Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. She traced him by his scent. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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