The feathers were at different angles as though they were being moved by a breeze. It was the same image that was attached to the staff the mystic had been holding. It couldn’t be, though. That was supposed to have been a dream. This would mean …“Oh, do I have a story to tell you ...” And, at that moment, the feather that had been entangled in my hair slipped out and fluttered down. Chris, only Chris with his reflexes, managed to capture it before it hit the ground.He handed it to me carefully. “I don’t know why, but it seems to be important.”It was long after we had finished our dinner and now finishing another bottle of wine. We were still sitting around the dining table as I finished my story of the past days away. I told them everything, every detail. I left nothing out about the goat, hog, horses, or Samantha’s Indian friends. I gave every detail of the peyote ceremony and the dream journey. The only details I left out was the ‘island’. I was still trying to understand all that. "Then take me," she whispered.Pete groaned. He looked around, his body tense. "Not here… I know where…"Lucy squealed as she was grabbed and manhandled over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. "Put me down," she shrieked as he sprinted for the living room, jostling her roughly as he ran. "Pete!" Okay. Ugh…"A giggling Lucy was unceremoniously dumped on the tattered leather sofa she'd bought at auction the previous week. "You want to christen this?" she asked, grinning."Thought we might… and there was no way I could carry you upstairs," Pete admitted, rubbing his back. "Besides," he stroked the bulge tenting his trousers, "I can’t wait." No?" No. Your fault." Pete stood one pace from the sofa, gazing at Lucy. "You're just so…"His voice trailed away as she pulled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. Pouting, she stroked her lacy bra. "I'm just what?" she asked, teasingly squishing her boobs together and pinching her nipples.Pete didn't answer. He'd disappeared into that.
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