Every man in the camp dreamed of her that night, and she belonged to every one of them.
In every tent, the men twitched and moaned in their blankets or piled fur, their faces contorted in hunger and longing, their hands buried under sleeping bags and tucked behind the shade of knees. In the dream no, in her space she received each one of them.
Ash was the first to fall asleep, and the first to fall into dream. He found himself at the edge of a vast, silver desert. The dunes shimmered under starlight, and there she waited Felicity, her fox-tail swishing nervously behind her, eyes downcast yet hopeful.
"Ash," she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the sand. She bit her lip, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she extended one trembling hand toward him. "Please..."
He ran. The world narrowed to her shy, beckoning gesture.
