Chapter 1
Lupita's breasts oozed milk, drenching two round spots in the front of her thin white cotton blouse, inches in diameter, the wet fabric sheer now and clinging to the nipples and the white purple-veined peaks looking as if she wore nothing at all, as if two large round holes had been cut into the cloth. Her nipples hurt, the pressure inside unendurable. She cupped the two mounds with her hands, but the gentle lifting pressure pushed milk out in a stream, the fluid running down, soaking into the cloth against her skin at her belly. She closed her eyes and muttered an oath. Then, careful not to disturb the burdens again, she touched her palms to the nipples, moving them in a circular motion against the taut flesh, massaging-even that touch made the milk ooze faster, and did nothing to relieve the pain.
She shook her head sadly. Even at fifteen, a mere child, her breasts had been big as a matron's; now that she was sixteen, after giving birth to a dead bundle of skin and bones, the mounds were gigantic, as full of milk as the stiff pig hides Manuel used to deliver the milky-looking pulque to the pulquerias in Cuajimalpa-and the pain in her nipples made Lupita as drunkenly delirious as the fermented drink from the maguey plant, the huge cactus-like plant, made the pulque drinkers.
If it were not for the pony-the thought made her blush, made her nipples tingle.
Hurriedly she rolled the last of the dough into a ball, placed it in the primitive wooden press and put her weight behind the lever, squashing the dough into a tortilla. She took it out of the press and laid it on the sheet of tin over the coals that served as a stove, then, wiping her hands on her skirt, she pushed back the curtain over the glassless window and peered out.
The hacienda, made out of rock and caulked with mud, sat on the highest rise of a deep-boxed gorge. She could see the thin ribbon of road sliced out of the green hillside that wandered down the gorge, curving up and then down to the stream and then up again toward the village of Cuajimalpa. The sun had already dropped low over the west hill, throwing its dark shadow high up on the opposite hillside, marking the difference between day and night, a sharp line; mist was beginning to rise from the stream blocking out part of the road, but she was sure Manuel had not started back toward home, there was no sign of the mules.
She dropped the curtain and her feet hurried over the dirt floor to the rear of the house and then out the back door, chickens squawking and flapping their wings as she strode through them toward the lean-to that served as a stable. Open on three sides to the weather, the roof was thatched with striplings and corn stalks, a narrow feeding trough ran along the one wall; fodder and hay covered the ground. The pony stood stiff-legged, dipping his nose into the trough for corn, the rope dangling from his neck to one of the corner posts.
As Lupita approached, his eyes rolled, his ears straightened, his neck stiffened, waiting. Lupita walked up slowly alongside him, stroking the still fuzzy hair on his back as she moved toward his head, her voice speaking softly to him now, "Ah, mi chiquito. My little one!" Her voice purred softly to him in Spanish, her hands rubbing his back, down his leg, moving up along his neck and then down his long face. The pony made a low snorting sound, a purr, in its nostrils. He nuzzled his nose into Lupita's breasts, and she smiled, whispering, "Quieres leche, mi chiquito." Would you like some milk? Holding its head in her hands she kissed the sloping nose.
Her hands fumbled at the top of her blouse, pulling the gathered elastic down over the globe-her other hand reached in and pulled out the massive mound of flesh, the sticky fluid glinting dully on the dark nipple, droplets forming, oozing out of the tip. "Aqui ... aqui estd tu leche, mi chiquito," Here, here it is.
She felt the wet wide lips nuzzling, parting over the nipple, the mouth already beginning to suck, testing-and then it seemed to draw in half her breast, pushing on it, sucking on it. Lupita's lungs gasped for air with the sensation, her eyes closing, her knees beginning to shake.
"Oooh!" So good, the feeling in her nipple, guiding the breast to his mouth, her other arm moving up to his ears, pushing his head down into the soft malleable flesh. Then, coming alive, she pulled the cloth down exposing her other breast, forcefully moved the sucking mouth over, feeling the thick wet lips gliding from one heavy globe to the other, her hand grasping that mound, her body twisting, grinding, stuffing more and more of the globe into the warm wet mouth, feeling the warmth flow from her breasts to her thighs, the heat spreading, the moisture spreading as if the pony's broad tongue had reached down and lapped between her legs.
