Chapter 1:- Good Morning Darkness
“Hey there pretty lady,” he said. “Mornin, babe,” she said back. He was leaning against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal. There was a small table and perfectly serviceable chairs available. Leaning against the counter and eating was a habit so deeply ingrained she had long ago given up on changing it. “How’s it look out there?” he asked, between mouthfuls. “Nice breeze, it’ll be a nice day.” He drank the milk in his bowl and set it in the sink. Hands over his head, he stretched straight up then to the right. His back made small popping sounds.
He was a large man, sturdily built. Tall and thick, immovable. The contrast to her was almost comical. Lithe and graceful, she was waiflike compared to his hulking frame. He walked over to where she stood by the door and ran a hand through her hair, shiny black, smooth and cut simply around her neck. She took his hand and brought it to her mouth for a light kiss. His own hair was short, thick, blonde and coarse. Once he had grown his hair long but that had been in another life. His hair had remained short and business-like for more years than he cared to remember.
He took his hand back and stretched again. “I’m gunna take a shower. Join me?” he said. She turned from the view and looked at him. “No, I’m going to eat then write.” “Your loss” he said, and walked up stairs. The house they shared was a modest two story. It was simply but warmly furnished. The house had been in his family for at least three generations, the land even longer than that. When his grand-father had passed recently the house and land had come to him and he was eager to finally see the place.
“It’s so gorgeous up here!” she exclaimed. “You’re gorgeous,” he replied. “No, you’re gorgeous,” she mocked back. They had been driving through country roads and dark expanses of forests for hours. They rounded a slight bend and had emerged onto an open rise. The house sat in the middle of clearing on the small hill. She got out of the car and did a slow spin taking in the view all around them. He whistled appreciatively, although at her pirouette or the view, she neither knew nor cared. The forests were of a lush and seductively dark green. The house was quaint and well maintained. She was in love and because he loved her, so was he.
Towel wrapped loosely around his waist, he made his way downstairs and looked out at her. She sat on an aged greyed, wooden Adirondack. Perfectly relaxed, notebook in her lap, she was still, statuesque. He ran his eyes over her. Long firm legs, small grey boyshorts, and an oversized dark green hoodie that belonged to him, her thin graceful fingers loosely held the notebook. He loved her collar bones and neck, they were elegant somehow. He stood watching her as she sat watching, well nothing. The scene appealed to him. If it was a painting or picture he’d maybe call it “The Regard” or maybe plural. Corny name he thought to himself, continuing his own regard. She was so still. So peaceful, it was almost frightening. Sometimes she did scare him he thought. He was terrified of losing her.
He was an insecure man. Attractive, successful, and intelligent, he had never gotten past the image problems of his teenage years. Not quite obese, but far from fit, he’d had few friends and no romantic prospects. He had been sure his life would be spent in service to his Country and Corps, alone. She had changed that. She saw something in him he was unable to. She loved him for it and he loved her for seeing.

She stood in the night. Clouds had rolled in, blotting out the moon and leaving a perfect void. She stood stock still, yet relaxed, starring out to the West. A shaft of weak fire, as wide as forever and thin as a razor broke the horizon. It reflected back from her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted and glistened in the light of the breaking sun. She spoke, almost inaudibly, toward the rising sun. “Good-morning, Darkness”

“What do you see out there?” he asked. She glanced over her shoulder, slowly, distractedly, “Something primal. Maybe something to write about.” He walked out and stood by her side. He took her hand, staring out into the dawn with her. “What’s there to write about?” he asked. The dawn was undeniably clear but he didn’t see a story, or anything primal. The sun had come up farther and sat behind the cloud bank casting a grey, diffuse glow. “I’m not sure. I can’t put my finger on it.” She replied. “There’s just something about the way the sun comes up over that forest. There’s some interesting shadows, I guess.”
He continued studying the forest. He saw many types of shadows, mostly trees, a phallus or two thrown in for comic relief, he thought. The forest itself could be primal. It was very old. It was very still. The animals around here must be late risers; the birds were just now tooling up and breaking into morning song. He turned to go back to the house. “Want some breakfast?” “…A walk” she said. He stopped and turned back. “You want a walk for breakfast?” He was teasing but she didn’t rise to the bait. She didn’t even notice it. “No, I want to go for a walk, after we eat. I want to find a nice spot in the woods and write something.” He stood for a moment, weight on his right leg, left leg forward, thinking. “Sure thing babe.” He said, “I’ll pack a lunch. We can do a picnic or something.” She nodded and walked back to the house.

