Max Frye. Encyclopedia of myths (№ 390966)

Instead of answering, I turn into fire, which dances on the surface of her skin, and then become merciful rain to settle the fire. Walk up to her clouds of smoke, warm, affectionate, hot darkness veiled eyes, tickle the nostrils with fragrance of forest herbs, patiently waiting for her to inhale me, and finally penetrate into the blood. Slowly current, fill her, penetrate everywhere: into fingertips, delicate earlobes, an extensive maze of tendons. What else can be done for a beloved one who never was?