Sorcha was still in her half world, the world of spirit. Her mind was in the place where her mate had pleasured her and then entered her, she could feel it, as he did …yet it was not him….her mate… though they had the same eyes …yes this one was not like the metal men…yet was not like her mate. The pict let out sounds more like barks her mind was distant and searched for the snow.<br/><br/>Somewhere in the far distance, yet further than the wolves that called to her, yet further than the horses that ran free in her mind there was a voice, it seemed to come into her dream, the voice was female yet made no sense at all it spoke as one that could not know. She did not understand and it interrupted the song on the wolves.<br/><br/><em>grass eyes… please…like my mate.</em>Her lithe body was writhing yet more but as he entered her moist folds and deeper with a rhythm, she too felt it and matched him. Her body moved with him, one hand still stroked his hair her other traced down his back to find his buttocks, Sorcha’s mouth searched for his. For now the world of dream was still mingled with the real, now he<em> Grass eyes </em>was safe, she did not have to fight.<br/><br/>Still there was a need though to be from here,<em>too warm ….too hot</em><br/><br/>The drums in Sorcha’s head joined with the rhythm of her hips as the pict moved against ‘grass eyes…’ that they might join as one and heal the land.<br/>