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In Latin, the moon is_luna,_ which is where we derive the term "lunatic." Originally, it meant to be "touched by the moon" or "moonstruck," because it was thought that the full moon affected people's minds, perhaps the way that it affects the tides. It's difficult to say if the reality caused the legend, or the legend caused the reality. People really do get a little nuts during the full moon, and I'm not talking just about were-creatures. Ordinary folks like me get goofy, restless, unpredictable, unstable, foolish - choose your adjective as you will. We have dreams, behave oddly, see things... although even I didn't think I'd ever see anything like her.

I was running. I'm a horse, and that's what we do, for one reason or another. For me, the full moon was causing an itch that I couldn't fully explain. I had only been on the island for three days, just settling in to the relaxed atmosphere, away from work, away from family problems, away from relationship problems, away from everything but myself. That's what the running was for. There is a moment, if you can reach it, where your body simply takes over, doing what it's supposed to do to keep moving, and your brain shuts off, and all those voices in your head can't keep up and get left behind. You really can run away from yourself, if you work at it hard enough.

My hooves pounded the wet sand at the water's edge, leaving a trail that would eventually be erased as the tide came in. I wasn't exactly in hiding; a stallion of my size and pure white coat is not the ideal choice for slinking in shadows. The full moon affects me physically as well as psychologically. A long-ago lover called me Moondust, because under the light of a full moon, something about my coat seems to glow, as if every hair were phosphorescent, every part of me save for ebon hooves and deep sapphire eyes. My mane and tail have a golden cast in sunlight, but under the moonlight, they glint silvery and bright, trails of a comet blazing across the wet sands of the nighttime beach.

I had worked up quite a lather by the time my lungs finally revolted and refused to keep up the pace I was putting myself through. I slowed to an easy trot and finally to a walk, my body covered in sweat that the warm salt air licked and caressed to cool me down slowly. I'm a sensual beast, despite what some might have said of me. I'd have been running naked, if the resort had allowed it. Granted, I was a long way from there by this time, but the shorts were comfortable enough for now.

As I looked around, I realized that I must indeed be a long way from the resort. The area was as close to untouched as anyplace on this world could still be. A low coral reef created a little lagoon up against the igneous rock formations of the long-extinct volcano. The inlet was small, probably fed by high tide or perhaps a space in the formations of the natural dam that ran along the beach. Craggy walls some four or five meters high ringed the watery haven with primeval majesty, and just beyond stood a thickly forested area, with palms, bays, and calabash, native to these islands and reclaiming their own in the decades since the plantations had ceased to be. The small pool lay undisturbed in the full moon's light, save for some floating water lilies and the most astonishingly beautiful female I'd ever seen.

The otter stood in the pool, her back to me at first. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded down her shapely back, down to the sumptuous curves of her bare tail and backside. Moonlight usually allows colors to lie, where red is gray, and yellow, white. With her, the light faithfully showed her smooth dark chocolate fur, the pink hibiscus in her hair, the hints of black in the pads of her forepaws. As she turned, slower than the face of the moon through its nightly voyages, she moved her paws to cup and cover delicately her full, round breasts. The look in her dark eyes held no fear, no surprise, no shame or allure. She gazed upon me as the moon itself, and I felt welcomed, invited, as if brought to this place, and to her, because I was meant to be.

I had never seen her before. I had never seen anything like her before. No other female, no statue of marble, no work of art, no photographer's dream could begin to measure up. Even the word "perfection" failed, because there was no illusion of being superior or like the Goddesses of old. She was mortal, with whatever failings or foibles we are all heir to, but within those boundaries of being real, she was indeed perfect.

For what felt like hours, I stood and gawked like a foolish pony. It wasn't embarrassment; it was something more like awe, in the true sense, not in that watered-down, tepid usage that the pups and kits were still so fond of. "Awesome!" they pipe up, reducing the sensation to something quotidian. She, this otter, this touch of the divine made flesh, was the true definition of awesome.

Eventually, I found my manners and my voice. "Forgive me," I managed, with difficulty. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"You did not intrude." Her voice was calm, melodious like the Sirens, yet held nothing fearsome. "I was expecting you."

"You were?"

"Well... perhaps I should say, I was expecting someone, and I think you are he."

"I don't understand."

"You will." She moved with the grace of her species, with the sense of mesmerism in motion. "You have a question. And so do I. We are to give each other our answers."

I can only guess how comical my expression must have been. A highland bull friend of mine, a Glaswegian, taught me the word "dumfoonert," and it sounds exactly like it feels. Her lilting laugh was in no way cruel, merely amused.