Her eyes opened wider, frantically with the feeling, her hands fumbled with the halter rope at the post, shaking incontrollably, her fingers refusing to function-and then, at last, the rope seemed to come undone of its own accord. Her knees gave way and she sank to the thick matting of fodder and hay, smelling it, feeling the softness, the pony following, kneeling awkwardly on first its forelegs then its rear ones, its hungry mouth never leaving the breast she fed it, the steady sucking never stopping. And then it rolled over on its side, her body moving with it, still stoking the milk-laden tit into its mouth.
For five months she had fed the pony from her breast, ever since it was breached, tangled hopelessly in its mother's belly, one leg sticking out of the mare's gaping bloody vagina-Manuel, tears in his eyes, had run his knife into the mare's neck behind the skull, severing her spinal cord, and then had used the same knife to cut open her belly.
Her own baby-she knew it was dead in her womb. Manuel, his stubby beard shining wet with-pulque, his eyes rolling drunkenly, had beat her, one of his fists driving deep in her belly. The sac had broken and water had drained from her womb, gushing down her legs into a puddle around her, dropping down in the middle of it where she'd fallen when he hit her. The next day her pelvis had begun to grind and twist as if wrenches were applied to it, and then came the pains, as she'd never felt before, as the dead masses of flesh began, over a tortured two-day period, to be expulsed from her body. Manuel had fed it to the dogs.
Four days later the Appaloosa went into labor. Manuel's pride. Not the labor, he had found out she was in foal only after he had bred her to a burro, a prize burro of his father's, to get a strong high-back, large-flanked mule that could carry twice the loads of the mules bred from spindly small Mexican Arabians. And then, as the mare's belly swelled, he counted on his fingers and knew she was not pregnant with his prize mule-she was bred before he bought her. He would have to sell the foal, wait another year before his mare could breed again.
And then the decision, whether to kill the foal or kill the mare-cut off the foal's leg and reach in and drag out the rest of it, dragging and cutting, piece by piece. He had driven the knife quickly and deep. He sobbed quietly as he sliced open her belly, tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat. Lupita had washed the blood off the foal, watched its eyes rolling frightened around in its head, not seeing, blinded by the light from the lantern. It gurgled high sounds in its throat, a wail as plaintive as any newborn's.
Manuel, on his knees, sat back on his heels staring at it, fingering the knife, his eyes rising only once to Lupita's face. Only for that instant did she wish he had had that look on his face when their baby-She'd shaken the thought out of her mind, her own eyes blurring as she looked at the head of the foal in her lap. Slowly she'd unbuttoned the front of the dress she'd been wearing, the print dress with the mariachi figures on it in bright colors-wet with sweat and blood. She'd taken her breast in her hand and guided the tip of it slowly toward the foal's mouth, satisfied somehow, feeling the culmination of some deep longing as the animal nuzzled experimentally, blindly, and then began to suck her tit, first one and then the other, until the breasts were dry and Lupita felt peace from them for the first time in months.
A month went by and then another; the soreness in her womb and between her thighs healed, the rush of bloody fluids slowed and stopped, and she lay awake nights with the heat in her womb, her fingers toying in the folds of her vagina, aware of Manuel snoring beside her, longing for him to climb on top of her, violently as he did after he had brought her from her father, ram his prick inside her and bring her to that peak of feeling she had come to love desperately. But he did not, and never was she more aware of it than when she held the head of the pony in her arm, squeezing her tit into its hungrily sucking mouth, feeling it nuzzle her between the legs as it sometimes did, its gigantic prick in its sheath of loose skin extending, becoming rigid and shiny-looking when she touched it, which she sometimes did. And now, getting hard whether she touched it or not, as if anticipating the feel of it when she took it in her hand.
She shifted his mouth to her other tit, feeling the pressure relieved, the pain gone, the nipples tingling excitedly. She stared at the huge penis, the head of it like a cylinder, almost flat at the end except for the slit-even as she watched a drop of thick fluid began to form in it. Just like Manuel, she thought a smile spreading her lips. Only bigger. Mas grande! She slid her hips along the hay, moving toward it, trying to reach out and grab it with her hand, but she couldn't reach it. Cradling the head in her arm, careful not to pull the pony's mouth away from suckling, she pulled it toward her, bending the head down and in toward its body. Her hand moved along the underside of its belly. The muscles in her vagina kept tensing and jerking of their own volition, the desire throbbing inside her. Straining, pulling at the pony's head, her fingers touched the head of its prick-the pony was growing too large too fast-and then, straining harder, her fingers moved along the head and closed around the shaft of it. The pony's mouth stopped sucking. It stilled immediately, hardly breathing.
