I was back in our meadow, that beautiful clearing surrounded by aspens. The tall grasses bowed and danced in a gentle breeze, their heads heavy with seeds. The grass parted before me as I walked, smelling aspen leaves and the soft, delicate perfume of penstemon, lodgepole lupine, and columbine.

“Dreaming,” I whispered. “I’m dreaming again.”

A shiver danced up my spine, and I turned. Vali was watching me from the trees. He was tall and lean and naked, his muscular body moving silently through the dappled light. His long, wild hair fell to his back in a riot of curls.

“Hi,” I said, feeling a little ridiculous.

His golden eyes followed my movement. “Karen.”

“Vali.”

He tilted his head, watching me closely. “Are you a...” He made a sound like rocks tumbling in the back of his throat.

“A what?”

“A sorcerer. Sorceress. A witch.”

I almost laughed, but there was no humor in his eyes or the hard lines of his face. “No. Vali, no.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not the first to seek me out, in dreams.”

That stung. My back stiffened.

“I’m not a witch,” I said.

“Then how did you do it? How did you break the prison?”

Frustration burned deep in my chest. It felt dangerously close to anger. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Vali. I shot a wolf.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “You...shot me?”

“Look. I’m a scientist. I study wolves. And, yes, sometimes I shoot them. With a tiny little dart. It puts them to sleep for about thirty minutes, then they wake up, and they’re just fine.” I realized my hands were trembling and crossed my arms over my chest, imitating his posture.

“No one has ever broken the prison,” Vali said, his voice so low he might as well have been talking to himself. “It has held for centuries.”

“What prison?”

The hint of a smile played across his full lips. “My prison. I’ve done terrible things, Karen McDonald. The wolf’s body is my cage.”

I shivered. “Where are you now? I mean, when you’re not dreaming?”

“Back in my cage. Where I belong. I’m only free in my dreams. It’s what keeps me from losing myself completely, although I often wonder whether that’s mercy or just another form of torture.”

He turned away, staring into the trees. “If I had any magic at all, if I could give any credit to my family’s name, perhaps things would be different.”

His voice died, and my heart ached. He looked so desperately unhappy. I walked to him without thinking, wrapping my arms around his waist. His body stiffened in my arms.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. His voice carried no emotion; it was a statement of fact. “Beautiful Karen.”

I whimpered, then brought my hand to my mouth.

“You are hurt?” Vali asked.

I shook my head. Vali tilted his head to one side, examining my body. I looked down and realized I was again wearing what I’d worn to bed that night: long underwear pants, a polypro shirt, and wool socks. Not exactly sexy.

“You’re crying,” Vali said. He brought his hand to my face, gently brushing my cheek.

“I—It’s just—It’s been a while since anyone called me beautiful.”

Vali smiled, but his eyes were dark. For some reason I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say, so I stood on my toes, pressing my lips to his.

Vali kissed me, softly, then pulled away. “Beautiful Karen. We can’t.”

He took a step back, and my heart burned with frustration and adrenaline. “But we’re dreaming!” I yelled. “Look around us! These flowers don’t even bloom at the same time. Columbines are late summer, and that pasqueflower is early spring...”

My voice trailed off as he took another step away from me, toward the edge of the trees. He’s leaving, I realized. I am babbling about wildflowers, and he’s leaving.

Vali shook his head, and his long curls swirled around his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Karen, I’m not safe. And I won’t put you in danger.”

He turned. His body vanished soundlessly into the aspen trees. I called his name and heard nothing, not even an echo.

I woke up in my tent, blinking in the darkness, with silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Fuck,” I hissed, pressing my palms against the heat of my cheeks. “I can’t even meet a guy in my dreams.”

My fingers trembled as I unzipped the tent door for the thousandth time that night. But this time, I finally saw faint traces of pink in the velvet sky above the trees. Thank God. Sleep had been impossible since Vali ran out of my dreams, and I’d spent the rest of the miserable night alternating between staring at the roof of my tent and wishing I could still believe Vali was just the product of my overactive imagination and long-neglected libido, and trying not to sob so loudly I woke up Colin and Zeke.

I clambered out of the tent, stretched, and walked to Colin’s and Zeke’s tents to shake them. Colin muttered a sleepy, “Right away,” before climbing out to start boiling water for his coffee. Zeke ignored me until Colin threatened to unzip his door and dump a water bottle into his sleeping bag.

“God, where do you find these barbarians?” Zeke asked, scowling at Colin as he crawled out of his tent.

“Get your breakfast quick, boys,” I said. “The pack is headed toward the hoodoos, and we’re following them. We can be set up by ten, and have the entire afternoon to search for fur and stool samples. Maybe we can even find some wolves before we have to leave tomorrow.”

“And they say science isn’t glamorous,” Zeke said, rubbing his face.

****

BY THE TIME I REMEMBERED to check my phone for a message from Susan, we were in the hoodoos, an especially bizarre part of the park. All of Yellowstone is weird in its own way, but his part of Yellowstone is especially strange. The landscape is dotted with cylindrical, dark volcanic spires several stories tall, rising from the sagebrush and lodgepole pines like ancient stone sentinels. It was just past nine in the morning; we’d moved quickly. Zeke and Colin hiked fast. I didn’t want to show weakness in front of two people who were technically my employees, so matched their pace, even if it left me panting and exhausted. At least I was too distracted by my aching legs and burning lungs to dwell on my dreams.

I leaned against one of the crumbling dark hoodoos and gasped. “Hang on. I’ve gotta check my phone.”

“Sure thing, Boss Lady,” Zeke said. He didn’t even sound winded. Show off.

“You guys can set up the satellite,” I panted as I slipped my phone from its waterproof bag in my pocket. There was one new text from Susan.

No luck, it read. Not in trail records & nothing from police. No Vali, Valley, Val, Vince - nada.

Thanks anyway, I texted back. I went to return the phone to its case when it dinged again.

Sure thing, Susan wrote. You will tell me what this is about??

Of course, I wrote back. I’d have plenty of time to come up with a plausible story before I saw her again. My phone dinged again, and I glanced down.

The goods are odd, Susan wrote.

I laughed, then covered my mouth, hoping the boys hadn’t heard. There was just no diplomatic way to explain that joke to Zeke and Colin.

About a week after Susan moved in with me, we walked together to Main Street to get burgers and a pitcher of beer. Susan was holding up pretty well, given she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and moved in with a total stranger, and I was feeling good, too. After all, I’d survived a divorce, got hired as an Assistant Professor, and even made a friend in Bozeman. We raised our pints to each other, sitting in a sidewalk cafe in the long evening sunset, and I told Susan hey, who know? Maybe I’d meet Mr. Right here in Bozeman. After all, weren’t there four men for every one women in Montana?

Susan laughed and laughed at that. “You know what they say in Alaska?” She finally asked, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Well, it’s true in Montana, too. The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

After a few horribly awkward first dates with Montana men, I decided Susan was right.

Yes, I texted back. Goods = odd.

“You ready, Boss Lady?” Zeke called.

“Coming,” I said, turning off my phone and putting it back in the waterproof case.