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From: mara@slumber.org
Newsgroups: alt.devilbunnies
Subject: [Story] Mara Dreams
Followup-To: alt.devilbunnies
Date: 22 Mar 1995 12:24:50 -0700
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Part 1
------

      Mara opens her eyes to the Desert.

      She dimly remembers the dreams she had as a human.  They were
shiny, delicate things; castles and magic forests and enchanted cities,
forgotten the moment she awoke.  Now she just has this single dream--one she
cannot forget.  She sleeps the hours away in its embrace; in the time she
spends in the real world, flashes of the Desert appear at the edges of her
vision.

       As always, she finds herself on a bed.  It looks like a picture she
cut out of a magazine.  The frame is all wrought iron, twisted into the
most fantastical shapes.  Covering the mattress is a soft, quilted
coverlet.  Clowns and jugglers, dyed into the fabric, dance about with
cheerful smiles.  Pillows scattered about invite her to doze away for
eternity.

       She cannot.  The Desert beckons.  Surrounding the bed, an ocean of
fine silver sand runs to the horizon.  The dunes appear soft, as if
leaping into them would be like diving into a pile of autumn leaves.  But
that is a lie--under her hindpaws, the sand is hard-packed and heavy.  Her
sharp claws scarely mar its surface when she hops about.  If they do, a
gingery scent drifts up from the furrows.  That always makes her groggy,
so she treads lightly while traveling.

       Mara decides to follow a line.  The Desert is shot through with
these threads of ebony sand.  Her bed stands atop a spot where lots of
lines are snarled together; the pattern looks like the tangles in
Clarence's fishing gear.  Running outward in all directions, the lines
become ready paths to explore the featureless Desert.  No matter how far
she wanders, Mara always can follow a line back home.

       The line she has chosen goes in a direction she hasn't explored.
Some lines twist and turn, while others intersect with yet more lines.
This one arrows straight and true into the distance, without crossing its
fellows.  She lopes along it for what feels like days.  Occasionally, she
passes objects buried in the sand.  They appear every so often; those
small enough to carry she piles under her bed.  She has a whole collection
of marbles she stuffed in a pillowcase.  Other brickabrack looks like
pick-up-sticks, stone blocks, toy animals.  There's even a weird watch,
floppy as a dead fish.  Keeps good time, though.

       This one's pretty boring, she thinks.  I've been on it for--well, I
don't know how long.  But a lot.  And I'm so far away, I might have to
go to bed in the middle of the Desert.  Somehow, she knows this is
dangerous.  There might be shamblers about.  She hasn't actually seen
one--the sole clue to their existence is the footprints that sometimes run
parallel to the lines.  These prints are big...and deep...and clawed.
Best to avoid their makers.

       Mara's perseverance pays off when she finds the knot.  The line
debouches into a hollow formed by two dunes.  Dozens--hundreds of lines
curl about in this space.  The pattern is far more intricate than the one
under her bed.  She sees scores of almost-pictures in the sand.  Faces.
Animals.  Buildings.  Things she cannot name, and things which shouldn't
be named at all.

       Trembling, she digs into the heavy sand.  The gingery smell hangs
about her, pulling down at her eyelids.  Another odor, faint yet
detectible, staves off exhaustion; it is a strangely familiar bitterness
which gets stronger with each inch she burrows down--

       With a *pop*, Mara disappears from the Desert.  Silver sand fills
in the hole, erasing all trace of her existence.

*******

       The blade slashes her flank.  Mara gasps despite the fact the wound
immediately disappears.  Her skin smarts from the dozens of cuts she
suffered crawling through this field of swords.  Nasty things--they dart
out the minute you wriggle by.  She shivers at the prospect of returning here
each time she dreams.

        Just over the rise of a knoll, she comes to the end of the forest
of steel.  A high hedge blocks her way; the leaves exude the bitter smell
that drew her here.  The bushes grow in an unbroken circle; as she
walks around this obstacle, Mara can find no way to break through.
Settling down on her haunches, she ponders how to get inside.

         A clash of metal makes her whirl about.  Mara stares at the
armor-clad figure looming over her.  It carries a sword, kin to the ones
growing out of the dirt.

          The Huntsman raises his weapon for a killing blow.

TBC