...we joint the dream in progress... I am running through woods -- lots of generic deciduous trees, green shadows, and underbrush. At times I'm not sure if it's just me and a small root child or if I'm also with a 50-something Geppetto character. A wolf is chasing us. The wolf seemed like a puppet most of the time; its legs were boneless and its flapping hide was brown, synthetic fleece. His head lead the rest of his body, it was long and narrow like a furry arrowhead. Although he had an artificial quality to him, his rows of long, white sharp teeth were efficient and effective. And the wolf was always hungry.
Before we could get to the cottage, the wolf ate someone. The eating was sanitised in the dream -- the wolf opened his toothy puppet jaws and engulfed someone, starting with their trailing leg. There was screaming, but only a mental impression of blood.
Geppetto, the root child, and I made it to a cottage. The cottage was typical fairy tale: yellow thatched roof, Blackish brown Tudor/Elizabethian timber and white wattle walls, latticed windows of round-pane glass. Inside the walls were whitewashed, but it the interior was dim. The windows were pretty useless at keeping things out.
The root child was an infant, but it was also a stick or a root wrapped up in a blanket. Geppetto put it in a high, black wood crib with square bars.
The wolf jumped in through a window. I/Geppetto (at some point we merged or he dropped out of the dream) destracted the wolf by talking to him. As we were conversing the goal was to keep the wolf out of the nursery and supply him with things to eat other than ourselves. The wolf wasn't very bright, but he was determined. And there was a horror about his mouth because it was a dangerous yawning void (insert black nothingness stretching forever on the other side of the needle teeth). I tricked him into eating a shirt (insert vaccuum like imagry of the shirt dissapearing over the wolf's sharp grin). He didn't like that much.
I kept the wolf in a sitting room / living room while I ran back and forth to the kitchen for more food. The trouble was there wasn't much in the larder. I fed him an apple. It was better than the shirt, but he still didn't like it.
We started to talk. I don't recall the conversation precisely, but reconstructed it went something like...
"Now look," I said. "You don't want this food."
"I don't?" asked the wolf, in a kind of dim-witted cartoon character voice.
"No, you want the cheese in the sky," I said.
"Here, I'll show you." I led the wolf outside and showed him the waning moon in the afternoon sky. (At least the golden green light of the forest lit everything, and the moon hung in the sky.) There was something more about the stars being good to eat, too, but I don't recall it.
The wolf started jumping. With each jump he got a little higher, and his jumps got a little longer. I have an impression of a kind of earthen ramp, and of trampolene sounds each time the wolf started a new bounce. We were saved, the wolf bounced his way to the moon.
... or so I thought. (insert impression of Bugs Bunny warning that the wolf would be back)