He had been getting worried about her over the last few days, watching her greet the dawn in her peculiar way. Before noon she was herself again, witty, charming, and flirtatious. They talked as they walked. The paths were mostly wide and clear. It was an old forest and had none of the new growth to tangle things up. He wore a beat up old backpack he’d bought during his time in the Carolinas; it was full of their lunch. She carried her notebook and pen.
Just after noon she stopped him. They had come to a small, roughly circular clearing. The trees arched their branches out over head, intertwining. The shadows were luxuriously thick. The air was still. He felt peace and also deep unease; so far down he wasn’t conscious of it. In the middle of the clearing were three large stones back to back. They were of a dark, weathered, old rock. Where the three came together a crude wedge of blackness sat nestled in the space. He eyed it warily. It was just about large enough he could have stood in it with his hands by his sides.
She took him by the hand and led him closer to the stones. “This is it!” she said. “This is the place.” She looked around, doing a fast spin, arms out, notebook still in hand. He looked around, taking in the scene. It was peaceful, quiet, serene. He didn’t trust it. “What is it and why is it the place?” He asked her. She smiled, her teeth were the brightest thing in the clearing. She ran lightly over to him and grasped his hand, pulling him around in a stones. “I’ve had a wicked block. Can’t do more than scribble most days.” She said. “This is where I’m going to work. I can feel it.”
She did work, sitting around the stones. Working quickly through the pages of her notebook. He checked on her every couple of hours to see if she needed anything. She was engrossed in her work, lost in the world inside her notebook. Several days went by. Waking early to watch the sunrise, a fast breakfast, then writing. He had never seen her so focused before. She wrote with a speed and intensity he didn't know she had. He was pleased to see her so obviousy happy. This was tempered with a subtle hint of loneliness.

The moon was setting. The sun not yet on the rise. She stood in darkness. She stood on darkness, i the clearing, between the three stones, on the wedge of shadow. She watched the night slowly give way to day. The forest was too thick to see the sun, she felt it's coming. "Good-Morning, Darkness." With sun rise, night fled, and so did she.

