She's dreaming, though she won't know this until after. There is a cow between her legs. She expects that it has warm, exhausted eyes behind its African elephant mask. The cow is trying to throw her from its back. It is trying to run faster than she can sit.
       Breath approaches from under a bridge. She sees that it’s his. It is in the shape of a man with an admirable head of hair. His breath takes her from the cow with its arms and puts her inside them. She lets it, and isn't sure why. Its arms are strong and very cold, in a minty sort of way. His breath tips her head back at the chin and pushes itself into her face; doesn't stop. The little bits of it that won't go in properly start to leak out of her eyes, her nostrils. His breath gets thinner and thinner, until the only thing left of it is her damp hands.
       Her cat is in her lap, licking her damp hands. 'I'm glad,' he says, and when he says it his accent is Welsh. There are cat whiskers drawn on his face, on top of where his real whiskers are. She wipes them off with the palm of her hand.

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