TOM ROLLED OVER UNDER the thick layer of quilted blankets that covered the large brass bed and slipped his arm around Pony’s waist. Her slender human form snuggled against him. He kissed her full pouty lips and whispered, “I’d like nothing better than to spend the day in your arms, but something isn’t right with Ahmity and we need to find out what it is before the others return.”
Pony’s long thick lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes. Two amber orbs stared up at him. “Ahmity is dying,” she said in such a casual tone that it startled Tom.
“Dying?” he whispered, as if a horrible secret had been revealed. “How can you tell? Did he say something?”
“He didn’t have to tell me.” She nuzzled his neck. “I can smell it on him. Death has an unmistakable musky, sweet odor. It permeates him. He