Squeezing it tight, she shifted the loose skin of it up over the head and brought it down again, then began a slow, steady rhythm of it, stroking, jacking the prick, her eyes watching it, longing for it, not in her hand but stuck between her legs, rammed in her, all of it, splitting! She could almost feel it! Deep in her cunt, reaching for her womb, forcing its way in, ripping at her!
Her eyes blurred, her head shaking from side to side, her hips quivering, her knees clapping together, thighs squeezing each other. Her hand dropped the pony's penis as if it were burning her palm. A moan squirmed out of her lungs. The hand, her fingers, dived between her legs, up under her skirt, her fingertips groping in the wet lips of her cunt, mashing into the flesh, flat on her, and then rubbing back and forth, from her clitoris to her asshole, and then ducking inside, two fingers in between her lips, trying to jam her whole hand inside her.
Tiny cries escaped her lips-and, as if suddenly aware of the pony's mouth again sucking on her breast, pressing into the soft flesh, she ran her mouth over the side of its face, feverishly kissing. With a loud groan she let go of it and stood up, fumbling with the bottom of her blouse. She yanked it off over her head, shaking out her long black hair. Her hands moved to the waist of the skirt, pushing it down over her hips, dropping it to the hay-covered ground and stepping out of it.
The sun had gone now, and the early night air was cool on her naked flesh, but she could see, the moon was high and full, the light of it shimmering over her skin. She ran her hands over her body, over her breasts, and down her belly to her thighs, moving between them, her hands riding through the slick warm wet labia as almost inaudible moans slipped out between her clenched teeth, her eyes looking at the pony's prick, watching it jump as he tensed his muscles. Her hands moved back up to her breasts, squeezing the mounds, straining the nipples toward her own mouth, her head, her mouth reaching for the nipples, her tongue sticking out to touch them.
Dropping to her knees, she pushed the pony's mouth again to her breasts, feeling it begin to suck her, then shifting it to her other mound and back again, moving his wet mouth down over her belly now, seeing the trail his wet mouth left behind it, moving the mouth across her belly, up under her breasts, feeling it nuzzle into the softness, and then pushing the mouth back down again, further this time, over her mound of thick hair and in between her thighs. Her lungs sucked in air sharply as the lips quivered against her hot cunt, the tongue moving rough and wet against her sensitive flesh, exploring, and then the mouth began to suck, sucking loose, alive meat in its mouth, sucking the lips of her cunt in, its upper lip rubbing hard against her clitoris as it tried to suck more and more of it in.
"Oooh!" she groaned, Chupalo, chupalo, chupalo!" Suck it, suck it, suck it! She lay back on her elbow, the hand squeezing her breast, kneading into it, her fingers massaging the nipple, her other hand high up on the pony's head between its ears, pressing his nudging sucking mouth even tighter into her.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her head dropped back on her shoulders. The ecstasy rising in her body, spreading out from the mouth on her cunt, spreading, flashing heat and passion through every nerve end in her body and bouncing back again, impacting in her womb. Seeing the gigantic prick in her mind, wishing not only for the mouth sucking her, wishing she could be ravaged by that organ at the same time.
Then her vaginal muscles began to throb and tighten, the muscles in her buttocks, in her thighs, her whole body, growing tenser, tighter, feeling the emotion swelling in her cunt and in her mind simultaneously, feeling her whole body climbing, beginning to soar, rising straight into the night sky. The sound out of her lips now a wailing gurgle, laughing through it in her head, feeling the beauty of the feeling as she rose, rose, soared higher until she knew it couldn't go higher and then did, rising, and then in a flushing groaning whoosh, slow flushing from her body and soul, she felt herself coming, gliding out in space over the edge, wafting on the pinnacle of feeling, the ecstasy draining her, draining every muscle not only of tension but of strength, and slowly she collapsed, lying back completely now, in the prickly hay, but feeling only a cushion of satiation between her and the ground, aware only of the beauty of sensations in her body as the pony continued to suck her cunt, nuzzling between her thighs.
