Neema was drifting in a dark dream of nothingness when a tingle down her spine caused her to shoot up in bed. Wiping the grogginess from her dreary eyes, she immediately knew something was not quite right on this cold night. The air was as still as it was every night, well as still as she could sense from underground. Nevertheless, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as a warning. Shuffling around in her bed, she first checked to make sure her younger brother and sister were fine before she investigated what had awoken her.

The two children lay curled in a ball on the small bed in the corner of the room, their small huffs of breath assured her that they were okay. Their little bodies clinging to one another like vines.

When she was sure they were still deep in their sleep she climbed out of her warm covers and headed over to them. Staring at their innocence brought an overwhelming feeling of love and longing. She wished she could see them this way more often, so oblivious to the hardships of life but it was too late. Her brother was already skittish and her sister barely spoke a comprehensible word, the two children had been scarred by this world long before they could even understand it. Neema had tried to protect them but what good could one female, who was barely a woman, do for two angels in a world shrouded in darkness. They had been dealt a cruel hand, but so had all humans.

Stroking their rough curly hair and smoothing her fingers across their dry skin, she committed them to memory. She would forever remember them like this, every time she saw Caillum stare blankly back at her or whenever Jana stuttered on a word she couldn't form, frustration clouding her lovely brown eyes. Neema would remember how beautiful and untainted they were in sleep.

Kissing their little brows, Neema looked at them one last time before she began a quick perusal of their room. Everything was as it should be but still Neema felt a niggling at the back of her mind, something was not quite right and she would not be able to rest until she knew what it was. Anybody else would have dismissed the wave of unease that washed over her upon awakening and in the past so would she, but she had learnt harsh life lessons. Lessons that taught her that by ignoring her instincts she would be welcoming anarchy and death.

It was only a matter of time until they were found.

Walking over to the door Neema popped her head out into the corridor and analysed the dimly lit hallway. Although she was merely a young human woman her light brown eyes scanned the room with the practice of a trained wolf. Her ears perked in an attempt to detect any uncommon sounds. The night wind whistled its silent tune and yet Neema felt her unease grow to new heights.

Her feet glided across the harsh floors of her home as she began a steady stroll out of her room. The corridors were winding, long and narrow and the walls were cobbled and rocky, indented with small stones and large ones alike. Loping down the corridor, she trailed her hands across the walls, feeling the rough stones graze her callused hands as she made her rounds through her home. The familiar pebbles scraped across her knuckles as she made her way through the maze of corridors.

The air became frosty as she drew closer to the mouth of the cave, the close space began to expand as she reached the old iron stairs that signaled the entrance to the village.

The small stoned ceilings extended outwards and upwards towards the earth above them. The tunnel like corridors branched out into a large area that was framed by the centerpiece of the rustic stairs. The bronze, rickety stairs spiralled up towards a stone alcove that was lit by the pale moon light that filtered through bars in the ceiling.

Stepping into the lighted room Neema began a slow climb up the stairs, her pace increasing as she travelled up. The higher she climbed the more steps she skipped as a sense of urgency she did not feel before began to kick in. Her bare feet clambered along the cold metal as her arms gripped the banister for support. Her hand slid along the sharp metal as she pulled her self up the steeply winded stairs. When she reached the top of the rocky alcove, she stopped for a short moment. Forcing air back into her lungs before she could move onto the next obstacle. Breath huffing from her mouth she pushed her long brittle hair away from her face, her bony fingers clutched her chest as she tried to regulate her breathing.

The filtered shine of the moon shone down on the landing, bringing light to all the shadows that hid amongst her. Her eyes fluttered continuously as she attempted to look around the rocky area she stood in. Though the light from the moon was diluted it was more than her eyes were accustomed to. Her deep browns were used to the dank walls of this hovel they called home. This prison they dubbed their salvation. There were no bright lights in their cells, just flickering fire and even then they were more out than lit. Her room was a cell and this village a prison but it was safer than what lived above the walls.

Her feet were caked in dust and dirt, her skinny brown feet smothered black by the rough ground, but she could see them clearly. The black not quite black more a deep grey with streaks of brown and red, but she could see colour. Strong vibrant colour that was normally muted underground.

Shaking herself out of her awe of colour, she observed the walls around her. High, pebbled walls that stood out at weird and uneven levels with large, jagged rocks. The light greys shrouded in shadow in some parts and bright in others. Her eyes flickered over the shadows, until she found what she needed. Locating a hidden ridge that protruded from the far wall that would enable her to peep through the bars that marked the entrance to her home. Meandering over to the ridge Neema gripped a protruding rock from the wall in her callused hands, her short nails digging into the stones as she used her upper body strength to propel herself off the floor.

