Panic. I move to the window and open it, sticking my head out briefly. The air has a slight breeze to it, but the warmth of the sun evens it out quite...nicely. I look down, however, to see that the track is stretching across a great gap between two pillars of rock. I move my head back in just as another blast of smoke and whistle come rushing past the window. I close it, and turn on my feet with a slightly breathier pace. Several thoughts are rushing past each other in my head, and I struggle to. Bonds form even if they do not understand. Tentacles entwine in intricate patterns they do not yet see. Lust reigns–it must–but it becomes a pathway along which they rush without looking, the pathway friends and lovers alike take, and, occasionally, a path those destined to love might take. Friends exist mostly in sober dawn. The brightness of day brings light too revealing. Touches then must come casually, embraces merely greeting, fingers brushing in accident, postures wishing to entwine held. More

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