Moon Dragon by J. R. Rain

dusk.
    I hiked alone along a sometimes winding trail, although mostly it meandered through ponderosa pine, cedar, black oak, white oak and dogwoods. I knew this because I had read the posters that lined the park ranger’s office. I was a little sketchy on which were the black and white oaks, but other than that, I was fairly proud of myself for picking out the different trees. Granted, none were as big as the pines in the Pacific Northwest, but that was to be expected. This was—according to the chart—a transiticonifer forest, which meant little to me, although it probably got botanists all hot and bothered.
    I picked up my pace, although the forest was getting darker by the minute. Luckily for me, light particles danced and swarmed before my eyes, lighting my way, enough through the darkest of nights...or along a darkening forest trail.
    Not quite light particles, I thought, as I picked up my pace even more. God particles, maybe. Spirit energy, definitely.
    Tree trunks flowed past me. Ferns and smaller bushes swept by. I picked up speed, hitting the trail hard and fast. I could have been on a rollercoaster. Up and down and around tight corners and through mud puddles, up steep slopes and down sharply angled trails that led down into ravines.
    Faster, I ran. And faster.
    I adjusted my footwork on the fly, supernaturally fast. I should have broken my ankle a hundred times over. Instead, I sidestepped small holes, rocks and tree roots. I pumped my arms and laughed and could have sworn that there were times that my feet didn’t even touch the ground. I could have been flying through the forest.
    I knew I was grinning from ear to ear as I ran, but I didn’t care. No one could see me. I was in the deep, dark woods, which was only getting darker by the minute, although it was becoming more alive to me, alive with flashing light.
    Critters scattered in my wake. I surprised two deer on the trail. I moved between them, smelling their musky coats, and hearing them dash off after I was dozens of yards past them. I could have grabbed one. I could have broken its neck. I could have feasted on it. And then what? I would have been covered in deer blood. But it would have been...exciting, invigorating, thrilling.
    I pushed past the feeling and continued running. As much as I enjoyed fresh blood, I was enjoying this night run even more.
    I found a trail that seemed to lead up, and up I went, higher and higher into the mountains, hurdling logs and boulders and running up a trail I was certain few humans had ever used. A game trail, surely. High above, the quarter moon appeared within a thick stand of Douglas firs .
    How far had I run? Two or three miles? Five? Ten? I didn’t know, but I knew I was lost as hell...and I didn’t care.
    Up I went, higher and higher, and, if possible, my speed seemed to only increase.
    At one point, I finally did hit a hidden tree root, and I tumbled head over ass, skidding on my face. I got up, spitting out dirt and twigs and laughing. Nothing broken. I wasn’t even scratched. I dusted myself off, then started running again, zigzagging up the trail, knowing I was nothing more than blur to anything watching me, and feeling like I was on the ride of my life.
    No wonder I was grinning like a fool, all the way up past the treeline, and over loose rocks and boulders until finally, finally I stood at the top of Old Greyback, the highest peak in the San Bernardinos. At 12,000 feet I finally stopped and looked down upon Southern California far, far below.
    I wasn’t even out of breath.
    I found a cluster of boulders and climbed to the top and sat there and relived my mad dash up the mountain. It had been exhilarating, thrilling—and it had all been possible, courtesy of the demon within.
    No, I didn’t hate her. She had, in fact, shown me a side of life that few would ever see.
    Of course, I knew now that I hadn’t been randomly picked, that my bloodline reached all the way to the greatest alchemist of all