Of all the battles I've fought
Of all the lives I've taken
Of all the people I've lost
As time trickled by, invisible and untellable, the fog grew dangerously thick. Castalla settled into a spirited trot, all senses on alert as she found herself nearly walking into trees and bushes entirely obscured by the suffocating mist. A perpetual snarl fixed upon her pale face, she uttered silent curses to the heavens as clawed branches leered from behind the ephemeral curtain, reaching with fingerless tips to grab at her hair and eyes. Right now her senses were all but useless, scents damped by the thick fog, site obscured and audits all but rendered deaf as though the smog were a blanket thrown over the entire forest. And yet there were voices, a chorus of cries, shouts and screams that tore through the hush like knives. Until they didn’t. Until, as though someone had ripped them from the world, the voices fell silent.
Run! Her senses scream it at the same time as the bodiless voice, roaring at her to run, to get out of there.
Anyone who tells you they don’t feel fear is lying- even the stoutest of hearts, the fiercest of warriors feel fear. Castalla’s heart tripped, beating an unsteady rhythm as she forced herself to stop for a moment, to breathe, to disobey every instinct that shouted at her to turn around and escape the fog-laden forest. She was the White Wolf, she did not back down. Drawing air, musty as it was, into her lungs the rogue cast her icy gaze around the blanket of mist. It seemed to be dissipating, thinning, but her relief was short lived. From the fog rose formless creatures, undulating and shifting as though they might drift away with the wind at any moment. Red eyes loomed from the darkness, piercing and vacant, until they noticed Castalla, watching them with a sinking feeling. She has only seconds to brace herself, to think as they rush toward her, gliding like ghosts across the shadowy forest floor. Instinct kicked in and she prepared to weave between them, to reach out with her teeth and tear at their ephemeral forms. Without her weapons, with only a small tendril of her magic remaining, the Wolf relied entirely on her combat training. With a cold snarl Castalla leaps forward, spurred on by the fearful cry off in the distance.
Castalla will fight
