When Hannah opened her eyes, the familiar dreamscape greeted her like an old friend.

The ethereal scene glowed – a white backdrop of dazzling winter beauty that seemed to hover between the warmth of life and the chill of death. A limbo for her scattered thoughts and missing memories and the hunting ground for all her greatest fears.

Even in her sleep, she let out a muffled sigh of exasperation.

The ground lay thick with snow, as always. The seasons never changed in the dream. The trees curled around the banks of the loch, each adorned with their own sparkling winter coats and the heavy branches creaked and groaned against the extra weight, occasionally shedding their burden with a soft thump onto the ground below.

The sound startled her, and she turned towards the source. As she peered between the trees she watched in surprise as another branch swung upwards. Suddenly free of its extra foliage, the movement made the other branches sway gently from side to side, sifting a light coating of snow onto the carpet of needles below – soft and powdery, like flour falling through a sieve. It was remarkably beautiful and strangely chilling all at the same time.

Something is different.

She cast her gaze slowly across the landscape. The icy banks of the loch lay just behind her, the thin layer of frozen water taunting her as it twinkled prettily with a nefarious innocence, begging her to set foot upon the delicate surface. Strange that it didn't lure her like it usually did and she was able to turn away with ease. Nothing stood out. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Nothing.

No birds sang in the trees, no woodland creatures shuffled their way through the snow. Even the gentle lapping of the waters against the rocky shore had ceased, trapped under the frozen ice. Hannah could feel the unnatural silence steadily eating away at her calm. Tiny pin-pricks of alarm shot up and down her arms, and a familiar feeling of dread began to creep through her chest.

Another branch escaped its snowy prison and her eyes flew open again, startled by the heavy thud so close to where she stood. She kept her eyes carefully averted from the shore on the opposite side, she’d witnessed the horrors on the other side too many times already.

What is different?

An icy chill radiated up her legs, carried by the smooth stones beneath her feet – a uniquely wintery sensation, both numbing and painful at the same time. She wriggled her bare toes and wondered vaguely if all dreams held a similar lack of warmth... and a similar lack of common sense. Her thin cotton dress, so ridiculously inappropriate for the weather, wrapped itself around her legs, caught by a light but steady breeze, exposing far too much bare skin to the elements.

A heavy, leaden sensation flowed upwards from her ankles, instilling an overwhelming feeling of lethargy through her muscles. It pinned her firmly to the spot, preventing her from leaving the rocky shore. Her frustration grew.

What is –

Then she spotted it.

The loch, served as an elaborate picture frame for her tortured childhood memory. The scene carefully constructed in her minds eye so that the lochs cold, crisp edges lead her gaze towards the opposite bank where her kin had perished. With the mountains rising above them, trees stood out with remarkable clarity against their majestic backdrop, every detail playing out on the distant shore as sharp and clear as crystal. Which was impossible, of course.

In contrast, the forest surrounding her own beach, had until now, been little more than a fuzzy outline in her recollections. Today though, the vast evergreen forest soared above her, every needle on every branch as clear and detailed as though it were sitting under a magnifying glass.

She looked back towards the loch. The waters seemed to stretch much further than before, The banks far enough away to be blurred, the trees beyond indistinct and faded – poor copies of the majestic pines in front of her. The dreams focus had changed.

But why?

Her eyes traced the sparkling carpet of snow across the rocky shore, marvelling at the rainbow of colours the sunlight created as it passed over the different shades of pebbles. As her gaze turned downwards, she realised, with mild surprise, that she could no longer see her feet. At first glance they seemed buried in a scattering of powdery white snow and she wondered how long she had been standing there, captivated by the scenery around her. Then it registered with her... the ‘snow' was moving.

She let out an unintentional cry of alarm. Curling up around her ankles and flowing steadily towards the trees like water in a shallow stream – a white mist rippled and eddied over the stones and around the nearest tree trunks, sinuous and fluid.

What the –

Her eyes flew around the clearing. The ground beyond her lay clear and unimpeded and her expression twisted to reflect her utter confusion. In her befuddled state it took her a moment to realise the truth. The mist wasn't just curling around her feet... her feet were the source.

The mist flowed from her own body like water from a spring, encroaching on the wintery landscape in all directions, slowly swallowing the ground in a heavy white blanket of nothingness.

The thin tendrils of insubstantial fog seemed to call to her, beckoning her away from the lake and into the depths of the forest. She latched onto it, refusing to turn back towards the water. She already knew the horrors that lay in that direction and her mind rebelled against reliving them, even in her dream.

The more she resisted the dreams natural pull, the faster the mist seemed to flow from her. Thicker now and viscous, everything it touched disappearing completely, wiped from her memory as though it were never there. It wrapped around her like cotton wool, covering her with a strange lethargy that numbed her to any sense of alarm she might have felt.

How strange, she thought, unable to summon up the energy to be anything more than mildly curious.

As she watched the mist twist and turn, fascinated by the sinuous dance, a movement amongst the trees caught her attention and she turned dull eyes towards it, expecting another branch to have relinquished its winter coat .

