Ireena's Tale
“When I was a child, my father took me and my brother to a vast, tranquil lake. I remember the sand beneath my bare feet, and the lapping of the waves against the shore.
“But then, something broke the silence—a low growl that echoed through the wind. As I turned, I saw a beast emerge from the fog: a wolf, far larger than any I’d ever seen. I still remember its eyes—yellow, cold, and hungry.
“My father screamed for me to run. I took off for the woods, and the wolf followed, its snarls echoing through the underbrush. I remember branches whipping against my face, thorns cutting at my feet as my legs burned and my breath grew ragged, but my fear drove me forward.
“It was only much later, when my heart had quieted in my chest and the wolf’s footsteps had faded into silence, that I finally allowed myself to stop. By then, though, the woods were strange to me, and my father’s shouts had faded.
“A heavy mist had descended around me, and shadowed shapes lurked in every corner. I stepped forward, one hand reaching fearfully into the fog—and a wolf made of mist leapt forth, its jaws opened wide to devour me. And then—everything went black.
“The next thing I remembered, I awoke in my own bed, my father’s humming echoing from the kitchen. I don’t know how I got there, or what became of the wolf, but I can still remember its teeth as clearly as ever.”