she knows what she'll see. her weight rests on four points. but she wants to look.

they walk through tall grass, shorter and sparser as they advance. the mists pull away to reveal a lake. odd deer drink in a herd, painted and thin-antlered. some lift their heads. but her focus is elsewhere.

the shore is soft, so she approaches gently. her head hovers over the water. it takes a moment for the image to clear.

the woman looks down, and sees a hound.

the lion is speaking, but she is enthralled. the loveliest dame from santa croce to castello, tilts her head and the mastino does too.

she angles herself, looks from each corner, perhaps testing the lion's patience.

then she finally lifts her head, staring intently at the deer sharing water.

a boom - she barks!

and the deer panic and scatter into the treeline.

the hound-woman laughs, utterly delighted.

what a beast i have become! she glints with mischief, turning then to the evangelist's spirit. approximating in an unclothed body with four feet, she curtsies to him.

ippolita sancha di san magiore, my lord. her head lifts again. and where would we be? was this the pool of betzaeta, as described by giovanni? she did hear of a gate named for lions.