A Lone Howl in the Night
A sentient wolf patrols the territory of a post-apocalyptic world in search of threats. What he finds instead is far warmer than the chilly night, and far, far more pleasurable...
A sentient wolf patrols the territory of a post-apocalyptic world in search of threats. What he finds instead is far warmer than the chilly night, and far, far more pleasurable...
Story written by me , Siranor
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A Lone Howl in the Night
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Stormfur loved watching the moon from the elevated position of the balcony he rested on. He had a good view of the unexplored sector stretching around his building from here. All around him stood buildings of stranger shapes and even greater sizes, a testament to the greatness of those that called this place home long before the Risen came to be -animals endowed with the power of Higher Thought through the grace of technology left behind by the very creators of the city they had lost. Sleeping under a bed vegetation sprouting from every cranny, no matter how small, the city decayed, and with it, the interest in those that came before.
Yet not all Risen keenly accepted the Fall of the Builder race. Some, like Stormfur, keenly traveled across the ashes of the human kingdom to find those few caches of perfectly preserved technology. His kin argued day and night over the benefits of such discoveries. Him, though...he felt different about this. Like in the earlier days of human expeditions aimed at the discovery of new lands, he too sought to uncover all he could about the mystery of their disappearance, and clues if such a reckoning could happen again upon his own species.
Propped on his belly, with his head resting on top of his twined forepaws like a lazy dog, the young wolf gazed upon the starry sky. Two slim clouds threatened to advance upon the moon rising from the specter of the city, but they moved slowly. Gently. Just like the high altitude breeze that swished past the skyscraper he now called home, ruffling the whites and grays that waged a war over the wolf's storm-like coat.
Between the speckling stars hid endless mysteries. Planets the humans dreamed of colonizing. Places so far even the Risen abandoned into the oblivion of impossibility. In their days of glory, the Builder Race crafted transports that took groups of explorers -just like the one Stormfur belonged to- all the way to the surface of the half-moon that now shone its light down upon the city...but rather than a bright, expansive future, they found nothing but darkness.
Melancholy filled the wolf's heart. Rather than dwell on the downfall of such an intriguing species of bipeds, he slowly got to his feet, ears perked in search of any movement from the rest of the pack. None moved to join him. They all slept in the dens of the humans, dreaming their own dreams, leaving Stormfur with some of his own to ponder upon.
The moon. Such a mysterious, beautiful thing. It still shed enough light for a wolf's senses to form an idea of the vastness posed by the overgrown jungle of tall buildings wailing in various stages of disrepair. Even at the peripheries of the Builders' former home, their formidable structures still rose like pillars of light against the darkness of the night. Oh, how bright they would have been in their days of glory...
Whining with a longing felt only within his own breast, Stormfur slowly approached the vine-encrusted edge of the balcony. He reared up on his paws to take a better look, padded toes rustling through the bits of dried vegetation still clinging between the fresh leaves that started to sprout in the warmer temperatures of late spring. A new season of hope, and opportunities, for those brave enough to find them.
The city looked dark underneath the ledge grasped tightly by his claws. No bright lights fed by electricity warmed up the decrepit tomb of broken vehicles and cracked stone pavements. No vibrant noise dwarfed the ever-present song of the crickets. No pungent smells made the wolf's sensitive nose sting with the aroma of man-made substances. Humanity was gone, its history, slowly fading under nature's eternally repeating cycle. Soon, the Builder race itself would be swallowed by what they once sought to shape in their interests. They had perhaps a hundred more years until the remaining specks of their presence would be blow away by wind, swallowed by land, or soaked by the rains. Nothing would remain of them...
Apart from the secret remnants of preserved pieces of technology they left behind.
Stormfur hopped off, tail raised with determination. Rather than wallow in the melancholy of a past he never had the chance to touch, sniff, nor taste, Stormfur left his vantage point. He carefully stepped between the sleeping sentries of his group, wolves like him, curled up in little nests of vegetation they constructed.
The pitter patter of his naturally sharp claws barely made a sound on the bed of vegetation that covered the cracked stone of the floor he moved along. Little buds of flowers, grass, vines and other things thrived in the sunlight that greeted them each day through the cracks of the decaying building. His breath quickened on his way down the many flights of stairs, agile feet taking him further and further down until he emerged on the same lonely path he gazed at from above, now as intimidating as the rest of the city's overgrown carcass for a lone wolf.
