This is a desert moon. It's a long way from Kansas. But then, so is Oz.

Badlands cover this moon. Gulleys and ravines separate colorful hoodoos. A few of these hoodoos rise and become buttes.

One of these ravines is very long. For a certain purpose, that's perfect. One wouldn't expect that to apply very often. But it seems that it does; this ravine is locally known as the Runway Ravine, or the Runway Furrow.

In orbit, a small space shuttle levitates. It waits for the right ends to meet. Once they have, it re-activates its thrusters, abandons orbit, and enters the desert moon's atmosphere.

Across the skies, the shuttle glides. All around it, debris spontaneously combusts...and remains lit for quite some time.

Through the badlands, strange reptiles wander/slither here and there. They're all pyrokinetic (i.e. they can control fire). Some have horns. Some have huge knobs for noses. Some have large, flappy dewlaps hanging from their throats. Some have a long row of spines running from the midst of their necks to the ends of their tails. All have claws. All have long prehensile tongues.

These beasts are salamanders. A salamander is a lizard-like creature that can generate and control plasma and/or fire. Via their own flames, they can fly. Many have mega-strength and/or mega-speed. Many also have prehensile tongues. Whatever their DNA packages, they're desert specialists...as are many lizards of Earth.

Across the skies of their territories, the comet makes way. Many raise their heads and attempt to watch...depending on how flexible their senses are.

Nearby, the Runway Ravine is still free and clear...for the most part. Alas, if only the gerbils would give it a berth more often... Some of the local ambling fish, too, could stand to give this ravine a berth...

Towards the badlands sands, the shuttle continues to descend. It shrivels, a bit, as it does... This'll soon make sense; hitting that ravine requires narrow aim, after all...and preferably with a small-caliber projectile, too...

Soon, the shuttle's landing gears touch down. It throws up sand all over the ravine walls, as it slows to a land.

Up ahead, the ravine dead-ends in a cul-de-sac. The surrounding cliffs are high, and slightly inclined. Painted, they are, too. There are also a few fossils within the cliff walls. This moon, it seems, has its paleontology, too...

The shuttle arrives. In circles, it drives around the cul-de-sac's dead-end. Sand, it keeps throwing up. The hoop-shaped furrow will likely be very deep, by the time the shuttle finally brakes...

Before too long, the merry-go-round has finally stopped. It's certainly left a furrow in its own wake; nothing that Father Time and Mother Nature can't erase, though... Either way, for now, it's settled...if only for a short time. Space shuttles, after all, have a reputation for not staying grounded for long. And one day, like the much analog spacecraft that once came before it, it goes up into space one day and never comes back...or at least not in one piece.

Within the shuttle's side, a hatchway opens. From it, a ramp is lowered. It, it seems, is about to leave someone behind. It's no wonder; at present, it only totes a sole passenger. She's from West Kansas.

From the hatchway, Marissa, still clad in her revealing white intimate, emerges. She shields her eyes and looks around. The place seems barren...although it's hard to tell, considering that this cul-de-sac, the ravine that empties into it, and all of the cliffs and hoodoos that surround it are all she can see from here. She hasn't been here for five minutes, and she's already sensing that she was better off in Kansas.

She wants her husband to come after her. She really does. Alas, odds are, he still doesn't know about her situation. And even if he did, he surely wouldn't care. He's a man without passion...and this is just the terrible truth about her marriage. Funny; he seemed passionate enough, when she fell in love with him, all those years back...

One step at a time, she makes her way down the ramp. She senses she's being watched... Alas, she's still reeling from the space flight she's been on.

Nearby, a seashell lies. It was once an ammonite's home...back when an inland sea still flooded these lands. Now, like the Aral Sea on Earth, it's all dried up. Only fossils...and many local ambling fish...remain of its legacy.

Into the shell's entry point, Marissa soon wanders. She's in a hurry to get inside. This shell isn't just a fossil; it's a powder room. Hence, Marissa might very well be inside it for a very long time. Good thing, then, that she's all alone in there.

