better an oops than a what if

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He hadn't recalled sleeping. Frankly, since he'd uncovered the silvered woman within the water, he had not recalled much of anything. The sight of her, petrified and sopping wet, was an image he didn't think he would forget. Didn't think he could.

But even as he slept, even as dreams danced languidly across his vision, it was not a look of terror that he saw. It was entirely the opposite, a view spun with sparkling silk as it glimmered beneath a sauntering sun.

And saunter it did, as it swept in time with the goad of dusk, trickling from flourishing yellows and soft oranges to deep blues and gentle violets. And as day fled amidst his overwhelming subconscious, Santiago remained—ever still as the grass tickled his toes, watching. Waiting.

A whisper of a dream on the horizon. What could've been, what would be, what shouldn't. A dream deeper than the sleep that captivated him, construing thoughts and feelings otherwise buried within when he was awake. Conjuring a woman, a wolf—an animal—was one of the stranger things he'd dreamt.

Nevertheless, they were there, sprawled upon the plush grass, content and whole. And he ruined it, casting a shadow over her head as he moved to stand above her.

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She was the epitome of autumn with green eyes to match, an inkling of spring to her fire. Did he know her when he possessed fingers and toes, or was this simply another stranger thrust upon him? Her voice echoed but it was unfamiliar. “And have you risk a burn? How callous can you expect me to be?” The logic of his statement fell short but his care was absent, squashed beneath curiosity and intrigue for an unfamiliar person.

It was when he'd begun to move that everything shifted. The air turned to a warm balm and the wind sifted her scent closer until he was wrapped in the embrace of flowers and something else sweet. She was touching him, pushing beyond a boundary he had not established and touching him. And yet, instead of pulling away, he bent into the notion, chin dipping so his mouth pressed into her paw. A kiss to her palm.

“You are a brave soul.” He'd murmur, mirth twinkling in a green-lit gaze. “I could harm you.” Because in a dream, anything could happen, anything was warranted. There would be no repercussions, no damnation for anything he decided to do. He was liberated. To hell with everything else. “Do you often touch strangers?”

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