The autumn evening before The Hunt Demelsa sat just outside of the den, gazing up at the moon. Her physical abilities made her lag desperately behind the other pups, and she felt as if some instinctual knowledge were missing from her brain. She hit herself in the head with her fist, thinking ‘How stupid I am. How can I be worthy to join my family on that great night?’ And she felt as if there was someone who she had never met and always missed. Someone who was always on her mind—who she caught hints of in everything that she did.
She licked her arms to comfort herself, then went into the den to rest.
A Dream of Writing 