They kept hounding her whether her eyes were closed or open; that was the part that scared her the most.

It was as if she no longer had conscious control over her own thoughts. They even dulled her senses and re-arranged external reality.

She could no longer tell whether something was real or an illusion dredged up to the surface of the world from her fevered imagination.

One image wanted desperately to have itself acknowledged by her consciousness. She dare not think it, and fought it back down.

But it was useless. Every time she thought of something else her thoughts would return to it like they were riding a circle.

She was sweating again. She had been cool here in the shade and couldn't understand. Before it was the sun that had her boiling.

Now it felt like the inferno was inside of her. She was not passionate or lusty but her temperature was rising fast.

The more she sweat and could not control her internal barometer the more panic-stricken she became and the heat became worse.

It was on account of that image she would not let rise to her consciousness. It demanded to be inspected and she was denying it a hearing.

Her heart raced. Her nipples were not aroused but her fleshy breasts shook from the intense level of her steadily palpitating heart.

She took deep breaths to calm herself and desperately groped with her senses to find an outer stimulation that would be intense enough to shake her awake from this terrible head-trip.

The smell of the sweaty stallion filled her nostrils. Soon the light stopped dazzling her eyes and the bubbling stream came into view.

She could hear the sound of the chirping birds. She could feel her tongue in her mouth and knew she had made it back to the world of hard matter.

Just when she thought that she had succeeded in fighting her way out of that terrible vertigo swoon, the deadly image popped into her brain.