Dream of the circle (Talia, p. 30)

She is running again, sword drawn. There are no sounds of pursuit, but she knows they are behind. She breaks into a large clearing, squinting as the full moon shines down through the now open canopy of trees. It is just a quick dash across, back to the saftey of the shadows. She is less than halfway when a dark form steps from the edge of the trees ahead of her, growling. She doesn’t slow, turning sharply to the left, only to be met by another pair of red eyes. She stumbles, trying to change direction, but more shaggy forms emerge ringing the edge of the clearing. She stands at the center, sword flashing in the moonlight, at least a dozen sets of eyes watch. The wolves stand, snarling, but not moving closer. A man in blue and black steps from the shadowy trees.

“Why do you insist on running? There is nothing to fear in death.”  The man pats a nearby wolf, not looking down.  “My own mother was killed by a pack such as this. It was His will. It was a good death.”

She looks to the man, to the menacing forms and back. For a moment she sees a familiar glowing in his eyes. In that instant she turns, bolting away from the man, towards two of the waiting wolves. They spring forward and steel flashes to meet tooth and claw.

She screams, falling to the floor. The winter air gusts through the now open window. The candle has barely burned down, but she cannot bring herself to try and sleep again. Gathering her things, she sets out in search of answers.


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