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If Ylva hadn’t been mistaken, things should have changed here by now. The scent of prey is what had led her in this direction to begin with, and it was, despite everything, a sense of odd curiosity that had led her to continue the rest of the way. She could make out the remnants of a fire, here, but the effects seemed old enough that life should have resumed.

There wasn’t anything, though. Just Ylva and the strange, green mist, and the silence that comes with it. It seems like it swallows up any sort of sound; there’s no birdsong, and as she travels deeper within the depths, she swears that maybe she can’t make out the sound of her own breathing, even as quiet as it had been, either. She’s alone, as far as she can tell, and she itches. It doesn’t make sense, but where the mist touches leaves her nose running and her eyes watering and her throat scratchy, as if she had suddenly fallen ill.

The more reasonable part of Ylva tells her to turn back. To escape this mist and go to where she knows it’s safe. Another part of her, though, is completely enraptured- a part of her that swears she can hear a voice, deeper within the mists, pulling her in. The supposed voice is delicate, keening something into her ears- and yet she can’t make out exactly what it’s saying. She knows, she thinks, that it’s promising it has something to tell her, though. And she needs to know what it is- both to figure out what is going on here, and out of a sense she needs to protect herself.

The realization that she’s not alone comes as a bit of a shock as another form, another wolf, stumbles through the fog near her. She doesn’t pause, instead choosing to trail after him, trying to shake the feeling that they should keep going long enough to speak.

You heard it too, didn’t you? It’s not an accusation, or even a question- she’s sure he has. A tiny part of her, though, craves confirmation, to know that it wasn’t just her.