Her feet grappled along the floor, swaying erratically until one found a purchase on a wobbly rock. Her dangling foot swung towards the wall and gripped a higher rock as her foot slipped from a loose stone that stumbled to the floor. The hard and brutal rocks cut into her bare feet, causing blisters and slashes to form on her feet. The blood making her foot slippery with oozing wetness, though in her determination the pain barely crossed her mind.

As her feet ascended up the wall her hands continued to pave the way, pulling her body higher and higher up until her hand gripped the long ridge securely. Placing one forearm on the ridge, she gripped the edge with her other and pushed up until her waist lay flat along the ridge and her feet hung loose. Pulling herself the rest of the way, she used her knees to find balance before she stood. Her whole body secure on the small bit of stone as she peered through the bars.

At first look the night seemed quiet and settled, there was no sound of owls as if all wild life were hiding. The grass tickled her face as it sprouted alongside the bars. The smell of mud and dirt was a pleasant change from the damp and dank smell that she was constantly subjected to.

Neema was on the brink of dismissing her initial instinct as nothing but nerves. The forest was silent and there were no signs that anything was amiss. Her paranoia held no bounds, she seemed to always be on edge. Waiting for the inevitable capture that all humans faced.

As she was about to begin her decent down the very rocks that had scarred her poor feet, she heard a sharp rustle coming from the nearby trees. Twisting her head to the direction she heard the noise, she waited to see if anything would manifest out of the trees. Wiping the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand she continued to wait. Her foot bounced impatiently as she watched the time go by. When what seemed like 10 minutes had passed and nothing had appeared out of the bush she began to dismiss the feelings that had roused her from her sleep.

Being the oldest of her now smaller family, Neema knew that she had become overly paranoid and precautious. Ever since the raiding of her home underground village by the sentinel wolves she had been more susceptible to her instincts. For she knew that more harm than good would come out of ignoring it, her instinct was there for a reason. She had lost her family that fateful night, leaving her an orphan and the mother of two. She could blame nobody but herself. It was all her fault. If she had embraced natures gift to her then maybe she could have saved her whole family. It was too late to change anything now. Her family had already been torn apart but she vowed from that day forwards she would never ignore her instincts again.

Turning away from her morbid thoughts of guilt she prepared herself for the downward climb off the ridge. She wasn't sure why she had been roused from her bed this night but she knew something bad was bound to happen. She felt it in her bones, in the way her hair stood up along her arms and the way her skin prickled. It was in the way sweat gathered along her body dripping down her skin in a steady dance, sliding in rhythm with her clopping heartbeat. Her nose flared, and her ears twitched like a wild animal sensing its prey, but in this scenario Neema was the prey. The prey that was trying to outwit the inevitable capture of the predator.

She could see the canines forming dripping in blood, her blood, their blood.

There was a sort of awareness, cautiousness to Neema. The air tasted different on her tongue, it was heavy. It was full of warning and foreboding. The still night did nothing to calm her nerves. She knew what was coming next but she could not control the surprise and abject horror that ebbed through her at the sound of the first howl.

The night was pierced by the high screech of a wolf, angry and vengeful. The sound was full of uncontrolled hunger and bloodlust. The animals were wild on the hunt. She could hear their thirst. Her head shot up as her ears rung by the chorus of response howls, her heart beating so loud and fast that she could feel it thumping through her throat.

Pushing her frizzled curly hair out of her face, she gasped in a big breath of air in order to gain control over her emotions. She had to think and think fast. By the loudness of their howls Neema guessed that they were fast approaching her home. Their territory had been breached and everyone slept on, blissfully unaware.

Taking one last glance out to the forest she began to scamper down the ridge barely touching the ground before she scurried down the stairs in search for the alarm. Her journey into the depths of the cave was quick, her surroundings blurring before her eyes as she scampered deeper and deeper. The light of the moon trailed behind her until it faded completely, leaving her in nothing but damp darkness.

Neema's heart was beating so fast she felt faint, but she had to reach that alarm before her body failed her. She fought against the weakening of her limbs, her hands swinging in choppy movements, legs dragging along the rough floor. Her frail form carrying her as fast as it could to the oblong metal box that protruded from a wall in one of the many corridors. Not many people knew about the system but Neema had made sure she was aware of these things when she had entered this village for the first time.

The walls around her vibrated with the final powerful howl of the approaching sentinel wolves. They were coming was her last thought before she smashed down on the button her arms raising in quick succession as she continued to punch it.

They were coming...