He woke alone. This wasn't unusual. Ever since coming to this place he had been waking alone. Something about the sun rise over this piece of creationg had gotten in her blood. He pulled on a pair of well worn pajamas, the fabric was thin, from wear and washing. He walked through shafts of morning sunlight on his way to the kitchen. Taking his usual lean against the counter, he poured a bowl of cereal. He had expected her to come back inside for breakfast while he ate but she wasn't obliging this morning. "Fuck it," he thought.
He grew hungry around what could have been noon. He hummed to himself, a line or two actually forming words. Back in the kitchen he decided to bring her lunch, she didn't seem inclined to feed herself. Four slices of bread in a bag. Extra peanut butter for him, extra jelly for her, their quirks made for a fine sandwich. Potato chips and yogurt finished the meal and followed the sandwich stuff into the bag.
"Momma momma can't you see?" he sang as he walked, "What this forest's done to me?" He kept a measured pace along the path. "Left me home all alone," He continued, "While my baby's at the stone." Not grammy worthy, but not bad for on the fly he thought to himself. His pace stayed steady, but he felt lighter and happier as he got closer to the clearing. He was excited to see her face when she saw he'd made lunch. He loved when she called him a cornball or teased him about being a big softy.
He no longer felt light or happy. She wasn't here. The clearing was empty. That wasn't quite true. The stones still stood, and her notebook lay beside one of them. The most important part, her, was still missing. He walked around the clearing, slowly. When he'd reached the path he came in on, she still hadn't appeared. He called her name a few times, but the sound seemed to hang in the air and fall lifelessly to the ground. His phone had no service here but he tried it anyway, with predictable results.
He sat in an Adirondack chair with her notebook on his lap and a bottle in he hand. He stared off to the forest. He opened the notebook to the last page again, probably for the nineteenth time at least. The inside of the back cover had a small note on it. The rest of the book was filled, cover to cover, front to back. "Good-Morning, Darkness." It said, "Good-bye, light. Good-bye, love."
By the time he'd opened the notebook and read the note for a thirtieth time, his bottle was empty. Also, she still wasn't there.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the window to where she used to stand and watch the sun rise. It was three thirty-six in the morning. Oh-dark-thirty he used to call the no time before dawn. He had no lights on. The time on the oven was the only illumination. A pathetic green electric glow. It was surrounded by dark, and seemed to know it. He couldn't see his reflection in the window. He didn't have too. He hadn't shaved. He hadn't showered. He knew he was a mess.
He opened his eyes. Oh-Dark-Thirty had given way to pre-dawn. He shook his head, snap left, snap right. Outside the sun was almost coming up, the world was painted in shades of ash and pink. She stood outside watching the dawn.

He stood. The chair clattered to the tile of the kitchen floor. He walked, almost reeling. He gripped the counter by the sink to steady himself. She still stood outside, barely visible, a silouette.
The door slammed open, shuddering in its frame like a whipped animal. He sprinted out to where she stood. Questions flooded his mind but they were secondary to one overwhelming, urgent, mind shattering imperative. Hold her. He closed rapidly to where she was standing. Something was wrong. It was her silouette, he'd recognized it immediately. But it had no depth. He slowed, the run dropped to a jog, to a shuffle, to a stagger.
"Good-morning, darkness." The not-her said, and was gone. It didn't so much disappear as collapse and disapate like heavy smoke. His knees took their cue from his mind, and unhinged.

The sun was bright. It woke him. He guessed it was around two in the afternoon. He didn't quite give a shit though. Other concerns had priority in his mind. He took stock of what he knew. She was gone. Something had been here that looked like her. That something was gone. He knew he had to do something. After weighing his options he returned to the house. He was reaching for a bottle of beer when he decided something else might be in order. He poured himself a glass of bourbon. The whiskey was too good to be gulped. He gulped it anyway. Then poured himself another, this time on the rocks.
Sitting back in the Adirondack with the glass in his left hand and notebook in his right, he felt more relaxed. He didn't feel in control, but he'd take relaxed. Hell, he'd take anything at this point. He opened the notebook to the first page and began to read.i


The day came as he read. It came and went. Night took it's accustomed place. He was chilled. The ice in his long deceased drink had nothing to do with it. Her writing, it was clear, it was poetic, it was terrifying. She spoke of the qualities of darkness. She spoke of the way it lived and breathed here. She spoke of its home. He knew where it was. She had brought him too it.
The more he read, the more frustrated he became. The more afraid for her, and of her. He went back into the kitchen for more bourbon. He drank the glass before the ice could even get to know the dark liquid. He poured another. It could have been the affects of the morning, it could have been the lack of sleep, it could have been the alcohol, it was probably all three. It was definitely luck.
He tripped. His drink spilled. His glass broke. He was pissed. His emotions were swirling, out of whack. Then it was on him. Rage. He wasn't an angry person. But this was sudden, brutal, undeniable. "FUCK! fuck this fucking glass. fuck the deck fuck the forest fuck the sunrise. Bullshit!" he said as he stomped around outside the house. He saw a very large, very old, and very cheerful looking mercury thermometer. "And fuck you!" his rage focused on the overly cheery thermometer. He lashed out with a quick right hand jab. His aim was good. His punch was strong. The thermometer was felled. He didn't win cleanly. Shards of glass stuck in his knuckles. Mercury clung to his hand and the glass like dew. He knew it was poison.
It was lovely though. He held his hand up to his eyes. The shards of glass, the clinging liquid metal, the reflected the moonlight. He was fascinated. The mercury seemed to be giving off a shimmering glow, liquid light from liquid metal. He pulled one of the shards free. The mercury that had been clinging to it dropped into the cut. It quickly disappeared. He pulled as many shards free as he could trying to keep the mercury away from them. The idea of washing his hand first didn't occur to him.
He eventually got all the shards out of his hand. The mercury was gone, he was concerned about how much actually got into his blood. He ran his injured hand under the faucet, starring at the water running over it.