Moments later, the animal apparently tired of the tit between her thighs, the head began to move up, the tongue lapping at the sweaty salt on her skin, licking her entire body down, then up her breasts, neck, and face, then again moving to her breast, sucking once more at the nipples.
Slowly, Lupita let her mind return to awareness, smiling with the afterglow of orgasm, feeling the tingling mouth on her nipple. He was so beautiful, her chiquito. Lazily she stretched, feeling the sharp points in the hay on her back for the first time, but trying to ignore them, lovingly stroking the pony's hairy face, scratching up and down his long nose the way she knew he liked it. The animal had risen now, was standing with his hooves inches from her side.
Looking down his flank her eyes focused on his penis, sticking out bony and erect, the color of it eerily chalk white in the light from the moon. Feeling the mouth on her, seeing that big fucking prick hanging down, thinking about it, of how it would feel. The tingling began again in her cunt. But she couldn't do that, she couldn't take it, it was gigantic, it would split her open. She felt the blood racing through her body, beginning to pound at her temples. The pony had sucked her tits, had licked her body down, had nuzzled and sucked between her thighs at the meat of her cunt, but this had been the first time she'd ever reached an orgasm with him without helping it along with her finger jacking her clitoris.
She pushed the head away and got to her feet, rubbing her breasts and belly against the pony's side, her hands rubbing down its back, feeling its slick-curried hair like silk against her glassy skin, feeling as if sparks were about to fly from its body, from the appendage hanging from its body, straight up between her legs into her churning cunt. Her hand moved down along its side to its belly and then back, feeling for the organ, the pony deathly still, waiting. And then her hand was on it, marveling at it, sliding up and down the length of it, all the while her body getting hotter-her mind telling her she couldn't do it. More decidedly in each telling, her body writhing inwardly, tingling, crying out for it, her cunt yearning to take the prick in its gaping hungry jaws and swallow it, demanding it.
Weak in the knees, wobbly, she sank to the hay, still holding onto her prize, her hand-her fingers couldn't close around it, it was so huge!-moving slowly up and down the shaft and head, knowing the pony liked that. A drop of juice strung out from the slit in the head, dropping to the ground, the string behind it gleaming, picking up the lights before it broke. She touched her thumb to the cleft, smoothing out the juice that was left, rubbing it over the head, then jacking it faster, the strokes longer. Overwhelmed at the sight of it, the feel of it in her hands, the yearning for it in her cunt, she bent forward and kissed the head of it, kissed it lovingly, her tongue circling around the taut, shiny head, then nuzzling it with her cheek. So beauti ful! She loved it.
She had to try! Standing, she pressed behind his forelegs with her foot, pushing down on his back, and, obediently, he dropped to the ground. She pulled up on his legs, rolling him over on his back, and he curved his spine, balancing, his legs dangling limply. She straddled him, her buttocks sticking out dangerously near his rear hooves but sure that he wouldn't move. And then she took hold of the prick, her eyes getting wild in anticipation as she lowered her gaping cunt to it. The meat of its prick-head, cool from the air, touched her burning cunt and she almost swooned. Her jaw slacked open, her eyelids dropped closed.
Slowly, writhing her pelvis, she rubbed the head of it through the crease, wetting it, delighting in the feel of it, gliding it over her clitoris, down between the vulvic lips over the small gaping cunthole, along the seam in the crease to her asshole, rimming it with the edge of the prick's cleft-head and then by it, all the way up and back again. She couldn't control her larynx, the sounds began and grew, continually erupting from deep inside her, as if they were coming all the way from her cunt itself by way of her womb. Still holding the giant prick, her arms moved forward, her elbows stiff, her breasts between them squeezing the mammoth globes together, mashing them into each other, sliding the prick-head back and forth over her panting cunt, afraid to try, knowing it was going to hurt, but knowing too she had to have it, she couldn't dp without it! Just once, just this once!
Feeling the longing, the cries from it growing stronger by the second, feeling the heat emanating from the opening like a furnace, hesitantly, she lowered her body on it, guiding it to the rim of her cunt, settling her weight down on it. The broad head of it resisted at the hole, pushing against it but not penetrating. She wriggled her hips, settling harder, grinding it into the opening. The pain! Her eyes closed, her face contorted in a grimace of pain and passion, both hands on the prick, pushing her body against it, trying to force it inside. She strained harder, grinding against it. Sweat began to form in beads along her upper lip and forehead. Her weight bounced on it as a frustrated wail broke out of her clenched teeth. The pony whimpered an answer. Tears came out of her eyes as she knew she couldn't make it. Frustrated and angry, she moved her body back off it, her buttocks resting against the pony's haunches, both hands still clinging to the prick, beginning to jack it now, angrily, furious at her own frustration, crying and moaning with the ferocity of desires burning inside her cunt.