Instead, a beautiful russet-coloured wolf stepped out between the evergreen branches. Recognition flickered in her fog tattered memories, she knew this wolf. She stared with childish wonder as it cast its golden eyed gaze upon her.

As soon as their eyes met, a sudden and intense pain shot through her forehead and embedded itself deep in her mind. The agony drove her to her knees and she cried out, her hands automatically reaching up clutch the sides of her head.

The mist flowing out of her faltered, driven back as the wolf growled at the encroaching barrier. It stared at the white fog a moment, then back up to Hannah, the quick movement sending a second driving pain shooting through the stricken redhead.

Who are you? she asked it through watering, pain-filled eyes. Why does it hurt?

It didn't answer, but turned away and padded deeper into the shelter of the pine trees, out of reach of the mist. Every now and then it would pause and glance behind it as though checking if she was still there, each time igniting another shaft of pain that bounced around in Hannah's skull like tiny lightning bolts.

As the wolf moved further away, Hannah's mist seemed to regain its confidence and swirled around her possessively, warning the wolf to keep away. It lift its head and howled, a song of loneliness and loss that tore at her fragile heart.

Wait! she called out. Don't leave me behind!

Straining to keep the wolf in sight, Hannah fought against the lethargy that seemed to hold her down. Despite the lancing pain, the wolfs presence had cleared the foggy indifference that surrounded her, reigniting her need for answers.

With an enormous effort, she fought to stand up, embracing the agony, and focusing all her effort towards moving just one step in the wolfs direction. Her struggle seemed to no avail and tears of sheer frustration began to slide down her cheeks, the chill air freezing them into tiny crystallised droplets against her pale skin.

A second howl caught her attention. A shadow on the edge of her vision, emerging from the tree line across the rocky shore, and stalking towards her. Another wolf, larger than the russet and as black as coal. Its golden eyes shone with a fierce intelligence and she felt an aching familiarity as it passed her by, her fingertips just out of reach of the thick fur. She paused in her struggle.

Blake?

He showed no sign of hearing her, heading determinedly towards her russet wolf who wait patiently beyond the pool of mist. The tantalising smell of sage and wood smoke drifted upwards from the dark fur as he passed by, further piercing her cloak of indifference, and she felt a sudden, painful compulsion to follow them both.

Blake? she called again, but her voice was nothing more than a whisper of wind in the silent forest, caught up and muffled by the steady current of the mist surrounding her. They couldn't hear her. The two wolves met under the sheltering branches of an old pine, and turned to look back towards the shore.

I know you, she called desperately to the russet wolf again. Why do I know you?

Frantic now, and determined not to be left behind, she renewed her fight against the invisible forces that held her in place. With a sudden clarity she couldn't explain, she knew the mist was an enemy, pinning her down and preventing her from moving forwards. Her frustration turned to anger, her anger turned to despair and her despair sank deep into fears as she wrestled against the blank spaces in her memories.

Suddenly and without warning, her feet came loose and she stumbled forward, the rattle of the pebbles under her feet startling the two wolves in the forest. Ignoring the biting cold, Hannah eagerly waded through the thick fog pooling around her ankles – every step an agonising struggle – a determination she'd never felt before filling her veins.

The russet wolf's tail began to flick back and forth as it watched her struggle, and its ears twitching in silent encouragement. The sight spurred Hannah further on and she doubled her efforts. One step. Two. Three, and several more, the pain growing stronger as she drew closer to the tree line and the mist more frantic in its efforts to hold her back, forcing the wolves to move further out of its reach.

She nearly made it.

Just as she reached the very edge of the tree line, her nostrils filled with the familiar burn of smoke and iron and her ears picked up the distant screams that began to echo across the loch behind her. The dream had begun to move forward, dragging her with it.

She tried desperately to ignore them, battling to take the final steps towards the two wolves that continued to move deeper into the forest, away from the mist that she carried with her. But the fog grew ever thicker, and the dream upped the ante, dredging up new horrors that stepped out from between the trees, cutting her off.

The mad rogue, cackling his nonsense songs bared his teeth at her. Fenrik, his blood drenched sword held loosely in one hand, offered her a feral grin and, to her absolute horror, the enormous silhouette of Berrik, torn, bleeding, and with eyes that promised death, emerged on menacing paws from the thick vicious fog.

They didn't advance, but there was no longer any way through.

The dream marched relentlessly forward, dragging her along with it. Filling her senses with an overriding feeling of terror and, forcing her back towards the loch, away from the wolves. Even there, her path was blocked again. Beyond the frozen waters, a harsh glow of orange fire filled the horizon, illuminating both the horrors playing out on the far banks and the boyish face of the man stood in front of her.

“Come with me,” he beckoned, reaching out his hand.

I don't want to, she whispered, twisting around, her eyes seeking the black wolf.

“You don't have a choice,” the figure replied, his face stern and unyielding. “You promised not to tell anyone.”

But the wolves... she protested.

He shook his head. “The wolves are gone.”