Nearby, the shuttle reels in its ramp, and shuts its hatch. It turns and rolls to where the end of the cul-de-sac meets the rest of Runway Ravine. Lit afterburners later, and it's taking off again, throwing up just as much sand as before...at least until it rises, and begins its long ascent into orbit...and from there, wherever it'd rather be.

In the shuttle's absence, these lunar badlands get lonely and quiet. Not a breeze blows. Not a flash flood races. Not a rockslide begins. Most importantly, though, John is nowhere to be seen. With Marissa's luck...and with his issues...he still doesn't know his wife is missing...or care.

By and by, Marissa emerges from the ammonite shell. She's much fresher than before. She's also disturbed...more than so, in fact...that the shuttle is nowhere to be seen. Now she doubts even more, that the shuttle would've taken her back to Kansas...

Through the badlands, a wind blows. As it blows past Marissa, her scents and renewed fragrances are caught up within it...

Downwind and uphill, there's a butte. Parts of its sides are stepped. As one might expect, it's one of the tallest formations in the region. It's not taller than those in Utah...but to most who live here, it might as well be.

Across a runner of such a step, a salamander lies. He's got an anvil-like knob for a nose. A large, flappy dewlap hangs from his throat.

As he sleeps, and as the winds pass, his nostrils open. He mindlessly takes in a refreshing whiff of the desert moon's new visitor.

His eyes open. His soul smiles. He's had a pleasant dream. This is strange; he almost never dreams. He also thinks he might know where to go, to help make it come true...

Soon, he's spread his wings. He runs in circles around the side of the butte. Next, he runs straight for one side of the butte, and dives off its side... Moments later, he rides above it, wings spread. He flaps them a few times, and once securely airborne, he turns himself into plasma. Like a spiny, long-tongued phoenix, he flies across the badlands for a rendezvous with his dream...

Soon, he isn't alone. Other salamanders, it seems, have abandoned their buttes, too. All will soon converge where Runway Ravine dead-ends...

As they fly, they bugle. Their noise lacks soul...and is thus very scary...both to those who know it, and especially to those who don't. It's no stag's bugle; that's for sure. But then, there are surely many scared little girls in Scotland who still don't know how to not be scared of bugling stags. Frankly, Marissa's always been scared of bugling mule deer...and it's never made a difference that both her father and her husband have hunted them.

Below, Marissa hears this bugle. She shudders. Delirium hijacks her, and she soon finds herself on-the-run... It might as well be delirium; as small as she now is, it seems more likely she's got nowhere to go.

Through ravines and gulleys, she runs. Seldom, does she try to ascend the cliffs or hoodoos. She's not sure what's keeping her going... She has little to live for, if her husband doesn't come for her. She has no point to prove, if there's no distance she can go that'll make him understand...

As she runs, she looks around...and catches a view of one of her pursuers from the corner of her eye. She almost falls over; to her, he's that big and that terrifying...

One of the salamanders is right behind her. His wingspan is huge. As small as she is and as big as he is, they might as well be characters in a Monster Hunter video game...

In the sky, many local salamanders converge. Pairs and trios of them collide in midair...and tumble into the below sands as a result.

From a hole in the ground, another salamander emerges. He's reminiscent of an armadillo...and of subterranean lizards in general. His back, and most of his body, are an organic exoskeleton of sorts.

He leaps and starts rolling downhill. As he does, he rolls into a big leathery ball...and rolls much faster. As he rolls, he lights himself ablaze. Goodness gracious; he's a great ball of fire!

Into a sandy basin, Marissa soon finds herself. This is bad; she's got the low ground. Her chasers approach. Soon, they'll have their way with her...whatever horrific, soul-ravaging affair that might be. It's just a matter of time...

