"Wyatt..."
It was spring in her dream.
The green grass on Field Ridge in spring, and the frogs croaked at night. A concrete path had been built between the rice fields, and after the rain at dusk, the road was wet. The street lights along the way were broken, but the lights of the distant village were on, and so was the moon, casting just enough light to see the road clearly.
The night wind blew, bending the early rice in the fields, and a girl walked alone on the path through the fields.
She was dressed in a beautiful long skirt and white shoes, with a chain around her ankle adorned with an expensive ruby, her steps getting faster and the pendant swinging more quickly.
Not far on Field Ridge, a dog barked— a big, fierce black dog that ran towards the girl.
The girl held her head high with pride, "Don't come any closer."
At night, there were only the sounds of insect chirps and dog barks, no people around.
