New moon leaves the middle night dark. Soft grass and bramble take turns against my ankles. Useless in the woods, my eyes adjust in starlit meadow where the fox waits, panting, and I imagine the low light comes from him. I lower myself, crawl on my belly, slow and steady lest he flee or become unreal.
His breath tickles my ear like a sigh, and warmth pools in my nethers. He stretches out beside me, ginger hair framing a sharp, pale face. He pulls me to him, knowing I have come to surrender.
I am so tired of being human.
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