The wolf briskly walked into the unknown. Whatever he would find came at his own peril, for he, Stormfur, seeker of technology and novice historian, only ever believed in one type of danger. The one created within the confines of every Risen's limited ambitions. Many tempting places lured him with the promise of discovery, none more intriguing than the descent into the darkened tunnels of the underground.
Stormfur found himself climbing down again, albeit on a very different type of steps. These were cold, and damp. They carried the smell of aged metal into his nostrils, along with a most infuriating type of sludge that stubbornly clung to the wolf's pads, just like the dribbles of water snaking their way through the cracked ceiling he ventured deeper and deeper under. The instinct to shake off the water from his fur annoyed him like a stubborn itch. One he could hardly rid himself off.
He emerged in the tunnels when his cold pads felt stone underneath their sensitive surface. The air was thicker here; as oppressive as the darkness that made even his superior eyesight struggle to make more than the basic shapes of this mysterious place. Dilapidated columns chipped by age, mushrooms that thrived in this musty environment, decayed transports humans called trains, and rats all coexisted together in this environment. Flocks of rats fleeing in every nook they could, safeguarding their fragile forms from the predator that trespassed into their domain.
Yet amidst their stench, something different caught into the wolf's nostrils. It passed right by him, forcing him to pull himself into a defensive stance next to the frozen, metal stairs.
"Grrr..." Stormfur's damp fur rose on end as death greeted his nostrils. A final squeak. Then nothing. For a few, silent seconds, he only registered his breath. Then came steps. Slow, pattering steps, the kiss of claws on stone, just like his own.
Focusing his senses on what seemed to be the silhouette of a wolf making its way into a derailed train carriage, Stormfur followed the dark-dweller at a distance until warm sounds with no right to thrive in such forgotten place made his ears flatten and his paws grow weak with emotion.
Pups. Newborn ones too. A speck of life inside this wretched rat-infested hole. Yet...something felt amiss. Where was their guardian? The male supposed to rise in Stormfur's path in defense of his pups? The more he waited, the more Stormfur started to realize his was the only male scent in this forgotten underground.
He was...the only one who could do something positive for this unfortunate family. Using the scanner feature of his head-mounted all-purpose device, he hunted down a bunch of rats that he formed into a pile. Nosing them gently towards the female, he found his selflessness met with increasingly sharper growls. Without the ability to communicate with the female, he continued to do what he thought was right. Provide for her, just like her mate would.
Yet that had a different outcome than he expected when something wet touched his chin. Not fangs. Just the wet, fearful tongue of a female on the brink of desperation. He licked her back to show her he had no ill intentions, but that made her whining all the louder, and her licking, increasingly insistent.
Stormfur anxiously realized she wasn't submitting to him heart and soul just to be friendly. She did it because she was terrified. The pungent smell of fresh urine trickling down her haunches told him as much.
Ashamed for what his inexperience brought, Stormfur backed off. But a new scent entered his nostrils after a couple of steps. Something that belonged to a creature too large, too confident to be either a rat or an ordinary animal.
He snarled in defense, putting himself between this threat and the whining pups that pushed their heads out curiously from the embrace of their protective mother.
He found himself swept along the ground by the fierce momentum of some large force that barreled right into him. No later than a few heartbeats, the dazed wolf found himself in a similar position as the wolfess, only this time, he was the one standing beneath the larger form of another wolf. One he knew....a male he deeply admired.
"How could you be so reckless?" his neural band rang with the thoughts of Smoketail, given voice by the device. "Venturing alone at night? In foreign territory? Your actions not only scattered our pack in search of you, but have frightened a mother to the point where she might wish to find a new home for her offspring!"
Stormfur splayed his ears in shame, no focused thoughts flowing through his neural device back to his wise and truthful Packleader.
"Up," the larger wolf urged with a gentle shove into the fluff of Stormfur's neck. "Deeds will remove the stain of this ill decision, not the white of your belly."
As he collected himself on his four feet, Stormfur realized how lucky he was to escape this predicament without a punishment. Smoketail led the way up the rusty escalating stairs. The closer they got to the surface, the cleaner the air became. Yet Stormfur found himself celebrating his escape for different reasons. He breathed in deep the scent of his fellow wolf and packleader, the distracting nuances of his scent a most welcome change from the mustiness of the underground.
