Last night, I had a dream.
My sister and I were walking through old streets towards a tall block of flats. Beyond the building was a meadow. The grass was tall, gleaming in the sunshine.
The two of us sat down on a bench nearby. “How wonderful it would be to live in a flat there, overlooking the meadow with grass that is waist-high!”
Suddenly, a creature glistening with sweat ran through the grass. It was scurrying on all fours, almost hidden in the tall grass. As it turned, we saw the gleaming dark grey tail, flat like a beaver’s, but huge, much taller than a man.
Moments later, a large blue bulldog appeared in the grass and flew onto the beaver’s back. Enraged, the beaver reared up on its hind legs. Undaunted, the bulldog too stood on its hind legs and the two were of the same height. They fought like bears, hugging, circling, growling.
My sister and I watched, amazed. The blue bulldog, blue as Krishna fought the dark grey beaver, silhouetted against the setting sun. The beaver balanced on its tail, much steadier than its opponent. A brown mongrel, equally tall, emerged from the grass and joined in the fray. Fighting, the three creatures kept moving, leaving the meadow altogether.
We felt honoured to have witnessed this majestic, terrible display, but as the circling trio came closer, we grew afraid.
Silently, we rose from the bench and slipped away, back through the old streets, back to safety, back home.
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