“Though it is written how the Zara come to be, it is not known who might have witnessed the birth of one of the beasts of shadow. The general consensus is that there is too little magic in the world anymore to create more such creatures. The agency generally has little contact with exorcists, but it is possible they would know more about the Zara than anyone.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

Something is wrong. The world whispers her mistake, time and again. The touch of shade, cool and ghostly upon the wolf’s fur, sends shivers up her spine. Death stalks her, a silent and odorless enemy… and he – the Zara - watches her with eyes full of knowing. Wrath, certainly…a hopeless, bottomless hatred, but also…such deep knowing.

A snarl escapes her ready lips, the moonlight glancing off her fangs. The Zara shows no sign that he understands.

“Elorian.” No one else seems to hear. Perhaps his voice is merely in her mind, the voice of a true specter. “Hess turns his gaze this way. If he comes here, your human will die, and she will only be the first. Give chase, wolf, as is the wont of your kind. Give chase to the place where this all began, and bring her with you. If you do, she shall live…”

A grating growl tears from the wolf’s throat as she leaps savagely forward, forgetting the nightmarish pain the Zara can inflict. Her jaws snap shut on empty air with a bony click. The demon is gone, and only her world remains – a place of muted scents and hushed sounds, shifting bands of light and darkness, and the pale drift of snowflakes. This is the other face of the forest she calls home, harsh and unforgiving, striking in its beauty for the ugliness that lies beneath.

That ugliness is laid bare today. Through the trees, her emerald gaze finds the nightwings still locked in battle with the remaining Zara. One rises up, and she sees it belch forth a noxious cloud of black gasses mingled with purplish white flames. A reeling reek permeates the air. Yet it is not directed at her; the nightwings that circle like carrion crows around the shadow beast’s misshapen head are the objects of the onslaught.

And they are no match for it.

Charred black forms drop like oversized stones from where the flame touches. Even as the wolf struggles not to scent what has become of the great bats, the smell of their singed bodies fills her nostrils, and her eyes wrench towards them of their own accord. The burned, broken bodies are as crumpled and unrecognizable as late winter leaves in their descent. Though they are beasts of the sky, they return to the earth as surely as any wolf.

A new challenge is born in the wolf’s emerald eyes. Beasts need not words to speak what a human would shout to the heavens; rather, the broad flare of her ears, the ripple that runs through her silvery fur and turns it to ashen gray as it stands on end, the sudden stiff rise of her tail…all speak the wolf’s outrage. She should be able to do something, Silver should be able to…but if for a moment, memory tickles at the back of her mind, it is gone too soon for her to understand it.

And it is not long, after the first of the Zara leaves, that the others follow. She sees them sink one by one into the earth, stretching with the long shadows cast by the moon, vanishing into the black of the night. Powerless, the wolf turns away, back to Silver, back to Pelorin and Biarn, and the boy who hovers near them all. She watches in silence as Pelorin tips back his head and looses a cry of anguish. It is a moment before she understands why.

Biarn remains motionless. Even when Silver crouches low to run a hand across his velvety fur. There are tears in her eyes, the sorrow of understanding. Human eyes see what the wolf knows only by scent; the pup does not have long to live. The other human has averted his gaze, but for a moment he looks to her, and the wolf greets him with wary eyes. Her stare never leaves him as she nears, coming close to press her weight against Silver. The girl, too, has been wounded, but seems not to care. Silver’s eyes are only for Biarn.

And then something strange happens. Between girl and tree wolf, Elorian senses a strange magic. At first, it is a small warmth, a brush of static that tingles across her whiskers, pushing her away. Gradually, it grows. She raises her emerald eyes to the girl, but Silver’s eyes are closed, her face screwed up in concentration.

“Stop her!”

The snarl catches them all off guard, and the wolf swivels her ears sharply in the direction of the caverns. Zien charges towards them, violet eyes flashing with startling ferocity. Pelorin follows her gaze, the other human as well. Only Silver does not. And with that moment of hesitation, they are too late. It is the other human who seems to understand first, and he swivels to snatch at the girl only to find himself clearly blocked by an invisible barrier. The wolf turns as well, but finds she can also get no closer.

Zien is not so gentle. With the frightening speed of the wild cats, the alpha leaps and closes the distance to the girl. Like the rest of them, the alpha is stopped by the barrier, and crashes back into the snow with a growl. Rising to her feet and hissing, Zien swings one massive paw at the barrier. It glances off.

“Fools,” she snarls, turning on the rest of them, “We’ve lost them both.” Silence prevails, filled with the chaos beyond the trees. “I should have sensed it,” the alpha continues more calmly, turning her eyes back on the girl and pup, “It has been so long since last I met a human with an affinity for healing.”

“A healer?” Pelorin rumbles low in his throat, the lay of his ears betraying his surprise.

“You did not know?” The alpha turns not to Pelorin, but to the male human, using words the human, too, can understand. He regards her for a moment in silence, then looks past the wolf at Silver.

“In a few years, we might have tested for an affinity to healing, Zien, but not yet. Not for a pyromancer who could barely call on her magic at all.”

The tree wolf hisses again.

“She will kill herself.”

“You forget that our nerske may succeed,” the wolf growls carefully. The alpha fixes her with a predatory glare.

“You trust too much in her power, wolf. And we have lost too much already today.”

“Magic is belief. It is faith. There is light even in the deepest darkness, hope at the heart of every doubt. This is the truth that all magic users must live by. We are not yet lost,” the wolf rumbles, settling slowly in the snow. She will watch over the girl, however long it takes, and she feels the alpha’s gaze hot on the fur of her skull as she makes this clear. But Zien says nothing more. Merely comes to the edge of the invisible barrier and stares fixedly within.

There are others joining them now. Pelorin goes to them, greeting those of the pack that have survived. The wolf does not. Zien does not. They will come, and as a pack they will wait to learn the fate of one of their number, and of the foolish nerske who might give her live in an attempt to save him.