Wes dreamed of the full moon.
It was too large and it had far too many mouths (it had exactly one large, gaping mouth).
Two of its craters were eyes with which it bore holes into Wes, who stood frozen, looking up at it.
It did not speak.
It laughed- a commanding chuckle that told Wes he was alone and that the Moon knew it.
But Wes was not alone.
He saw Danny, struggling under the weight of some unseen force which rested, crushingly, on his shoulders.
Danny winced with the exertion; blood dripped from Danny's lips.
Gold blood. Ichor.