"Listen now, and mind me well." Smoketail began to speak with a tail raised with authority. "Our kind and theirs may meet upon the winds of circumstance, but we have to keep our distance. Even if they look like us, even if they submit to us, we can never be one pack. Do you understand? Best we can do is to stay away, or treat them right. You wish to present an animal with a gift? Leave it near them. Do not intrude in their space, do not insist even if you know better. Just, leave the thing on the ground and see yourself away. Understand?"
Stormfur nodded his agreement. Better to be reprimanded than demoted to the uninteresting life of a pack helper.
The two wolves walked next to each other under the moon's dim gaze, tails gently swishing in the wake of their brisk steps.
"I still can't understand why venturing a stick's throw away from our temporary compound poses such a danger to me." Stormfur said through his thoughts. "We are the third generation to sniff our way across this city. Yes, I know abominations have been a problem years back, but since their last migration out of the city's broken walls, we've only fought less than five. Like us, they prefer to stick with their own."
He got no reply to that. Not that he expected one in the first place from a captain of scant words like Smoketail. So to change the subject to brighter futures, Stormfur started to ramble about the restoration of the city back to its former glory. Not just rekindled, but also reshaped with the Pack's needs in mind. No handles on doors or buttons out of the reach of their paws. A smart world where thoughts could activate devices as easily as they flowed into words.
Smoketail disagreed with such a dreary idea of an utopia where wolves once again enslaved themselves to the yoke of technology. His idea of an ideal future involved trees and grass and animals; a descent into the past, when Risen were little more than beasts themselves.
The difference of opinions stirred a few heated arguments from Stormfur, which then turned into passionate growls that incited a quick lesson with their carelessness. The two tussled about like two playful pups, grabbing and snapping at each other.
Stormfur never expected to win a match of strength against a male quite heavier than him. His only chance for victory quickly evaporated once their tussling ended up with him pinned on his back for a second time tonight. Only on this occasion, the position he found himself in seemed far more...intimate.
"Concede," the older wolf growled. "I will not have our position marked by your juvenile yapping."
He had the right of it. Abominations may have been a wolf's greatest fear, but in a sprawling city like this, their pack competed not only with other groups of wolves, but other species altogether.
"Fine. Just let go of me." Grasped tightly in Smoketail's iron-like grip, the young wolf whimpered not in submission, but with lust, for Smoketail's embrace was everything he ever dreamed of. Silky fur pressed tight against his exposed belly, a blanket of comforting warmth he never wished to shed. The well toned muscles that hid past that beautiful ebony coat splashed with burned browns and creams ...filled with determined strength. His radiating confidence...
And most of all, his sheath, large and loose, pressed so tightly against Stormfur's own. Many times, he found his gaze stolen by the dangling cock-home of his mentor. But never had he the occasion or the fortune to find the very object of his fascination mashed tightly with his own. The heat exuded by the fold of thinly furred skin, and most of all, the natural wetness that kept the hidden cock moisturized, leaked. It leaked and sunk into Stormfur's own sheath fur as the two furred organs grinded gently against each other with the resistance put up by Stormfur's rebellious urge to prove himself.
An urge that quickly acquired sharper, hotter nuances.
"Enough. I give up!" his paws grew slack and his snarl lost its threatening creases, diminishing into a whimper fueled by the warm throbs lancing their way across his rapidly growing maleness. With each pulsation of hot blood that flowed through his organ, the pink head of his penis pushed further and further out from the soaked confines of its home, so sensitive to the fur it rubbed against... so exposed to the outside chill...until it felt the wet, furless entrance of a shelter.
Stormfur shuddered from every inch of his body with the need to sink himself inside his mentor's sheath. To taste the warm halls his mentor's cock slept in. To even feel his maleness clash tips with his own.
All of those heated desires came to a brisk end once the older wolf got up on his feet, the cold air of the night cooling down the young wolf's dreams back into the realm they came from. Quickly retreating back into its furred home once the gray wolf rolled awkwardly on his fours, his deflating cock left behind a drop of crystalline moisture that stubbornly clung to the wolf's entrance in spite of the bobbing jerks made by his increasingly eager steps. He needed release so badly, his nuggets almost ached with the yearning to unburden themselves...but where could he go, where his mentor would not follow? How could he tend to his needs with Smoketail watching?
