Black skinned trees swayed naked in falling light, but she was unafraid. Anatole’s howl caressed her frozen ears, carried on wind like lovers breath. He’d caught her copper rich scent. She staggered through fresh powder leaving ruby wet breadcrumbs for him..
Skin bristled. Fine hairs aggitated like arthritic hands by rising cold while night gathered in, serenaded by a distant rising cacophony of wolves.
Her cunt was hot; stringy with menstrual blood and her lover’s semen. Ana wasn’t sure which throbbed louder beneath her mutating bones: womb or wishful thinking. Gravity’s manly hands felt good on bare shoulders, offering her frozen earth to demonstrate supplication. She remained belligerently upright, shuffling on in ankle deep snow; awaiting that glimpse of the moon that would be her salvation. The thought was as comforting as the beating she’d just taken…
Darkgingerbread 