I once met an Alaskan woman on the corner of Second Avenue and Third, or maybe Sixth, Street. I approached her, because I was curious about the strange dog on her leash, which turned out to be such a wolf/dog hybrid. But the thing I remember most about the encounter is her eyes. Her green eyes. Wild as northern ice. I flattered myself, as I walked home, accompanied by none but the voice of my own unreliable narrator that, had her eyes not only bored but beckoned, I'd have followed forever to the rhime shelf from which northern goddess standing naked on king crab shells emerge to ride ididerod in the lights-draped night.