“People tend to look past the wilderness around them. They seem to think it all falls within their purview, that every rock and stone has been overturned by someone at some point. They have no idea what’s really out there. Most of those who find out don’t live to tell anyone else.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

Winter is just leaving the frosty earth. Dilute rays of sun send sparkling prisms of light off the dew-covered grass to fall on the shadow of a creature that stalks through the trees, padding softly across the crushed leaf litter of the forest floor. Every now and again more of it is revealed, a wolfish beast long in leg and body, its inquisitive eyes bright and seeking, its silhouette revealing of a faint but defined sense of femininity. Starved with winter, her fur hangs heavy over a lank and bony frame. Only her mind remains perfectly sharp. When the breeze strengthens, her head swivels up and around, dark nose casting through the open air.

All around her, there is the scent of mankind. Strongest at the lake, strongest by the paved, bone-white roads that press close to the trees. It is to the edge of these trees that the wolf moves, silent in the way of the beasts. Here, she is naked despite her silver hide. This world is not hers, and yet here she must be, amidst the gray-green trees. They are silent sentinels, whispering to her now with all the secrets the wind promises.

A sound from above draws her eyes to them. The wolf knows the sound well, and finds the tiny bat perched overhead quickly. Its ears swivel as she clacks her jaws, clearly indicating the distant figure of a human girl. She watches as the bat drops from its perch and moves closer to the human. The wolf remains, still as stone, awaiting its return. What thoughts lie beyond the wolf’s emerald gaze flicker like fire, though her expression is unchanging.

How long has it been since the beasts at the heart of the deepwood began to stir? Her time is not like the time men measure, and the wolf sees it in seasons, in hunger, in moonless nights and days where the wind is still. Years. Years ago, things changed, but in the recent months, they have changed more. There is a scent, now, that sometimes begs her slow her step in the deeper trees, awaking fear and caution from the depths of her ancestral memory.

Snow.

Ice.

Blood.

Death haunts the deepest reaches of the night, trickling through the trees. She has seen it, rising up from the earth like one of the great bats. Like any beast, she had fled, but unlike the other beasts, she had fled with purpose – to this very spot. This world at the edge of mankind is not hers, and yet here she comes, time and again, compelled beyond reason by instinct, and by the presence of this nameless human.

Heralded by a sharp chirp, the bat returns, and though their eyes meet briefly, no more communication passes between them. This bat will carry her message on to the pack. One of them might know who this human is, and why the wolf found it so suddenly.

But the human is gone now, spirited away by some metal monster, and the wolf does not linger. In a moment she is gone, back into the trees.