Up from the sand, many monsters surface. Marissa gets trapped atop one of them. They're ambling fish. Some are coelacanths. Some are lungfish. Some are gator-gars. Some are anglerfish...or the like. Some are carpet sharks. Some are bichirs. Some are gurnards. Some are mudskippers. To Marissa, they're all big...and they're all scary-looking to most. But then, they almost never swim. They also don't breathe the same way they would if these ravines were flooded.

These desert fish aren't just scary-looking; they're body-swapping. Nothing long-term; they only seek to communicate...and, to an extent, investigate. As they swap bodies with others, though, they've a tendency to leave some of their thoughts within their minds; these thoughts would mostly manifest themselves in the form of Croat-accented, Andalusian-accented, or Fluminense (i.e. Rio de Janeiro)-accented rhymes.

As Marissa experiences this, she has flash-nightmares. She has temporary moments where she sees everything from one of the ambling fish's POVs. She doesn't just see things, either; she smells, hears, touches, and tastes, too. She also experiences a strange bit of what's in their souls and/or subconsciouses. This is bad; an ambling fish's soul, after all, is seldom a commodity.

The salamanders arrive...and there's a violent clash between them and the ambling fish. With these groups of creatures, it's often just as likely that they're trying to kill each other as they are violently play-fighting. They're not non-comparable to the Lost Boys of Neverland in the Peter Pan stories.

The ambling fish that Marissa's trapped atop of is gator-gar like. She's atop his huge rostrum. As one might expect, a salamander is about to attack her mount. Hence, her mount flips his rostrum, ditches her, and prepares himself to violently play-fight with an oncoming salamander.

One of the salamanders catches her with his prehensile tongue. Alas, he's soon attacked by a rival. He throws her away, and returns force...

Both races have smiters in their ranks. They also have absolute-headbutters in their ranks. Specimens with mega-strength, too, they've both got. Specimens with mega-reflexes, too, they've both got. Some of the ambling fish also share the salamanders' passion for plasma...and hence, can both generate and control the same.

Like a little ball, Marissa is pitched among the salamanders and ambling fish. For her, this nightmare often deteriorates, as the ambling fish keep body-swapping with her, and leaving some of their stylish rhymes in her mind.

Aloft, one of the salamanders is still airborne. He has a huge rostrum encased within an organic exoskeleton; ideal for absolute headbutting. His wingspan is impressive...for someone of his race. He's got a nano-star in his chest...which both is and isn't a joke. He can enlarge himself...and probably has, at present. He has mega-strength and indomitable sexuality. And that's all only part of his DNA's package...

Over the battle below, the salamander dives. With one of his rear feet, he catches Marissa in midair. Toting her, he flies away, leaving the battle to over-continue.

In midair, the salamander situates Marissa atop the armored knob on his snout. For her, this'd be a more secure ride...if not way too overwhelming for her. But then, considering that where she was would be too scary for most, he'd prefer to think he's doing her a favor.

Atop his snout, he's got a small rhino-like horn. Marissa clings to this and shivers, as the world passes all around her.

Marissa's very sure that her husband's not coming to save her. Either way, in moments like these, she never wishes more that he would...or could...or whatever the hell ever holds him back, when he knows she hates it...

Up ahead, there's a butte. It's very tall; like one of the tallest chimneys on this side of the desert moon.

In circles, the great salamander flies around the tallest part of the butte's chimney. He's an impressive aviator. But then, he's surely had since his puberty to practice...if he wasn't a precocial hatchling.

To the monster's horn, Marissa still clings. For him, it's a long way down; for her, it's even farther. She's terrified, of course. She'd long for her husband...if she thought there was a point.

Within the butte chimney, there's a niche. Once the salamander senses he's ready, he flies near it. Soon, he slides across its ledge. Against his back, he smashes against a cliff wall. Good thing his absolute-headbutting doesn't topple the butte entirely.

He stands. And, with Marissa still atop his snout, he lumbers downstairs, to his chambers. Where this is, it's a spiral staircase. Funny, how it's here... But then, maybe not too much so...

