And petticoats. Layers and layers of petticoats, rustling by the campfire, as Lorelai pulls Alex slowly further from the glowing light, away from where Pa snores, oblivious after a conservative day of chopping and hauling things, away into her arms, clever fingers undoing all those tiny buttons... Alex breathes raggedly, thinks this is, unbelievably, so wrong and yet, so very right.

A sudden non-petticoat rustles and the two women sit up guiltily, faces flushed.
"What IS that?" Lorelai glances furtively around, sees nothing.
Alex, despite her myopia, has better night vision.
"Let's get the hell out of here and go into the wagon. It's a damn coyote!"

the end