Halfway on the way home, with his thoughts still swimming in a sea of lascivious fantasies, Stormfur hardly paid attention to anything until his body shuddered at the contact with Smoketail's rubbing form. The older wolf's physically enjoyable apology came as a surprise.
And what followed after, even more so. Stormfur eagerly followed the dark streaked tail that gave Smoketail his name, his paws taking him across cracked concrete overgrown with the promise of grass all the way to the softer soil of a truly natural splendor.
"Humans called this a park. I call it an oasis of tranquility." The older wolf said as he happily accelerated into a run. "There's a lake not far from here. Follow me."
They reached the edge of an expansive body of water before Stormfur's pads even had the chance to hurt with exertion. He settled on the grassy bank surrounded by willow trees, right next to his mentor. With his body comfortably tucked against his mentor and friend, Stormfur gazed over the moon's imperfect reflection over the surface of the lake in the eye of the park. It would have been a beautiful sight, if not for the rotting remnants of the decaying shops or the desecrated wedge-shaped transports the human used to travel over water. Technology elevated their civilization all the way to the skies. Even beyond! But were they ever pleased with how far they progressed? Or...happy?
Like Smoketail often said, living in the moment truly seemed a blessing And technology, with all its perks, couldn't solve every problem. He was proving that point right now by shifting onto his side. Stormfur leaned back into his embrace to allow those bigger, warmer paws to thread across the sumptuous fur of his belly, so enticingly close to his sheath, while in the other end of his body, Smoketail's moist tongue gently rolled along the top of his head.
Slowly falling prey to the extravagant relaxation techniques employed by the older wolf, Stormfur felt his eyelids grow increasingly heavy.
"I like this," he whined in approval at having his ear gently nibbled. "But I don't feel like I deserve a treat for venturing alone, like a wolf without a pack. What stirs such downpour of selflessness? Or concerns for my safety?"
"Your scents reminded me of my previous role in the Pack."
Stormfur froze.
"Relax. I aim not to chide." The older wolf said with another long stroke of tongue along his prisoner's ear. "I've been a pup too. Like you, I tasted the need our instincts force upon us every now and then. This desire you have...it should be embraced. Not shunned."
"But how-"
"Let me worry about the how." Smoketail interrupted. "A soft touch, as the shudders along your fur tell me, can be an effective tool in its own right. And you may mistakenly believe that leaders exist only to discipline eager pups or forge way into new territories, but one of my duties is to also introduce young wolves like you to the pleasures that come once you fully mature."
That said, Stormfur slowly found his place of rest shifting from underneath his back. With slow steps and a delicious looking sheath gently swaying with the weight of his motions, Smoketail came to rest on his haunches at the other end of his body, his gender made so obvious by his current position -so arousing- Stormfur had to look away.
"I take no shame in allowing the eyes of young males to fall upon every part of me. Be that my tail, my paws....or the in-between of my legs."
"I-I wasn't looking." Stormfur grasped his muzzle with both paws, as if that could prevent his guilty whine from spurting forth.
"But you wish to."
"No. I really think it improper, and..."
"What errant thoughts you burden yourself with. If a stare gets your thoughts tangled up, how about this?"
Stormfur's hinds twitched with ruthless jolts as the older wolf's hot breath fell upon his defenseless balls. Without arguing or thinking any more of those errant thoughts Smoketail mentioned, he simply watched with wonder and more than a little anxiety at how such a respected male that probably did this hundreds of times with other wolves took in the scents of his exposed malehood.
It didn't take long until that rolling wave of moist, twitching, tingling breath fell upon the furless entrance of his sheath, coaxing his shy tip out of hiding in. Smoketail licked the air around it with the tip of his tongue -as if he sought to taste the air itself- then let his tongue fall upon the nub of pink flesh.
Stormfur shuddered hard, ashamed and aroused alike by the sudden friction that made his gender pulsate with a squirt of crystalline dew. He closed his eyes in shame when that happened.
But rather than pull back, Smoketail kissed his tip again and again, the sensation of that warm velvet tongue brushing so often against his tip intense and pleasant beyond what mere words could describe.
"Stop. Please..." Stormfur whined through his parted jaws.