Inside a stepped well, a throw has been lain. Its art, it seems, is desert sunset-themed. Runes are embroidered into parts of it. One almost wouldn't believe that such inspirations exist on other planets...if this throw wasn't pirated.

The salamander arrives. He plops down atop the throw, within the well. He's a flame in an oil lamp...and this is where he goes whenever the oil isn't lit.

With his tongue, he takes Marissa. He drops her on the stone floor. For her, it doesn't hurt much. At present, though, she fears more for her circumstances than anything else...

Again, with his tongue, the beast relieves her of the camisole she wears. It takes a moment...but he does get it off. Beneath, Marissa's lingerie is silver-white...and considerably revealing.

With his tongue, once more, he takes her up and drops her into a nearby glass bowl. It's akin to a fruit-strainer; there's a big hump in the middle of the bottom.

Through the bowl's sides, Marissa surveys her new circumstances. She can tell that they're going to be a bit...constraining. Her host, too, is very scary. She has no doubt that he'd be great in bed... She's...just not sure if she's ready to dishonor her husband...considering that she has no way of knowing if he'd prefer a divorce.

He won't come; she's sure of it. Hell, at this rate, he'd have to be a god to succeed. And much though Marissa has always revered him...she's never actually started believing that he's a real god...or even a demigod.

Within his throw-covered nest, the salamander curls up. It's amazing how he still has room for all 2000 parts, despite having a very large rostrum. Soon, though, he manages. He takes a huge breath...and breathes smoke all over the surface of his lair.

Into the glass bowl, some of the smoke takes refuge. As this happens, Marissa curls up, too...as she nearly coughs to death from all of the smoke. It reminds her way too much of the cigar smoke that her father-in-law can never seem to generate enough of. Her mother-in-law isn't a Cherokee...but she might as well be.

Outside, the night nears. Marissa would be more thankful that she's up here, and not out there... But, for understandable reasons, she's not yet sure if she can trust her host... As a matter of fact, she's almost certain she can't. She should, in fact, be dreading what he has in store for her... Let's face it; he took off her clothes, after all...and they weren't even halal...

In a corner of the lair, there's a gadget. It's been pirated...and it's fusion-powered. It generates white-noise...and occasional radio signals from space.

To the white noise, the reptilian, pyrokinetic host slumbers. He seems at-home. If he's bothered by his guest, he yields no hint. But then, this isn't his first night here; not in the least.

For the night, he's fortified himself inside an organic exoskeleton. It's a bit like a pangolin's hide...but not too much so. He looks a lot like one of those dragon eggs, from Game of Thrones...

Lying across one side of the hump in her strainer bowl, Marissa doesn't sleep at all. Few would blame her...if they knew of her circumstances. Her bare legs are bowed. Her bare arms are crossed. She's in no need of a haircut; her hair is still short. That might change, when and if she ever gets back to her life in West Kansas... At present, though, she'd be wiser to bet on a nue (i.e. an airborne monkey-cat-raccoon dog-serpent chimaera from Japanese myth).

As she lies, she raises her left arm. With her finger, she scratches the left side of her nose. Promptly, she re-crosses her arms. Her boobs, within her bra, seem to inflate, as she heaves a sigh. With her arm, alas, she spontaneously covers her mouth, as she's compelled to cough from having breathed some of her host's smoke-breath residue.

Her husband isn't coming; she's certain of it. She'll surely die avoiding him. It might not be his fault...but if there is an afterlife, and if Marissa meets the criteria for getting in...she'll always blame him for what she's done to herself.

"God, this is a great loss," she mutters to herself, absentmindedly mimicking a fancy accent. "Makes me wanna eat a hoss..." She sighs, and covers her forehead with her hand, in agony. "Ugh, migraines," she also mutters. She nearly vomits, as she recalls how she came up with that rhyme in the first place. "Ugh, those fish..." She scoffs. "Hope I never have to see them again..."