Silver. That was what he saw. Liquid silver. It shimmered, it flowed. It was beautiful and terrifying. "It's like opening my eyes underwater." he thought. The silver was her, the shimmer was coming off of her in slow rolling waves of watery light. He stared transfixed at her. She stared transfixed at the sunrise. "What. The. Fuck" he asked. She didn't move, the ripples of light rolling out from her intensified briefly. The sun broke the horizon. It broke the moment. She broke the silence. "Good-Morning, Darkness" she spoke. Then she was gone. He knew where.
He followed the path to the clearing with the stones. It wasn't hard to follow. It was hard to focus. He had thought the situation couldn't get any weirder. He had obviously been mistaken. He looked at the scabs on his hand. He had to have mercury poisoning. "The light around her," he thought, "maybe it's from the mercury, maybe it's the poisoning. What the hell are the symptoms of mercury poisoning?" He doubted disappearing girlfriends and shadow-people were standard with mercury. "Besides," he thought, "She disappeared before I got mercury poisoning."
The clearing hadn't changed. He was relieved and disappointed. He was sure he'd see something out of place. The stones hadn't moved. The trees weren't more sinister. The grass wasn't trying to grab him. Same clearing, same shadows, and the same missing girlfriend. He walked around the clearing trying to look at everything again. Trying to find some clue he had missed. Nothing. He walked to the stones. They steadfastly refused to change. They also resisted his questions with remarkable aplomb. They didn't even respond to him.
He gave up. The stones had defeated his best interrogation. He climbed up on top of one of the stones. If they didn't want to cooperate he'd just leave his mark. He unzipped his fly. He stopped, cock in hand. Something was different. The wedge of darkness between the three stones. It was solid. It was outlined in silver. He packed up his equipment, zipped his fly and dropped to his knees to look more closely.
He reached out to touch the dark. It wasn't solid. It wasn't just a shadow either. His hand disappeared into it. It was cold. It was black. He pulled his hand back. Still on his knees on one stone, he braced himself with one hand on the other two. He took a breath to steel himself. He plunged his head into the dark like he was bobbing for apples. Or in this case, girlfriends.
Back at the house he poured himself another bourbon. Then he poured a glass of water. He had three glass containers on the front of the counter now. He sat back and stared at them trying to decide the order he'd drink them. He thought about eenie meenie. He decided to just go from left to right. He picked up the thermometer. He drank the mercury. He drank the whiskey. He drank the water. He saw the light.

He stood on top of the stone again. This time the silver-light was brighter. He stepped forward. He should have fallen into the hole between the stones. He didn't. He stood on darkness. He slid silently into it.

