Weaving through the jungle. Ink spots against gold fur. Enormous paws soft as they pad a fallen tree. We bathe in the light of the moon as her fur merges into raven hues. She is a chameleon, camouflaged into dense emerald foliage. Coiling her body around mine, a spiral of creation. Her penetrating gaze as her head faces mine. Still on the jungle floor. While around us the forest dances and sings.