And they were. The mist within her had risen upwards to hide the trees and the landscape around her was once again disappearing into a murky, sooty gloom.

No! I was so close!

With a cry of despair, she ignored the outstretched hand and collapsed onto the rocky shore, all her energy spent – suddenly, she was a child again, curling into a tight little ball and waiting for the nightmare to be over.

Across the pebbles came the sudden crunch of rapidly approaching. For the first time, the figure spoke. A harsh voice uttering commands in a language she only half-remembered.

“Faighnn suas An-drasta fhein. Get up, Eleanor,” The voice was cold, emotionless and lacking in any sort of comfort, but it was a voice she recognised. “I’ve found her. Greas Ort!”

Strong arms reached down to grab her, pulling her upright, and she let out an involuntary and childish scream as the cold air rushed up to meet her. “Thig ort, you stupid girl, Chan fhaigh mi bas an seo. The time for weakness is over.”

Reeling from the overwhelming scent of iron and smoke, she stared into the harsh eyes of her uncle – his face marred with streaks of ash and spatters of rusty red. The fog flew up to envelop her, the world began to spin and...

*

She didn't open her eyes.

She knew she had awoken by the change in temperature. The room had a cosy warmth to it that drove away the memories of snow and ice, the bone-chilling numbness fading behind familiar smells and the soft comfort of the pile of sheets covering her.

But, she didn't open her eyes.

Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing steady, and even, feigning sleep for a little while longer . Her arms lay heavy by her sides, her legs trapped under what felt like several layers of sheets and blankets. Both were stiff and unyielding, as though her bones had been turned to rock while she slept. Though the feeling frightened her, she resisted trying to move them, knowing the sensation would wear off after a few minutes.

Her brain felt full of heavy weights, a sensation she'd suffered through many time before – much like the fog in her dream, it dulled her senses and slowed her thoughts into a muggy, sludge. The multiple unwanted experiences had taught her to wait patiently for the effects to fade instead of stumbling around with half her senses still asleep. Besides... She wasn't alone.

In the absence of all other sound, it was easy to pick out the soft breathing coming from the corner of the room, and her nose tingled with the sweet scent of heather and lemon balm – it reminded her of the Scottish moorland in summer time and she struggled to remember where she'd smelt it before. With her senses on high alert, it mingled with the scent of old books, worn leather and clean sheets.

They drugged me, she realised. A flicker of irritation swept through her and she had to double her efforts to feign unconsciousness.

Is there no one I can trust not to knock me out whenever it's convenient to them?

She concentrated on the steady, even rhythm of their breathing while her mind sought to shake off the heavy, drug induced fog.

At some point her sleeping form had been moved from the car; carried and lain down upon a soft mattress somewhere quiet, warm and still.

How long had she been out this time?

She felt the edge of panic nudging at her consciousness, but shrugged it off – panic would do her no good right now.

The next person to come anywhere near her with a needle, pill or anything else vaguely untrustworthy was going to lose their hand, she swore internally. Why? Why would they drug her? It made no sense.

She shook off the growing wave of anger that threatened to expose her deception and turned her concentration inwards. As always, the longer she was awake, the more the dream faded back into the fog. Like snow on a sunny morning, the details were already beginning to melt away, destined to be recalled clearly only once she returned to the frozen banks of the loch.

She remembered the wolf. Russet red, her image faded and worn in Hannah's mind like an old photograph exposed to the sun for too long. It had a name that she couldn't remember. She sought for the details but they slipped frustratingly between her fingers, just out of reach. As soon as she recalled the wolf, the pain she'd experienced in the dream followed her into the waking world and Hannah's head began to pound insistently. She knew she couldn't keep still much longer.

The pain was linked to the wolf in her dream, of that she was now certain. It was also linked to her memories. The broken scenes and fleeting images she'd experienced had always come after the worst pain – the kind that left her lightheaded and begging for relief. The throb intensified, as though urging her on.

With growing confidence, Hannah analysed the last few weeks. Ever since she woke up, the pain had become her early warning system. Like the best of friends, it was always there. The intensity of the headaches alerting her to dangers she'd otherwise been oblivious of.

But, that would mean...

She sat bolt upright. Her eyes sought out and found the source of the breathing, Dylan. He had half-fallen out of his chair in shock at her sudden awakening and stared at her with wary eyes.

“Hannah! You startled me,” he stumbled out, pulling himself back into the leather armchair with an exhalation of surprise. “Are you – did you – " He raked on hand nervously through his hair.

“What colour is my wolf?” she asked, cutting him off abruptly. Her eyes darted swiftly around the room as she waited for him to collect himself enough to reply. An elaborate four poster bed took up more of the available space than necessary, three tall stained glass windows let in plenty of light without allowing the occupants to see outside and two armchairs sat on either side of a small table, the only other furniture in the room. It seemed vaguely familiar to her.

“Your – your wolf?” Dylan stammered, still trying to regain his composure.

“Yes, Dylan. My wolf,” she repeated, the scent of heather wafting over to her. Strange, that this was the first time she'd noticed it. “What colour is she?”