"Hello," said a voice. It was even and pleasent. He looked around. "Uh, hello," he said back. The world was swimming into a semblance of focus. Swimming was appropriate he thought. It was like seeing the world under water, under silvery water. Sitting to his left was a dog... kind of. It looked like a dog, kind of. No dog he had ever seen looked quite like this one though. It was large, perhaps chest high to him. It had no fur. Instead, silver strands like wisps of ink in a pool of water continually poured out of him. It was disconcerting. "You aren't from here," the dog-thing said. It stood up and walked towards him sniffing and snuffling. "Nope, you don't belong." He wanted to take a step back. He stood there and stared at the dog. "I'm not leaving, though." he told the dog-thing, "I have to find someone."
The dog sat back down in front of him. "It's always that way," it said. "People get lost here alot. It's dark here. I'm surprised you can see." Its face did have a look of doggy surprise. He was still weirded out by its "fur". He looked around. They were in a forest. He shouldn't have been surprised. "I drank a thermometer." he told the dog. It snorted. The sound could have been laughter or surprise. "That would do it. They're poison though. Hope it was worth it." He looked at the dog. "Who are you and why were you just sitting here?" he asked it.
"Walk with me." the dog said, "I'll take you away from this entrance. Too much traffic." The dog started walking out of the clearing, along a path. He followed. He couldn't shake the feeling he was underwater. Everything gave off that silver fluorescence. There was no real light. The trees swayed in the breeze, the light they gave off flowed in that breeze. Everything had tendrils waving off of it. The dog included. The dog's "fur" swayed with its stride and with the breeze. The dog seemed to be constantly dissolving into the liquid dark.
"Anyway, to answer your question. I'm the dark." the dog said. He was walking beside the dog. He turned his head to look at it more fully. "I'm not all the dark, I'm nothing that grandiose. I'm just a part of it. Just to clarify." it said. He nodded as if that clarified anything. The continued following the path. "Like I was saying earlier, people get lost in the dark all the time. It's easy. Sometimes they make it out. Not usually, though. This isn't a place for regular folks." The dog swung it's head up to look at him. "You aren't a usual guy though, huh? Drinking a thermometer." The dog made that snorting laugh again and shook its large head. He watched with wonder at what that motion did to it's fur. "My girlfriend was writing. Something from the darkness was speaking to her and it lured her here from that clearing with the stones." He told the dog.
"Yeah, that happens too. Sometimes people can get tuned into us. Forests and old places have a special kind of dark. There are special people who when they get into these places can just kind of, you know, jive with it." the dog said. It had a vaguely scholarly tone. He felt a smile forming. A talking dog, professor. "She is a special person. I guess I'm not surprised she felt this place. How big is it here? Will it take long to find her?" He asked. The dog stopped looking at him. It looked ahead and down. "I'm sorry guy, I feel for you. You drank a thermometer, I still can't get over that, to find her. It's a huge place. You probably won't find her." The dog sounded genuinely sad for him.
"Can you track her by smell?" He asked the dog. It shook it's head again. They passed another dog heading in the opposite direction. "Nah, it doesn't work like that. I just look like a dog. I started off as a dog's shadow." the dog said. It sounded proud of how far it had come. He didn't know how far the dog had come. He didn't think he'd really understand anyway. They continued walking. The world continued swimming.
Eventually they came to the end of the forest. They stood outside the tree line and looked down to a valley. He couldn't see very far. His silvery bubble of vision extended only a few dozen yards. Objects and creatures kept swimming in, then swimming out just as fast. He'd always wanted to be an oceanographer. To study the depths of the sea and discover new and exciting species down in the blackness. He finally knew what that could have been like.
"Where are we going?" he asked the dog. He realised it was a question he probably should have asked before they ever set out. He mentally kicked himself. The dog seemed helpful and had been nothing but friendly so far. He decided to just roll with it. "We're going to a place. It's peculiar. Everyone goes there eventually." the dog told him. "What kind of place is it?" He asked, "And why does everyone go there?" He thought for a second. Before the dog could answer the first two questions he asked, "And will there be cake?"
The dog stopped walking. Sat on its haunches and itched. That task accomplished it tilted it's head at him, "Cake? Why would there be cake down here?" He stopped walking too and looked back at the dog, "No reason why there should be. I just figured if it's a place everyone goes there has to be something good there. Cake is good. I'd go somewhere for cake." The dog snuffle-snorted it's strange laugh, shook its big head, and went back to walking.
"I doubt there's cake. It's just a place. Nothing special about it that I can see. Everyone who comes down here usually winds up there is all." the dog explained, "It's that kind of place. Lost things just turn up there."
When they reached the place he realised two things. It was in fact a place. It was also peculiar. It may have just been the strange watery silver vision he seemed to have, but he didn't think so. Even without being painted in slow, full, waves and ripples of silver the place would have deserved to be called peculiar. "See what I mean?" the dog asked, he gestured roughly with his blocky head. Currently three stones were rolling slowly and loudly in a small circle. Judging by the way the ground had worn into a smooth path, they'd been at it a while. He looked as carefully as he could and didn't see any moss. Ahead of them was a pile of magnets. They jittered slightly and another magnet fell from no-where onto the pile with a small clack. A heap of old socks, a stack of remotes, a glittering pile of rings, the dog had been right, lost things seemed to turn up here. He was still confused by the stones and the magnets so he asked the dog.
"I'm confused about the stones and the magnets. Why are they there?" he asked the dog. The dog looked back at the stones and magnets. "What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhinoceras?" the dog asked him. He pondered the question for a while. He forgot about the magnets and stones. "I give up." he said. The dog looked at him expectantly, "Ele-phino."

