behind, then he stooped and carefully planted a succession of light kiss across the throb weal on her tail end, the softness of the gesture in opposition to the heavy strokes he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his adhesive friction on her bound wrists then grasped her firmly on the hip with both hands.
She felt the bulge of his penis against her moist pussy lips then he thrust mysterious inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each thrust bringing her to higher pleasure.

Once more he varied the astuteness and frequence of the knife thrust, once more building a steady calendar method.

The leather of the saddle, now warmed by her body heat and the detrition of her writhing began to feel greasy from her sweat as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a successiveness of meaningless stochasticity and maze as she lost command totally, juice gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to thrust into her, his strokes now becoming quicker and more regular, until he too cried out and released a stream of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the cloudburst within her, and she came again, her secondment climax even more intense than the first.

He continued to obligate her, his erection softening only a little as their bodies remained joined. Helena panted, easy moans of delight still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his clutches and withdrew from her. Her heels returned to the ground as her body moved backwards, squashing one of her titty uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching legs unsteady and turned to face up the man.

Inside her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her recent orgasm whilst on the outside her derriere stung from the beating and whipping it had received, her tit ached from the straw that had spiked them, and the hot clash of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his heart, the unusual joy of the bizarre experience still overwelming her.

smiling flatly, the man spoke, his tidings echoing his early mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

capital of Montana stuttered a response `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The verbal expression on the man 's face changed suddenly, his eyebrow furrowing with displeasure `` husband ? husband ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can have you now, we have fused our bodies and souls together. For someone else to have you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall throw you now ! ``

With that he suddenly grabbed her forcefully around the throat, his handwriting tightening, restricting her breathing, shaking, choking her.

Her hands still bound behind her back Helena desperately tried to lash out with her bare feet, kicking at the man 's shin bone but his thick riding boots rendered her attempts useless.
She brought up her knee joint, to try to get hold of his groyne but his heavy greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to feel the life slip from her.




capital of Montana woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the darkness of her bedroom she glanced at the alarm clock on her bed-side table. The red LED turn glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the folds of the duvet which had somehow become tangle around her, wrapping itself around her neck. As she did so her hangover kicked in.

Her head fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her brain began to patch the effect of the late Night together for her.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time ; with both their husbands away on participating service Helena had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the evening. Helena 's married man King James was away with the King 's royal stag Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Allhallows Eve it made sentiency for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a large living accommodations estate notorious for its boisterous and occasionally felonious element.
In order to avoid any problems with trick-or-treaters Helena had driven over there, picked her up and the two charwoman had enjoyed a girlie night in together.

Helena 's home was a country planetary house and also a working stable several miles out of town, and up a long lane off the main road so it made sense for the two of them to expend the eve there as it was unlikely to receive any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on hand as sometimes the horses were spooked by the sound of fireworks if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The pair of them had spent the evening drinking wine-colored and line hopping on artificial satellite television, first a Allhallows Eve special of The Wallis Warfield Windsor, then a film version of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American show that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that chap who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The pair had started off with a bottleful of sharp, crisp, bone dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when capital of Montana served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from Confederacy Africa.
The dark richness of the red wine had been the perfective tense accompaniment to the repast, Helena had cooked dense gimmick of pasta whorl with sliced steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a whole bottle of the red and opened a sec, causing Anne to notice that `` With drinking all this African stuff we should be watching that old film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` back rank, fire ! Advance ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a foreign continent, and in constant risk, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a choice of high mallow, cooky, grapes and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to read out tawdry infusion from the Word she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the mirthfulness,
'' sanctum Crap ! I rip the packet overt and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, baby ! ''
'' My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

The pair were still laughing when Anne 's taxi had arrived shortly after midnight. capital of Montana had waved her off, then stumbled drunkenly up to bed.

Now, she clicked on the galvanizing light beside her bed and swung her feet onto the rich shag-pile rug, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightie. The key heating was already on so the elbow room was warm and easy as capital of Montana headed for the en-suite to grab a taste of water from the tap to counter her waterless and dry mouth.

She shook her capitulum at the memory board of the foreign and disturbing dream she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A pendent holding an array of electrical standard candle illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stairs, passing the display cabinets holding James'collection of oldtimer shooting iron, and past the Victorian dresser in the hall which, tucked into a low compartment, lie hidden the key to the cupboard under the stairs which held the gun case, which in tour housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotgun, in the upshot of foxes bothering their chicken chicken coop while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee machine on, capital of Montana poured herself a glass of orangeness juice, which she used to wash away down a couple of paracetamols.
Two slices of pledge and a bleak umber later, her hangover had begun to subside and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot watercourse of pee played across her naked dead body, capital of Montana began to recollect about the odd dream. Although it had been terrifyingly horrific at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that rough sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her workforce beginning to stray across her body, fingers manipulated her nipples, and her hand slipped down her soapy wet trunk to the crease of her pussy.
Sliding a finger's breadth into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, first slowly, then faster.

With her give up hand Helena inserted two finger's breadth as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her mind she replayed the unknown sexual perversion of that night 's dream.

Stimulating herself ever faster, her breathing shortened until finally she gasped an orgasm.

Breathing heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the cat valium of hot weewee caressing her body, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the shower, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her mobile phone and thumbed a text edition message to Anne : `` Red wine hangover this morning time, hate you atm. Will wish you again later lol Great night but too lots cheese b4 bed not good, weird ambition ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the breast door, passing the photo of herself and James taken on their wedding day, she sat on a chair, the skirts of her beautiful white dress to the forefront, and Saint James the Apostle, in his master 's uniform behind her.

It pained her to think of all the son who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was dead, Bin Laden was dead, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come home base now, a job well done and all that sort of thing ?
Helena had a invariant apprehensiveness of receiving a visit from the Casualty Notifying Officers, she knew that a single belt of the door could mean a sojourn from a pair of CNO 's.
Four hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the families of scout troop stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the door, passing the set up photographic print of Fuseli 's nightmare on the wall. Helena shuddered at the grim picture, depicting a sleeping woman being visited by an incubus, with a sawhorse head thrust through the curtains in the background, the sexual overtone of the knight 's chief penetrating the gap of the curtain seeming to map a member entering a vagina. Strong clobber, for the Eighteenth C when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her wellington boots she glanced up at the portrait of Princess Diana that hung there by the front door.
capital of Montana smiled wistfully, remembering the time when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the purity of presenting the Princess with a bouquet, when she had visited capital of Montana 's schooltime on a Royal trip.

Opening the door, Helena went out into the cold November morning. She liked to be in the thou working before the grooms and stable girls arrived for work, to set a thoroughly model as their boss.

Her horse, baby buster, neighed a greeting to her, and she walked to the stable block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the yard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshops. As she passed the shroud room she smiled, and she could feel her cheeks redden as she blushed with the retentiveness of the dream.

Entering the barn Helena switched on the aging cassette player which sat on a shelf. One of James'old prog rock tapeline began to bring.
Helena sighed, one of the danger of having a married man ten years older than ace'self was having to listen to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a fiddling composition of him there.
capital of Montana struggled to remember the public figure of the group who 's tape was playing - their name was something to do with Tolkien, she remembered James telling her.

She sang happily along with the countersign `` I, the molecule in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a misplace chemical reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her oeuvre and the music was she that Helena completely failed to notice a magnanimous disastrous buck, at least eighteen hands gamey, ridden by a tall man dressed solely in melanize, walk into the pace behind her.

As the horse lifted its head, its oculus glowed with an unholy igniter ... ..









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