"A bit of anxiety is normal, if this is the first time you are tasted by another wolf." The older wolf answered with a long lick across the entirety of Stormfur's sheath. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear pup."
That said, Smoketail dropped on his belly for an easier access to his pup's hind side and gently spread his legs with the help of his stronger, larger paws.
Exposed, aroused, Stormfur had a single prominent concern. That of squirting his purest essence straight upon his mentor's stimulating tongue.
"Can we take it slow? From the...other end?"
Smoketail's answer came in the form of a long lick across Stormfur's white fuzzy balls. His gentle touch began to move along the rest of the sheath, every stroke stimulating the member hiding beneath.
His eagerness to continue what he began made itself known when he took in the scents of the thicker cock his stimulation unleashed out of its home. Almost blood red at the tip, with his knot forming a painfully obvious outline beneath the white fur sprouting over his sheath, Stormfur felt more sensitive than ever.
"Don't..you don't have to..." All his words, thoughts, and fears fizzled in the bliss of velvet heat that enveloped his hot, naked erection.
His body shuddered.
His balls tightened in their sack.
His member all but vibrated with pleasure as Smoketail's teasing licks slowly turned into something far more enjoyable.
By gently lowering more of his muzzle over the tip he feasted on, he began to suckle on the sensitive flesh, bringing exotic sensations Stormfur had never experienced with the help of his own inexperienced tongue. He whined and writhed, turning this way and that while his mentor's dripping muzzle fed on the ample amounts of lubrication splattering against his tongue every few throbs.
Even with all those threatening teeth so close to something as sensitive as his cock, Stormfur experienced wave after wave of stinging pleasure, never the sharp embrace of teeth. He almost howled into the night -a whine with such a high pitch it might've belonged to a fox- when a sharp line of pre forced Smoketail to take more than half of his member between his slavering jaws. He sucked, on and on, fueling Stormfur's passions with his maddening rhythm until the jumbled pleas finally forced him to retreat a few steps behind, over to the young wolf's balls, and then...his tailhole. The tingling of licks felt different down there. Yet different didn't necessarily mean unpleasant. After a minute of getting warmed up by slobbery licks, Stormfur found himself whining the same tune for a different reason, his ass convulsing in a maddening dance of twitches and spasms under the delightful surges of stimulation unleashed by his mentor's skilled tongue.
While this happened, Stormfur couldn't help himself from becoming a witness to his first time with another male. He watched with gleaming eyes how the moon's gentle light reflected off in the abundant drops of precum spurted by his excited cock, a throbbing motion that started far below his tip. His balls, so laden with seed, jerked gently with the spasms of his nether muscles; muscles that were stimulated by a wolf's voracious appetite in that very moment.
It felt...so good...
Stormfur whined with glee and panted with lust, his loose tongue dripping in the same manner as his cock at how delightful the undertail massage launched by Smoketail's muzzle felt. The crafty wolf turned his head this way and that in order to find the best angles of attack...and that made Stormfur wild with lust. He loved to see the effects of his own stoked arousal...
Yet more pleasing than his own assets were Smoketail's own private parts. His tip, in particular. So much came out of a sheath that rarely displayed pink, teasing Stormfur with spicy aromas and eager throbs that begged, just begged him to have a quick taste. Lost in this eager wave of desire, he rolled up on his feet, hard as he was, to crawl underneath the confused Smoketail and lap at the hot surface of his half-erect penis with so much gusto that he began to rock his hips back and fourth as if he mounted his mentor, aroused to the extreme not only by the enticing tastes of cock slowly dissolving within his own saliva, but also by Smoketail's own shuddering thrusts and vocalizations.
He needed more. Wanted more! With jaws clattering with the weight of the scents they fed on, Stormfur shoved his muzzle past the older wolf's tip. He licked his balls, then tried to do the same to the musky hole hiding underneath the wolf's upraised tail, pushing Smoketail off balance in his lustful rush. He quickly apologized to the older wolf for almost toppling him over. And no retaliation came. Only some wise advice about how desires flared bright when instincts were stoked.
Too aroused to even think of anything other than mounting and cumming, Stormfur rubbed around his mentor like a female in heat, licking his ears, his muzzle, his everything. Smoketail didn't seem to know what to do. Or what to expect.
Until Stormfur clambered upon his backside. Or...tried to. Bigger by a head or so, Smoketail could not only easily shake off the younger wolf's grip, but offer him with an alternative allegedly better than the oppressive tightness of a male's only hole.
