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Millie whimpered in her sleep and pressed against the
safe, warm bulk of her man. She groaned through the depths of a nightmare, in a
foretelling that was the gift of a long-dead Choctaw ancestor.
Ron smiled and gave her rump a pat meant to comfort.
Out on Highway 168 the Uohali-Red Sun boomed, the high whine of gathering speed
came through an open window. A tear slid from Ron's eye, glistened momentarily
on one high cheekbone.
He patted Millie's still firm rump, this time for his
own comfort, and swallowed the rest of the tears.
"I'm gonna miss that little shit."
In the darkened shadows of trees, along a silvered
ribbon of highway it drifted, its wings death-silent.
The owl blinked once and watched the motorcycle as it
rushed north.
It missed again. The prey should be dead, would have
been, had the Schertzer-slaves done as bidden. The corpse should be on the
Witch's Stone, enslaved, and so too the holy woman, Anna. Somewhere, suredly
somehow, between here and safety, lay the means of Benny's death?
Buu hissed, launching itself through the trees.
The night was cool and damp, smelling of spring and of
life . . . .
WARNING, GREYLOV STILL AT LARGE
TO BE CONSIDERED AS ARMED AND DANGEROUS
MUST BE APPREHENDED ALIVE AT ALL COSTS
BY ORDER OF EXECUTIVE IN CHARGE:
CINDY VANTUR-MCALLEN
Cindy turned from her console and uttered a long,
protracted howl of primeval frustration.
Ever the polite spirit, Raven hid his head before he
snickered.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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