"It is a way we have, here in the islands. In the Hawaiian islands, they call it_ka mahina moeuhane,_ the moon dreaming." She took a step toward me, as if gliding in the water, her fine, strong tail moving languidly, her round ears piqued just a fraction. "Have you not ever had a night during the full moon, when you felt that you had to go out into the world, had to find something, even though you did not know what it could be? That is the moon dreaming. When you have a question that you may not even know that you have, or an answer for someone you may not even know."

"Upaguru," I found myself saying.

Her voice and her smile remained soft in the quiet night. "What is that?"

"Part of the path to enlightenment. The_satguru_is the enlightened one, who holds all understanding. The upaguru is a person, a thing, an event, that carries the next message for the one seeking enlightenment." I took a step nearer, my tail shifting, moving of its own accord, expressing not fear so much as confusion. "Are you my_upaguru_ tonight?"

"Perhaps. And I yours."

"Should I ask a question?"

"No. You should provide the answer. My answer. And I shall provide yours." She raised a shapely arm, holding her forepaw out to me. "Come closer."

I stepped carefully into the pool, my hooves finding a surface of hard-packed sand, very stable, very smooth. The water was just a little warm, like a natural spa, coming up to about halfway on my thighs. My forepaw went out to meet hers, and she drew me to her, gently, and pressed her lush, warm body against mine, her cheek against my chest. Without thought or hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her in a tender embrace, my chin resting comfortably on atop her head. She was naked, and I nearly so, but there was no sensation of anything sexual between us. The scent of hibiscus was joined by something like cinnamon and clove, and my nostrils flared to catch all of it that I could. I could feel my heart pounding, certain she could hear it, but it wasn't due to fear, nor arousal. It was anticipation. Something within me stirred and reached out to her, and I felt just as surely that something in her reached out to me. If we had eyes to see them, the sensations would take form, appearing as silvery, aetheric, gossamer strands from soul to soul. I closed my eyes to see them better.

Visions that I felt more than saw came through to me, a sense of remembering something that I had never experienced. I felt the emotions of everyone involved, knew the names and relationships, the intimacies of their interactions, certain of all that I absorbed into my mind and heart, and just as certain that I would not be able to speak or remember it later. My purpose here was only to tell her what she needed to hear, and my voice came forth without my bidding.

"You have been judged and found wanting," I said softly, not even entirely aware of what I was saying. "But the want is not with you. It is the judge who has lied. Cast him aside, lotus flower, and his opinion with it. Trust who you are, for she is needed. You have no need of shame; never let it touch you. Let your heart be full."

Silence followed, during which I could barely remember anything but the feeling of having spoken words, whatever they may have been. My twitching ears moved forward to catch her voice, as she turned her muzzle upward toward me.

"You have not met her yet, but she exists. What you thought was real was a dream, but it was not a mistake. No love is wasted, moonglow, and your heart may be hurt but never lost. You have not lost her because you dreamed; you have dreamed her because she is real. You must run, but run not away from the real; run toward the dream, and it will become real."

We stood in the quiet of the pool, the sound of the ocean near but not so near as to drown the shurring of our breath, the pulse of our hearts, the lightness of having recognized what we needed to know. After a very long moment, she raised her muzzle to mine and kissed me warmly. We held the tenderness between us for what felt like many nights blurred into one. When finally we separated, she stroked my mane affectionately, smiling.

"Thank you," she said.

"And thank you," I replied softly. I brushed my forepaw against her cheek, planted a final kiss to her forehead, then left the pool slowly, walking back the way I had first come.

I remember little of the walk back. As I approached the resort, a uniformed police officer stopped to ask if I was all right. He was a native hare, and his long ears twitched not in suspicion but in genuine concern. I was afraid he might think I was drunk, as my answers to his questions were not quick, nor were they particularly complete. At length, however, something in his golden eyes glinted with a certain mirth.

"New to the islands?"

"Visiting. Went for a run."

"Did you dream?"

I looked at the hare with a certain amount of shock. He simply smiled softly, glancing up at the moon and back to me.

"It's an itch, a full moon like that. Makes folks restless. Seems natural enough for an equine to have a run. Was a good 'un?"

"Yes," I said, more honesty in my voice than I'd intended. "Yes, it was."

The hare nodded. "You should sleep well tonight, then. Off ya go."

When I returned to my room, I first thought that sleep was the last thing I'd be able to do. I stripped off the shorts and lay on the bed, the sea breeze blowing gently into the room. The moon, full and falling slowly in the sky, lit up my coat like a beacon shining for someone to see, to find. On my lips, I tasted a name that I had found in someone else's dream. On the air, I caught a whiff of cinnamon and clove. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.