"Are...are you sure about this?" Stormfur whined with uncertainty. Standing on top of Smoketail's carefree form with his dripping tip aimed in the direction of his mentor's sheath, Stormfur felt anything but confident. What if his tip accidentally hurt Smoketail? What if a male's sheath ruptured under the pressure of holding a second cock inside?
His head swam in a sea of worries and lust until the older wolf playfully poked his balls with the pads of a forepaw.
"It's either this or the embrace of your own tongue, pup. Go on. You'll find this type of mating far more pleasant than you expect."
Perhaps there was some truth to what an experienced wolf like him said. Heart beating quick in his fluffy chest, the gray wolf lowered himself closer and closer towards his mentor's awaiting belly. While doing so, he looked with lust at Smoketail's inviting ring of flesh, wondering how wonderful it would've been to keep things simple. To just sink his throbbing, eager penis knot deep in that tight, accommodating tunnel of powerful muscles. To be milked down to his last drop not by a female, as most wolves preferred...but by a fellow male. One that not only captured Stormfur's heart, but also an experienced male that tasted the bliss of ejaculation on his own fur time and time again.
Truly, this sheath penetration couldn't feel that good. Right? It felt awkward to Stormfur to even thrust in this position. For over a dozen thrusts, Stormfur failed to find the right angle, the right speed, the right everything...until something changed.
Heat. Incredible heat, plus the gooey moisture of a fleshy tunnel that fit perfectly around his tip, and the pleasure of being inside another male's cock-home hit him all at once.... And hit him hard! With a shuddering whine broken by sharp waves of pleasure that slashed their way across the delicate surface of his cock, the young wolf danced on his four shuddering feet, thrusting desperately in order to sink more of himself inside this lovely shelter.
"Go slow," Smoketail advised, huffing with eagerness. "Pace yourself, otherwise this pleasure will be a brief one."
"I...can't..." Stormfur whimpered under the barrage of stimuli that assailed his sensitive tip, making it impossible for his instincts to concede. It wasn't long until his jerking thrusts invariably led him to meet Smoketail's tip in a dashing meeting of squirting pre and hard, sharp throbs
"Sorry..."
"Silly apology. Dare to see yourself out, and you will surely find relief inside your own pads."
The validating threat spurred the young wolf's pleasure. He thrust, thrust, thrust, constantly poking tips with Smoketail's bigger cock, the clash of which made the older wolf whine in gratifying pleasure rather than the pain Stormfur expected.
Once he got told for certain that sheaths couldn't rupture or suffer some self-imagined damage with another cock inside them -no matter how big that cock grew- Stormfur's concerns flew upon the cold breeze of the night. With gritted jaws and heated breath, he planted his claws firmly on the ground and began to thrust his way into the increasingly sloppy flesh tunnel created by their mashed sheaths harder and better. Time and time again he made this sloppy, stimulating journey. Each shove bringing him closer to the peak of his pleasure, each kiss against the older wolf's tip, making his balls tighten up further with bristling passion waiting to be unleashed. When he felt his mentor's hot pre wash all over his cock tip, Stormfur all but stuffed his impending bliss back into his stifling crotch so he could mount a few last eager thrusts while the heat in his nethers built up to an irresistible, stinging inferno of pent-up semen ready to explode.
That's when it came. A strong gush of creamy cum that not only smashed against the tip of his partner's cock, but also enveloped the rest of his hidden member in a curtain of silky white cream. The young wolf's trembling orgasm was answered with a similar response from his partner shortly after his first spurt, the combination of hot semen and their two constantly rubbing tips pushing the two males into the embrace of the most intense pleasure they ever tasted.
Stormfur's shuddering legs almost gave in when he pulled away from the magnetizing embrace of Smoketail's hot, stuffed sheath. Ample amounts of cum followed the retreat of his tip from the sheath he inseminated, gushing out in thick, lascivious waves of fertile cream until the bridge that clung between their still-leaking tips finally broke apart. Collapsing on his side, with his cock still leaking semen, Stormfur said nothing. Thought nothing. He had no more energy to form coherent thoughts, or even clean up his flooded genitals. All he wished was to rest. To dream, to catch his breath, and to rest under the sky of a most enchanting night.
***The End***
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