Her hands slowed on it, her pelvis writhing forward, sliding up and down on the shaft, rubbing it into the meaty lips, then falling back, jacking it again. Loving it, stroking it in the semidarkness, her body leaning over it, she felt it pulse in her hand, and then again and again, faster. A hot stream shot up her belly to her breasts! She cried out, knowing it was coming, wanting it to, but wanting it in her cunt, wanting to feel that burning, spurting stream inside, blasting all the way up in her guts, and again her body went on it, trying to stuff it in her cunt, her weight pounding on it, her hands trying to keep up the rhythm on it, feeling the thick syrupy come splashing against her cunt and ass, feeling the pain again as she poked it into the opening, trying to get it inside her.
Then the different pain. She didn't hear Manuel approaching, didn't sense him stopping a few feet behind her, anger boiling inside his pulque-drunken mind, his fists clenching and unclenching, watching her, in the moonlight, trying to stuff the pony's prick up her cunt, come still splashing out of it and running down the insides of her thighs. Her own mind, delirious with passion, with the compulsion to feel the prick, reeling even before he hit her on the side of her head. She felt the smack, the instant ringing in her head and the flashing red behind her eyes, felt the battering pain, felt herself careening through space and then the crash to the hay-covered ground.
Almost instantly she was yanked to her feet by the hair of her head, a palm and then a backhand and another slap and back again across her face, blinding her, stinging and battering against her face, her head, and then a fist in her stomach and then other fists, in her breasts, in her head, dangling now on her knees as he held her up by the hair, pounding her with his fists.
She didn't hear the pony whinnying skittishly, scampering to its feet after she was knocked off it, didn't see it turning, maneuvering its haunches toward Manuel, didn't see his weight shift forward on his forelegs, her rear ones drawing up off the ground, cocking, and then letting loose. The two hooves caught Manuel square in the back, knocking him into and then over Lupita. Groggily she saw him flailing on the ground with the pain. She lay where she had fallen, dumbly tasting the blood from the cut in her lip. The pony too waited quietly, the halter rope dangling on the ground beneath his head.
Manuel raised himself painfully to his knees, fumbling in his pocket-and then a click, and the blade of the knife glinted silver in the light. He staggered to his feet, eyes flashing.
"No, Manuel!" Lupita screamed.
He went by her, his eyes on the pony, staggering heavy-footed.
"No!" Lupita lunged, grabbing Manuel by the legs, the pony neighing, shifting nervously. "Run, mi, chiquito! Escapa te!"
Manuel swung at her, hit her on the shoulder.
The pony backed a few steps, his head rearing, turning from side to side.
"Escapa te, mi potro!" Her voice wailed, breaking into a forlorn cry.
Obediently, at last, the pony turned and his four legs charged out of the lean-to, his head turned back, holding Lupita in his vision until he disappeared into the trees.
Manuel's voice crackled, his eyes on Lupita now. His throat harsh. Ramera! You filthy bitch!" Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He slapped her, openhanded, knocking her back on the ground. Then the hand with the knife in it, he raised it.
Lupita gaped in horror at the glinting blade. Her jaw dropped. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Manuel faltered, stopped. He looked at the knife in his hand, and then threw it aside. "Ramera!" his voice hissed. His eyes roving her nude body, the heavy breasts, the tiny waist even though her belly was still loose and plump, the wide woman's hips. Her legs were spread where she'd fallen, the gaping wet cunthole glaring up at him, the wet juices of her own and the colt's gleaming up at him through the hair, around the red parted lips. "Ramera," almost a whisper as his hand went to the buttons at his fly, his fingers reaching inside, fumbling with his prick, dragging it out into the night air.
Lupita stared, her own eyes drawn from the ferocity in his face to the way he held the prick in his hand, at the base, shifting the arching hard length of it up and down, waving it like an angry banner.
"Ramera," he said again, dropping to his knees between her legs, his breath rasping now out of his mouth, leering lustily.
