ANITA C K 10 a ee eeIN THE SAME WAY by Tertie Reif Tt was a cold night for San Diego. Tasha stood on the patio with Malcolm, her black shepherd puppy, gazing over the canyon at the moon. There was an odd orange film covering the moon, and it was surrounded by a pearly-grey mist. ‘The moon reminded her of an egg, sunny-side up in an iron skillet. “Strange moon tonight, huh, boy?” Eerily so, she thought. Malcolm wagged his tail in response. The wind whipped through the eucalyptus trees; Tasha fastened the last toggle on her corduroy jacket. She loved nights like this, with the air so crisp that she needed a woolen scarf and cap, even mittens. Malcolm whimpered, stood, and nosed around between the patio slats. “Something down there, boy? Opossum, Probably, or a skunk.” Malcolm gently tugged on her jeans with his teeth. “Ok, ok. We'll go see.” Malcolm made his way down the side stairs, sniffing as he went, Tasha followed him with the flashiight beam, hoping that the critter wasn’t bigger than a opossum. She'd been working in the storage shed beneath the house earlier in the day, clearing it out to make an office. It was filled with books, photo albums, clothes, some odds and ends of furniture. Nothing she really wanted any more. It reminded her of Carlo and the freak accident that killed him and their unborn: daughter. After the accident, their neighbor, Glen, had taken care of her. Her family all lived in Colorado, and weren't able to attend the wake. Glen had taken care of everything, even hauling all Carlo's things down to the storage shed. One morning, he brought Malcolm. “A puppy's no substitute for Carlo and the baby, but dogs are good company.” ‘She was grateful for Malcolm, and as the months passed, she had more energy to romp around with him- especially in the canyon with all its hiding places. Just yesterday, she’d made a small cairn for her daughter, from rocks collected on their recent walks. In time, she’d make one for her husband.. Malcolm barked. He was nosing around the pile of branches and wood pieces she'd been collecting for evening fires. It would be nice to light a fire tonight, have a brandy, write in her journal, The cold had a way of heightening her senses. “What'd you find, Malcolm?” Tasha shone the light on a pile of large smoothrocks partially hidden under the dried branches. Looking closer, she noticed that they were loosely wrapped in a piece of fabric. That's strange--who'd go to all that trouble for a pile of rocks? Curious, Tasha touched one. It wasn't cold of rough like a rock, but warm, and gave slightly under her palm. They looked more like eggs, but none she'd seen before. They were an odd color for rocks, now that she thought of it: a deep red with bronze striations. No, these were definitely not rocks; there was a pattern to the markings. She pulled her hand back, then felt a wave of vertigo. Steadying herself against the wall, Tasha shone the light around the woodpile. Whatever laid these eggs wasn't here any longer. She cast the light down into the canyon, but other than the usual scenery, there wasnt anything else to see. “What do you think, boy? Whose eggs are these?” She heard a voice inside her mind that answered, “they're mine.” Now that's ridiculous, she thought, The vertigo returned, along with a painful throbbing sensation in her chest. Steadying herself against the wall, Tasha groaned, tried to breathe the pain away. Still dizy, she eased down the wall, panting. Malcolm whimpered. “You really do care about me, don’t you, Malc?” He faid his head in her lap, and she stroked it, wondering what was wrong with her. ‘The eggs. There was sornething about those eggs. She touched them again, then drew the cloth around them so she could lift them all at once. They were about the size of emu or ostrich eggs, but surprisingly light. Her hands tingled, then an infusion of warmth traveled up her arm, radiating throughout her body. Yes, they were her eggs now. Hers. Tasha carried the precious bundle up the stairs to her home, nestled them in her own bed. There were three of them. Three beautiful eggs. They would hatch soon. Yes, and she would care for them her own. Exited, but exhausted, Tasha fell asleep by her new brood, with Malcolm at his usual spot on the foot of the bed. * # * The waning light of twin obsidian orbs could be seen through the eucalyptus branches. Tan closed her eyes, rested for a bit against the tree’s trunk. She had hoped to be home before her eggs released, but something had gone horribly wrong. Her mate, P’ar, had not returned for her, and she hoped no harm had come to him. Who would claim her body now? Whe would sing the song of transformation? Who would raise her young? She'd reached out with her mind and hearts, touched another female, another who suffered loss. Yes, she sighed,