“The wards surrounding the northwestern branch of the MASO are difficult to penetrate, particularly through the use of magic. In all its centuries of existence, the agency has never been penetrated by one of the beasts.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

Once, darkness had been the wolf’s dearest friend. Humans fear the coming night, even when it would hide them in safety; sometimes she thinks it is their need for the discerning light of day that causes them to so value the truth, and in turn steeps them so deeply in deception. But there is danger in the darkness and everywhere else now, beneath the light of the sun and within the cool of the shadows. No matter that the wolf is not far from where the humans hide, she senses that her danger is no less or greater than in the deepwood.

Her nose works at the wind as she stares straight ahead. The human magics cannot fool her eyes easily, and so she sees the outline of the MASO buildings, curled like great, protective behemoths around grassy courtyards and rocky walkways. Their windows open blankly onto the trees, sometimes with the flicker of movement beyond, sometimes with blinds shuttered tight against the chill days. Despite the perfect bricks and rigid lines of the buildings, there is an aura of age about them. The wolf is not fooled by their appearance; the tree wolves tell tales of these buildings. They have been here for as long the beasts remember.

And unlike her, the other beasts never come near. This is the power of man, the fear that they instill in even the starving beasts, and starving beasts there surely must be – snow still falls thickly, weighing against the wolf’s heavy coat, as it has for months and months on end.

Sometimes, the wolf sees the girl emerge. There are other humans as well, of course, but sometimes the girl. She walks between buildings, unaware that she is watched, bundled up against the cold and stopping from time to time to watch the crows hop through the courtyard. At such times, the wolf senses that the Zara is there with her, in the shadows, watching with eyes like hot coals. It also can go no closer. There is a magic around the MASO erected against creatures like the shadow beasts. But even that barrier is not enough to entirely keep the Zara at bay. In the farthest reaches of the MASO buildings, the lights flicker when it draws near. Ice creeps along the windows and the stony paths, and people look around wild-eyed before hurrying to the safety of their abode.

The wolf and the Zara never meet. The wolf knows that if they did, she would be the one to die, and there is no need for her to die if the girl is no danger. So, the wolf simply watches for a few hours each day, when the sun first rises to light the sky in hues of silver and rose, and when dusk settles and the day’s hunt is done. In the way of beasts, she is satisfied with her work.

Until, one night, her watch is disrupted. Just as the sky is growing heavy with the misty northwestern dusk, the air sharp with the damp chill and hollow scents of the receding day, she feels the stare of the world turn towards her. It is as if a thousand eyes have turned to the humans’ stony buildings, and with them comes a shiver of magic that makes the spells surrounding the MASO tremble.

In a flash, the wolf is standing, nose working in the chill night. All around her, the shadows stretch inward, stifling and watchful. For an instant, the sprawling MASO campus goes dark. In the night, she hears the chatter of the crows where they nest above the buildings, warning of the danger to come.

But the barrier never falls. One by one, the lights return.

Poised for battle, the wolf stands with head held low, eyes casting around through the night. The only creature that comes to her, however, is a crow. It settles in the trees above her, clacking its beak and tilting its head to fix her with one beady eye. At first, she thinks it is merely curious, like the other crows. Then it caws hoarsely. She understands this beast, like she would so many others.

“The time is near now, being of flesh and blood.”

Across her back, the wolf’s silvery fur rises. Her lips peel back.

“You are no crow. What are you?” she snarls. The crow laughs harshly, stretching its inky wings.

“What are you? Huntress of shadows, guardian of a world forgotten, pawn in a game with the rules writ in dust. These crows are tame things. They call the humans bringers of corn. I call them bringers of blood.” With a huff it snaps its beak heartily, still watching her.

“Do you stand with the Zara?” the wolf snarls.

“If you do not know that, I will not be the one to tell you.” The crow pauses, ducking its head to stare hard at her. “Fair warning, nameless beast. The time is near. Do not stray now, for the game is nearly afoot.”

Before the wolf can do more than snarl, the crow leaps into the air and is gone, but gone suddenly, as if vanished into the darkness altogether. Its warning stays with her. Indeed, the shadows remain. The night presses in. Whatever strange magic passed through the world a moment ago, it will come again.

And soon.