They kept wandering around the place. There was all kinds of lost and interesting things he found but his love wasn't among them. "I don't think she's here," he told the dog. They'd stopped walking briefly. "Where do we go from here? he asked it. The dog sat and thought. Minutes stretched past. The dog still sat, it licked itself some, then froze in the middle of that delicate operation. It looked up at him. An ah-ha! look shot across it's shaggy, canine face. "I''ll take you to her shadow!" the dog said. "It has to be with the other human shadows somewhere. It'll know." The dog was excited and sounded sure. He still wasn't sure at all about this shadow hunt. "How will we know which shadow we are looking for and how can you be sure it knows where she is?" He asked the dog. It looked at him with a vague species of disappointment. "You wouldn't recognize her if you saw her?" The dog asked him. He felt heat creep across his face and wondered if you could blush in a shadow world.

The dog led him out of the place of lost things and up a steadily rising incline. The terrain he could see had begun to open up. The sides of the valley fell away and they were walking beside a road. The lines marking the road burned with baleful silver fire in neat rectangles. He was careful not to touch them. "I didn't know there were roads here." he told the dog. Its head was rocking back and forth in that peculiar doggy way. It snuffled at the pavement and then looked at him. "Why shouldn't there be?" It asked him. He didn't know why there shouldn't be roads and kept quiet for a time. The road rose further up ahead of them and he could feel the strain in his muscles. This walk seemed to go forever but seemed to be going no where. He lowered his eyes to the edge of what he could see and hummed to himself as he walked. The dog listened and said nothing. Perhaps the wisps of filmy fur drifting about the dog spoke for him, they seemed more lively and happy. Could fur be happy? Again, he didn't know.

They were still walking and the grade had grown steeper. He was tired but kept humming and showing no sign of his fatigue. The dog was as chipper as he'd been since they first met. He began to feel a vibration. It shivered in the air around him and clattered the gravel on the side of the road. He stopped and looked around. "What-" he said but his voice trailed off before he could think of the next word. Charging up the hill they had walked were two eyes flaring with solid silver light. They washed the landscape in harsh radiance that baked off of his sensitive vision. Scraggly plants and animal shadows he hadn't seen on their way up stood in stark contrast to the powerful light. With a gasping roar that exploded the silence around him the lights and the shadow that made them blasted past him and the dog. He felt a wall of thick, hot wind slam over him. He stood stock still with his eyes wide and shocked. "What was that?" He asked. He was aware of the tremulous quality to his voice. The dog sat on its haunches and licked his hand with its rough, quicksilver tongue. "A truck. They have shadows too, you know?" the dog said.

