The wind cast a handful of snow into the air, where the sun caught each separate flake and made them shimmer like silver against a sky so bright it hurt to look at.  The blue dome circled around the horizon and up to eternity.  It was a heartbreaking beauty after so long underground.  Such wondrous freedom and emptiness were forgotten under dull gray ceilings of concrete and steel.

Amy stared at it gaping until her jaw grew sore.  It was only when she looked down that she noticed her bare feet sunken into the frozen crystals covering the ground.  She wiggled her toes and gripped the snow with them.  It should have been painfully cold but there was only a pleasant coolness against her skin.

I'm dreaming.  The thought was an assertion against the impossibility of the world around her.

To prove it to herself, Amy walked to a nearby birch tree and ran her hand along the trunk, expecting to find a plastic texture of a semi-formed prop.  The tree was smooth and papery.  Her fingers reached a knot.  She felt the rough texture of each whorl. 

Could I dream that?  Can a dream feel this real?  But how did I get here?

She was standing on top of a small hill.  A forest stretched out in front of her.  Down in the surrounding valley, the trees grew thicker, and deep in the wood, a living darkness seemed to emanate.

She didn't want to go down there.  She wanted to stay with the unending sky and bask in its brilliance.

The sun was directly above her.  She shielded her eyes against the light.  The sun was blinding but there was a shadow falling over it.  A tiny crescent of black was infecting its outer edge.  A thrumming like electricity coursed through the very air.

"Come to the woods," the wind whispered.  "Come."

A shiver ran through her and fear twisted in her belly.  But the draw of the forest was too strong and her legs began to tread down the slope.  At first, they moved stiffly with unwilling jerks, but soon she developed a smooth easy gait.  The snow squished beneath her feet leaving small evenly spaced footprints.

When the path grew steep, Amy never stumbled.  Her legs seemed to be made to walk this terrain.  The forest became thick around her and she felt the gloom of the canopy shroud her from her sky.  The bare trees stood like gaunt, sinister men draped in black. Dark grooms at an altar of a decrepit wedding.  Their brides were the fir trees.  Plump in their ragged lace dresses of needles and spider webs, they waited silently.

Amy stepped over a fallen tree trunk and crossed a stream.  Water struggled like thick ink, fighting the cold that was trying to stop it dead.

"Come to me, my dear one."  It had become more of a voice than a whisper on the breeze.

Her feet kept moving.

At the top of a ridge, a deer spotted her and froze in place.  The air was filled with the scent of the creature.  It was a mature female.  It had given birth this year—and it was terrified.

Amy's muscles tensed but she didn't look toward it.  No need to spook it.  Anticipation sent the taste of blood flooding into her mouth.

"No," she said aloud.  The sudden repulsion took her by surprise and confused her.  Before she could second guess herself, the doe was gone, dashing to increase the space between them.  The horror she felt with herself did little to counter the disappointment at the loss of her prey.

She could still catch it if she hurried.  In these woods, nothing could outrun her. 

She forced her thoughts away from the meat and charged deeper into the forest.  The trees blurred past lost from concern.  They were mere watchers, their dreary existence was nothing compared to muscle and sinew.

Now that she was running, she felt the exhilaration of movement.  When was the last time she ran?  She had been caged up so long.  The sky wasn't freedom—running was.  Her body was built for it.  The thin white nightgown she wore bunched at her thighs and billowed behind her.

I'm free.  I'm free.  The thought was warm happiness but turned to cold dread as her feet stopped. 

She stood on the edge of a tight knot of trees hemming in a circle of snow.  There was a familiarity to the clearing that Amy couldn't place.

Amy cautiously paced along the perimeter.  The thrumming noise was stronger here.  The shadow had spread halfway across the sun and was eating up the light.

"You came."  The woman's voice filled the glade.  There was no surprise to the words—no hint that it had been a question.  Of course, she would come.  What else could she do?

"Where are you?"  Amy searched the trees trying to penetrate their shield of murk.  She attempted to uncover the woman's hiding spot and was petrified she would succeed.

"Here."

Amy's head snapped forward.  On the exact opposite side of the circle, she stood. 

The woman was tall and thin—too tall and impossibly thin.  There was a skeletal quality to the form that was draped in the shimmering white dress.  The wind played with the fringes of her long hair.  It was blonde, almost white and slick as ice.  The brightness of the dress and her hair stood out against the dark trees like a ray of light.  Her spine was in motion as though she were completing the task of uncoiling herself.

"Don't be afraid, child."  The first syllable of child sounded like teeth on bone.  "It's almost time."

"Time for what?" Amy asked warily as she positioned her feet, preparing herself for flight or attack.  The lack of smell from the woman sent a sharp signal of alarm through every fiber of her body.  Their eyes met and two pale blue opals burned into her.

The woman raised a long, sharp finger at the sky.  The shadow was almost complete—the sun was nearly fully corrupted.

"Time to lay our conflicts down and come together."

