The Wild West

I live in Oregon.

This is a perfectly normal thing.
Unfortunately, coupled with the certain people I tend to associate with, this simple fact can cause many strange things. I am walking leisurely alongside Amanda as she rides her horse Spider up the road, when everything changes. The trees shrink rapidly, then grow, the grass dies and grows back in quick succession, torrents of rain and snow and hail lash around us like a maelstrom...time is sucking us backwards. Actually we are standing still but time is sucking everything else, until a giant tree rips loose from the ground and smacks into us, tearing us out of the eye of the storm and straight into temporal chaos.

We are dropped into a small valley of nothing but small shrubs and sandy dirt and a few cacti. It is very hot, even though it is about dusk. Amanda thinks we are in Death Valley at first, but it is small and strange and there are these weird tiger-striped frogs hopping about everywhere, so we rule out the normal world. There appears to be more than one sun setting, too. Three spots glow on the horizon, almost with the same brightness. A world of cold, hard precision in some ways, and downright strange customs in others...

As the world grows dark and slightly more breathable, the parched air sucking a little life from the evening dew, a smaller light appears on the opposite side of the valley. Swinging slowly back and forth in the air. Like a will-o-the-wisp, or a very methodical ghost. As it approaches, we realize it is merely a lantern tied to a walking stick held by a wizened little man. In his other hand glints a silver pistol.

"What're you kids doin' out here after dark?" he asks suspiciously, gesturing with the pistol. "Don'tcha know them Wild Things're up 'n about this time uh night?" He looks at Spider suspiciously. "They love the taste of horse. You sure 'nuff just signed your own death warrants, bringin' that thing down here."

"Oh, we meant no harm, we just ended up here by accident," Amanda begins-- when a piercing howl echoes off the valley walls. We look to the western ridge, and there stands a beautiful creature, silver and grey in the light of the three moons, coat flowing in a slight breeze. It turns and fixes its yellow eyes upon us.

"Great!" I chirp enthusiastically, rubbing my palms together. "Werewolves!"

As they rush down the slopes, I dart into the air to prepare a counter attack and test my recent upturn in vim. Amanda pulls a GIANT dictionary from her pack-- "For light reading, while I ride"-- and bashes the first wolf on the head as it leaps for the old man. I counter the other two by spinning around in the air, arms turned so I raise a great cloud of dust and sand. More come rushing in, but we have them well in hand. I'm actually feeling quite relaxed during the whole fight-- it's as if the outcome is certain. Then, I see a mother werewolf with its cub, a small changeling  boy who has not quite figured out how to turn all the way wolf. She is nudging him to the side, though he clearly wants to fight. I wonder, who he is, why his mother looks so worried, but have no time to find out. My last dust storm blows the place apart, and when it clears, Amanda and I are once again on a winding path below the stars. We appear to have traveled a little further up into the logging trails, and some hours have passed. We decide to walk back home, have some tea, and try to plot more structure into our dream adventures. Just so we actually know WHAT we're fighting and WHY.

Which makes me wonder...why was the old man in the dangerous valley at nightfall himself?