In the dream, we are a group, a community, and we live in a dangerous place. The woods are full of threats, but for some reason we are in the woods, tall, thin bare trees—aspen, maybe birch. My second wife is there, leading some kind of survival tutorial on a whiteboard, inexplicably set up in the woods. We watch as she draws a series of circles, and all I can think is how exposed we are out there in the woods.

As if hearing my fears, a terrible noise from among the trees as a pack of bear-like wolves burst from the undergrowth at a full run in our general direction. For a moment I think we’re doomed. Then I realize they aren’t attacking us—they’re running from something else. Even without a name, I recognize these creatures as the most fierce predators here, and something has them running scared.

When I see what pursues the bear-wolves, I understand. A mounted hunting part comes charging through the trees. They are not-elves, with high, swept-back helms, atop faces that are undeniably classic elven. But they are taller, powerful, fearsome. And they are blazing, horses and riders a slow-motion galloping inferno as they pass us. They spare a look in our direction that says it all. “You are beneath our notice. But soon.”

We retreat to shelter, a shared home that reminds me a lot of my former apartment. I look out the window with a friend I haven’t seen in decades. It’s snowing outside. But it isn’t snow. It’s ash. The elven riders are burning down the world. It isn’t safe here anymore and we have to leave where we are—wherever that is.

The only safe escape route means going outside again, north towards an abandoned Panda enclosure. Once there, we can pass through the doorway at the back of the enclosure and we’ll be done with this world.

But we have to get there first.

(I don’t know how much of this is a result of me reading slush for the upcoming Timid Pirate post-apocalypse anthology, but damn. I’m certain to be recycling bits of this for future projects. The elves and bear-wolves if nothing else!)