It's cold here, but it heightens her senses. The rustle of the wind in the fallen leaves and the crash of waves on a distant shore tell her she's at home. But this dream is a lie. There is a huntsman on her tail. His mark is untraceable. But to her it's undeniable. He is here. Silent, patient and resolved, her would-be captor knows her as his own reflection. She is aware of intentions, but also of his hesitation. So, in spite of being in his sights, she paces on. Steady, her gaze remains ahead. And though the ranks of cypress trees pass one by one, for what seems to be eternity, the search for her moon moves her on.
I have to believe there are several realities existing at once, on different planes. Or else, this one is cruel.