Lunatic.

An adjective describing one affected with periodic insanity, dependent on the changes of the moon. Those touched by the foul blood of the Gaurim were known by the term, known for their fits of emotional madness when the moon was high in the sky. But within such periodic madness it was said one could find moments of immense clarity and reason, indeed, the 'perfect' thought. One would see that on this very night.

He would run tonight.

The silvery, luminous eye of the full moon pierced his soul, and its voice came to him on the breeze. It spoke to the wilder part of him, the emotional part. It woke Rask from his slumber, from his pseudo-nest, not far from where his 'adopted' pup dozed. He yawned and stretched, remarkably rested for one who usually spent so much time asleep. The half-Gaurim rolled and pushed himself to his feet, his spine uncoiled with a series of pops and snaps. Already he shifted foot to foot, feeling restless, wanting to

Run.

He knew he would. He had to. He couldn't deny it. Before he would drink himself into a stupor come the moon, stave of its effects in that fashion. But now? Tonight he knew he needed to run. He stooped to pick up his headress, but stopped. The pup was curled up, and while she had proven remarkably resistant to the desert thus far, he knew it would be taking its toll. So recently had she been orphaned, and even more so adopted into his care. His! Rask growled softly, shaking his head as he glanced up at the moon. It winked down at him, egging him on. "This was yer doin'," he whispered, talking to the grand white disc, "but why?" The moon's only reply was a gentle sigh on the breeze, boiling the blood in his veins and calling at him to run away with her. His skin broke out in a cold sweat, and he felt his muscles tremble in anticipation.

And he ran, the headdress tucked around the little one tenderly, as an additional protection from the cold.

He dug his toes into the sand, feeling the grains sliding around his feet and the spray he kicked up behind himself as he flew over the dunes. "Why," he panted, demanding answers from the silent moon, "why'a pup t'me?" Never been lookin' a'fer anyun else b'fore, he thought, pushing himself up one of the many steep dunes, clawing on all fours. The grains slid through his fingers and toes, but he snarled in defiance. The moon's clarion call bade him further, and he was its willing slave. It challenged him, and he would match it with all the fire in his soul. He growled through teeth clenched into a smile and pushed harder, denying the slipping sand and pulling himself to the top of the dune.

He ran.

Not from something, or truly to anything. Nay, he ran to liberate that beast within his blood, the one that was passed down to him from his mother. His hair, not restricted by his headdress, flew about his face and shoulders, tangling into knots. His arms pumped, snagging strands and ripping them free. He could taste sweat, hair and sand. His stride became long and delicate as the earth pulled him down the other side of the steep dune, but he didn't stop. No. He ran on. Even as the sand slid away from under his feet, promising him a deadly fall, he ran in defiance, chasing the moon. "Why!?" He demanded, screaming hoarsely into the night. "I can't care fer a 'pup yet!" Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, and the moon swam against the sky.

Run!

Her sweet voice urged him on, echoing in his veins and he pressed up the next dune. His muscles began to burn, growing hard from the exertion. His veins expanded to accommodate the slamming of his heart, forcing the blood through his veins. His lungs screamed, and the sweat poured, sharp and stinging into his eyes. I can't. I can't! Too young, not able. I've got plans yet, places to see, treasure! I've got the treasure to find, and a ma-

His footing slipped as he crested the dune, and he tumbled forward. His eyes were pulled from the sky, and he saw before him the yawning, expansive desert sand, the vastness of the fall he was to take. He curled his arms about his head, and tucked it in, praying to the moon itself that he wouldn't die here tonight and orphan the child a second time. Headlong he fell, striking the dune first with his shoulder on his descent, crushing his neck and whiplashing down onto his back. He slid feet first for a short while, his pants filling with the sand. Rask's foot bent, stopping the downward slide with a sharp cry of pain. His body continued, pivoting forward around the bent appendage and snapping him forward, face first, into the sand.

The Sidewinder, Rask Atonis, ran no more.

For a moment he laid still. His face was buried in the sand, his body still off-horizontal, laying on the curve of the dune, rushing the blood to his head. His hair was a tangled mess, and his arms were spread eagle, in accordance to the popular stage comedies of the time. Slowly he began to convulse, and with great trouble, he rolled himself over, spitting out the cheekfuls of sand. The tears still streamed down his face, but now not out of pain or sadness, but in company with the laughter that shook his body. He stayed on his back, chuckling to himself as he stared up at the moon, brushing the sand off of his face.

"Y'know, if y'wanted m'attention, y'could've j-ouch!"

He wrinkled his nose and sat up, turning himself so his back was against the dune. His ankle had been twisted rather sharply, but Rask had a feeling nothing was broken. Maybe sprained. Very likely sprained. And badly. But not broken. Tenderly he massaged the ankle, looking back up to the moon again.

"Like'I said, coulda'ask'd." He chuckled again, wincing at his ankle. "'N'I 'pose it was kinda wrong fer me t'whine 'bout the pup. I'm more den capable o' caring' fer t'little 'un." He took at slow breath, leaning back against the dune. "Jus'pose I'm'afraid, y'know? T'man up t'it all." He relaxed for a second before sitting bolt upright. "But I will! Man up I'mean! No need t'throw m'down another hill." He chuckled and leaned back, his chest heaving. "I think I've got t'point t'first time.

Smar'en up!"

Wild laughter echoed into the night as Rask 'The Sidewinder' Atonis has an epiphany, in a way that only he could.