Long lean legs, a tongue dripping with hot saliva, tail held arrow straight. The timber wolf stands at the edge of the trees almost, but not quite, hidden from me by the penumbral pines.

If they asked me when it all started, I would say it was the night after she had Somkene. In the weeks leading up to that night, she had looked forward to having her child, decorating the nursery with different shades of pink and shapes of teddy bears, the bed smelling of baby oil and powder.

After stowing my suit and helmet on the shelf just inside the softly lit domed worship and meditation space, I pressed the button to cover the wide surface viewing portal, shutting out the iron-red landscape.