(5) Dream Pictures

Exhaustion and the belated terror of almost being pulled into the hot river by those horrid writhing arms leant Anjeliqua's sleep a restless and watchful quality, drawing sounds and images from her other incarnations into her mind.

Blinding whiteness, cold, as burning as the cloying river, howlings, faint shapes emerging from the whiteness then, as quickly, submerged within it. Anjeliqua felt anxious. She must do something. Others relied on her. What was it they wanted of her? And then it was there, or rather they were there, huge forms rushing at her all at once. Caribou. Yes, now she remembered. She must jump up in front of all that thundering herd and frighten them into passing to her right where her pack was waiting to make the kill. It all came flooding back.

Fear woke Anjeliqua. It was still dark in the den, she was mewling pitifully. Mother nosed at her, satisfied that she was OK, gave a half-hearted lick and returned to sleep. Anjeliqua, caught in an inbetween time, could not keep the images from that other life from swirling into her mind.

She had been terrified and had cringed instead of lept. She shrunk down behind the rock, making herself as small as a young wolf can and letting the herd escape. And afterward, hunger and shame before the pack. Before her parents, the other yearlings. It sealed her destiny, that of a secondary wolf in the pack, not allowed to mate, subservient to the end of her days to the alphas. Always the last to eat. Anjeliqua blamed her Observer for her cowardice, and wished she were like the others.

But Pip understood. Pip, the other incarnated being. He was her litter mate - how strange to have found him. He had been on the path, as he called it, for many, many lives. Maybe this would be his last, he seemed hopeful at this - curious, Anjeliqua had thought. She had whimpered when he had had to leave, not long after her failed hunt. He was a grown wolf and had to find himself a mate. Desolation left her unable to hunt with the others - she grew weak and her coat matted. She never fully recovered, enduring long dreary years. The cycles of her seasons had played themselves out in a rocky, flat land. She had welcomed death.

The Majester had not been pleased about that. But she couldn't help it, she'd tried to explain it, to justify her actions. Oddly, the more she protested, the fainter the Majester became, until he was as insubstantial as smoke and dissipated into the air, leaving behind only the wispy smell of puzzlement. Anjeliqua did not see the Majester again until her next incarnation was over. That had been the whale.

All these disturbing thoughts - Anjeliqua was almost awake enough to wish she didn't have them. Before she could actually frame the thoughts, her Experiencer came to the rescue with a physical tiredness so overwhelming that she fell soundly asleep without understanding.