Pink fish moon birthed a wolf unlike the others. This wolf would nurse nothing, need nothing. She was several hands taller than him, and her coat was sweet emptiness - darker than coal and thicker than cream. Black pigmentation in wolves is a mutation that originated in dogs and later drifted into the grey wolf’s gene pool. This wolf had seen the shape of the beast and heard the dry, sterile thunder. She had turned her back on leviathan, returning to ancestral time, to cyclical time. Sweet extinction! She is Mwe, the wolf that eats the brightcancer. She is wolfmother with no pups. Her eyes were honey, cutting through the acid in the air, creeping sugar into his dry throat.
They watched each other. They were perfectly still. The moon slipped down the morning light slide and when the sun climbed over the dying glaciers, Mwe was still there. The sun and moon flickered through many months around them. Together they had stepped out of time. When Fíma’s fingers curled slightly, the toes of Mwe’s forepaws twitched. Familiar to him, even across many incarnations, this placental nightmare creature would hunt him through multiple lives. She was an acid archetype predator that belonged to the cyclical cosmology; a keystone species in the living ecosystem of kia and the id. She was Lycho, now - and she was a tomb.
Mwe opened her pink mouth and her lips curled back over her teeth and gums. When she spoke, her open mouth and tongue did not move, “Sugar lamb, belong to me.” The voice was Lycho’s too. It was sweet, warm. “I have returned for you, my treat.” Mwe stalked across the open sky to him.
“I belong to thee. Art thou hungry? My skin to thee is bread, sweet and soft.”
Mwe snuffed the sun in extinction sugar. Her shadow diffused into many channels, bleeding through past lives into this one, into future ones. Fíma felt himself falling backwards down a spiral staircase. He was going somewhere his lioness prince could not follow, could not rescue him. He lifted his arms to her with his wrists supinated: an invitation. The caramel-honey of his stare saw through the raw, illusory substance of perception, dripping with thick, sugary revelation and good medicine colors. Wrapped in early morning and annointed in poppy, the lamb of god was junkie faith wizard. He knew there was a line that divided the blue light from the yellow and on this line was where he dwelled; on the wire. He was the space between predator and prey.
Mwe knew; she bared her almighty teeth in loving acceptance. She sank her weight further back on her hocks, rocked on her paws as as she lowered herself, and lunged forward. With a crack the dripping mouth snapped shut over his hips. His blood the host poured hot rivers down the throat of the creature beloved. Mwe lifted him into the air and stretched her neck, throwing and shaking her head horizontally to snap apart the skeleton. She swallowed in a few bites.
His body crushed and opened, he entered into many strange days. The darkness multiplied and fruit of its emptiness spun colors from their sugar. He was weightless and free, part of the nothingness, and suspended in the technicolor jelly of a psychic rainstorm. Rainbow clouds and hallucinatory miasma clothed the ozone plane, encircled it in a sphere like a cloudy marble in space. In psychic seizure, his awareness was wild, untethered from the senses. Thunder rolled across the surface of extinction. This thunder was not dry, nor sterile. It was wet with microbial colonies, and he was the lightning, spasming through the ionized air.
Scout 
Scout