The darkness moved into the center and all that could be seen of the sun was a flaming ring licking at the blackness in its heart.

A burning touched Amy's feet and she jumped as a mirror of the fire began to circle the shadowed glade. The snow took on a violet hew, lit only by the fire above and the fire below.

The woman moved towards the center.  Her stride was strong and elegant despite her spindly legs.  At the eye of the circle, she stopped and spread her arms open.  They unfolded themselves and spread out like two crooked branches.

"Come."  She spoke in a forceful volume to compete with the deafening thrum of the sky.  "The moment of power will not last long."

Amy wanted to flee but she also wanted to laugh and to sing.  The flames had risen trapping her in.  The tendrils of light and heat spun around her like a hypnotizing wheel.  The winter air was lost to warmth and her head felt like it could float away from her body, carried away on a current of smoke.

Amy could still escape—dash through the ring.  Run to some safe hollow in the gloomy woods and lick her burns.  Sleep and heal.  Hunt the deer and the rabbits.  Linger in the shadows and solitude.

The woman stood alone with empty arms waiting.

They had both been alone too long.  It was time.

Amy ran and let herself be swept up in an embrace.

***

There was nothing more to do.  R.J. switched off his PC and closed up his office.  Most of the nightshift had already gone home.  The morning crew was already following their routine.  LARS was being washed.  Her small unconscious human form was being gently bathed.  Once she was dried,  Gracie would examine her for injuries and signs of disorders. 

The enclosure was being hosed down.  The filth from the night's adventure was being scrubbed away and running down the central drain.  Afterward, a technician would examine the room and identify things that would have to be repaired before the next full moon.

Paulson was padding down the hall on his way to the OC with a giant thermal mug of coffee.  R.J. gave him a curt nod as he headed for the elevator.

The bitter disappointment in his body was like a thick bile that filled every pore.  It seemed that life only had disappointments in store for him.

The eclipse had hit right on time.  A camera feed from Aira's roof gave a perfect view of the event.  It started with the umbral shadow of the Earth clipping the left side of the moon.

The lycanthrope paced the enclosure.  She was eyeing him.  Her head always turned to the smoked glass.  Her pupils constantly directed to where he stood, even though there was no way she could see him.  She mysteriously stared into his eyes, which never left hers.

The moment the black semicircle edged over a quarter of the moon's pale surface, she stopped.  She turned away from him for the first time, looking down and from side to side.  There was faint distress in the creature, noticeable only to the keenest of observers.

R.J. felt a quiver run through him from the pit of his stomach straight up his spine.  She sensed it.  Somehow, through all those tons of rock, she knew the eclipse was happening.  It was more proof that the connection between animals and the moon was based on the unseen forces of gravity.  And the connection was strong.

He licked his lips waiting for some miracle to take place.  The seconds were pregnant with anticipation.

Then the creature lay down and went to sleep. And that was it.  It napped until the shadow passed, leaving the moon full again.

She stirred after that but there was something off with her.  She calmly stood and stretched,  then sat in the far corner and waited for the dawn to steal her away for another month.  She'd lost interest in escape and in the activity in the Observation Center—and with R.J.

R.J. had known that a dramatic reaction was unlikely, but still, he was overpoweringly struck by the anti-climax of the event.  Nothing had happened.  No major scientific or mystical occurrence had taken place.  The big celestial phenomenon had made it drowsy.  It was barely worthy of a footnote in the final study.

Maxwell had vetoed his orders to send someone in to exam it while it slept.

"Only if we gas that thing," he said.

"This is a chance to get close to it without anesthetic.  If we gas it, it will make the examination pointless.  Just look at the sensors."  R.J. yelled pointing at the monitors.  "It's unconscious."

"Sure it is.  Until it wakes up.  We're not sending Ms. Kendrick in there unless we control when that happens.  Otherwise, the risk is too great."

R.J. relented.  He knew he was being desperate and grasping at straws—hoping to salvage something from this latest failure.

The parking lot was packed with the day workers' cars.  The new morning was touched by the rays of a fresh clear sun but he could find no hope in it.  He started the engine and pulled away heading for home.  The emptiness of his rooms waited there like a void ready to suck him down.

Perhaps I should get some breakfast first.

***

Author's Note:

Well, we've finally reached the end of chapter 7.  It seems to have taken a long time to get here.  It was a long chapter and I didn't have the time to do any real double postings to speed it along.

So what did you think? Did you find it as anti-climatic as R.J. did? Of course, he could only see what was happening on the surface the real meat was what was happening in the dream realm with Amy(a scene I've been dying to write for months).

Next week chapter 8 starts up.  It's a shorter one and hopefully, I can get it out to you a lot quicker than this one.  Although the holidays may interfere with that plan.

One last note; if you're on Pintrest check out the TTWB Board.  I've been adding a lot of notes to it (you might just find a teaser or two hidden in the items) and it is looking wildly bizarre.  It's such a strange collage that I'm finding it very inspirational. http://www.pinterest.com/davidjthirteen/the-things-we-bury/