He looked at the road for a long time and followed the dog. He had to hurry to catch up. "Everything from my world has a shadow." He said. it wasn't a question. The dog nodded. "All of the shadows from my world are here when they aren't being shadows." He said, again the dog nodded. "When we find my wife's shadow, she will know where to find her?" He asked. He had to think over what he'd said to make sure it made sense. The dog had paused and seemed to be thinking the same thing. It dropped to its haunches and scratched thoroughly at its belly, a look of sublime relief on its doggy face. "Yes." the dog said and walked off again. Again, he followed. Ahead in the washed out world, he could see the land curve gently and he knew they were near the top of this rise. In moments the pair reached the crest of the hill and he stood with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. "Big Hill" he said. The dog chuffed.

"How much farther?" he asked the dog. It was sitting beside him and panting contendedly. The dog's tongue lolled out of its mouth and mercurial droplets of saliva dripped down occasionaly. He watched fascinated and forgot his own question. The dog tossed its head for a moment and then looked ahead. "Out there, can't you see it?" The dog adked him. He shook his head. "No, it's like I'm walking in fog. I can only see-" and he broke off. He could see. He could see far now. Far off down a steep path and across a wide flat plain he could see something new. "I can see now, I don't know what changed. I see, something way off in the distance." He said. The dog looked alarmed. "You're vision got better since you came here?" It asked him. He nodded. "Oh. I think you're getting too accustomed to this place. We must hurry. You may not be able to leave if you stay too long." It said. He stared at his companion. "Okay, lets hurry." He said.

They trotted down the hill letting gravity do most of the work. The spectral shape in the distance swam into a semblance of focus. It was a twisted cityscape of shining lines in staggering profusion. He had seen videos of vast kelp forests with massive flowing fronds dancing in the gentle current. The city reminded him of that. It had no fronds but seemed to flow in an organic way. Skyscrapes rose and melted. Towers trembled and swayed. Everywhere was solid and ceaslessly changing. "What is that place?" He asked. The dog chuffed again. It had pulled ahead of him a little ways and looked over one shaggy shoulder. "It's where we will find her shadow." It said. With that the dog began to run. He forced his weary legs from a trot, to a jog, and finally into a run. Jeans were not for running and he cursed at them with every step.


The downhill slope grew gentler and more gradual until it finally melted away into a wide flat plain. They ran on with the dog easily outpacing him. He kept his head up and his breathing steady as he pumped his legs with methodical regularity. Ahead something glowed with the dull metallic liquesence that made up the dog. It was enourmous and billowy, shifting in slow evolution from one shape to another. The dog pulled up short before reaching this thing. "Hi, do you mind moving? We are trying to get by." The dog said to the shape covering a ridiculously large swathe of landscape. It shifted again, a rolling wave blowing through it and causing it to look like a mushroom, then a turtle. "I don't mind at all. Where are you going? I saw you running." It said. The voice was a rumbling thunder. The shape, still shifting in continual motion, began to draw in on itself. He watched carefully, if it had been anywhere else and in any other time, he would have been amazed. The shape diminished further and further until it was only a bit bigger than a pillow and floated at head height. Now it looked like a rock, then a Valentine's day heart. "Thank you," the dog said and began to trot again. The shape floated along above the dog's head. It looked like it was going incredibly slowly but easily kept pace with them. "We are going to find my wife's shadow. We hope that it will tell us where it is. She's lost here somewhere." He said to the cloud. It looked like a bunny now, then shapeless blob. "I'm sorry to hear that, you people need to stay on your own side. It's not good for you to be coming down here." the thunder rumbled out again. There was a considering pause. "How can you even see? This is the darkness, there is no light here, only shadow." It asked. The dog chuffed its peculiar laughter. "He drank a thermometer." It said, amusement obvious in its voice. "A thermometer, doesn't he know that's poison?" The boom and crash of elemental fury asked?" The dog nodded and they ran with their own personal thunderstorm.