She scampered back in the hay, fearful of the look on his face, but his hand reached out, grabbing her leg, yanking her back toward him. His hands went under her knees, lifting her legs in one movement atop his shoulders, and then he was on her, pressing her body double, his prick in his hand again rubbing the head of it in the loose folds of her labia, searching for the opening to her cunt. She smelled the sour-pulque breath, his hoarse breathing directly in her face, her legs between them, her back breaking on the hard ground beneath the prickly hay, the muscles stretching taut in the backs of her legs, his weight heavy on her, crushing her, her own legs mashing her breasts, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She felt the head of his dick gliding frantically through the crease between her thighs, searching, then it was at the hole. His hand came away from between them and his hips lunged!
"Madre de Dios!" Lupita shrieked. Mother of God! She felt it drive in her, the head of it battering the rear of her vagina, past the cervix, poking pain in her all the way into her belly. His hips drove steadily, hard, punishing, his voice muttering, moaning. Lupita couldnlt move, pinned by his weight, at the mercy of that fiercely pounding prick in her cunt-and after the first painful strokes merged into another sensation, touching the yearning, awakening again her desires, she didn't want to move, except to add her own movements to his. Climbing in her mind, in her body, the voluptuousness forcing every thought, every pain aside, every sensation aside except the ramming pounding man-prick poking her all the way to her womb, to her soul.
A moan choked off in her throat, her larynx searching for words. Her Manuel, her lover, her husband, saying to him over and over, a lusty whisper, "Si, si, si, amante mio."
"Yes, my lover. The sounds, the words, rising from a whisper in her ears to a shriek as it built the ecstasy, the. hard rod pumping, the coarse fabric of his clothes rasping on her clitoris and her ass with his strokes, the head of his stiff prick retreating then slamming in, careening off the roof of her cunt, slamming past the protruding cervix to batter into the, rear of the hole so hard it chattered her teeth with the impact and she loved it, needed it, had cried for it, and now at last, for the first time in so long, she was getting it. The muscles around the battering prick tightened, heightening the sensation, her body strained against him, pushing toward orgasm, toward total ecstasy, and then she felt it on her! She was coming! The bursting wail in her throat rose with the climax, matching its timbre to the power of her orgasm, coming, coming!
And Manuel, slowing now but each stroke increasing in fierceness, pounding even harder than before, the grunts erupting straight from his gonads with each tearing, vicious, banging lunge, and Lupita knew he was coming too, going wild a flashing instant with the thought that he might be too soon, an instant too soon, and then there was not another thought, just the living of the passion, of ecstasy, aware and happy knowing that Manuel was feeling the same, coming, coming, at the peak of it she knew, only to discover with every lunge there was one still higher, and then at last floating in it, buoyed in shimmering ecstasy as Manuel dropped exhaustedly on top of her, his face, wet with sweat, nuzzling into her cheek, her neck, her shoulder lowering her legs slowly to the haycovered ground. He kissed each nipple of her breasts and then lay quietly on top of her, whispering softly. "Ramera," he used the word again, but this time there was a different sound behind it. "Te amo, ramera mia. Mi ramera cereza." I love you, personal little slut of minemy little cherry slut.
Lupita smiled, stretching languorously, then her arms tightened around his waist, and her pelvis, under him, ground into his.
Manuel rolled aside, grinning at her in the semilight, and began to remove his clothes. Lupita giggled, ignoring the pain in her body, in her split bloody lip, and began to help.
The pony wandered aimlessly for a moment, and then trod back to the edge of the clearing, watching across the yard as Manuel and Lupita struggled together in the lean-to. The smell of Lupita, the smell of a woman, was still hot in his nostrils, the memory of her breasts feeding him, the glow in his haunches still warmly reminding him of what a woman meant.
But she had told him to go. He turned his back on her for the last time, striding deep in the underbrush. Strong exuberance swelled in his long belly. He raised his head and bellowed in his strongest voice that he was free. And then he charged into the underbrush, racing the fireflies, leaping agilely over fallen trees and bushes.
Out of the woods, suddenly in a cornfield, he thrashed happily, trampling the stalks to the ground, then ate his fill of corn and fodder. The moon, full and bright like an exotic dessert, rode lazily out of his reach, and he followed it, the sounds of the night-crawlers soon drowning out the diminishing gush of the water racing in the stream of the gorge.