She was not the deity of water—the Sea was not divine, not to her.

Naught but the warden of the woods. Tender of wounds. Caretaker of the youthful animals—the hatchlings which would not fly, the fawns which would not stand.

Why was she engulfed by unrelenting currents? Like the throat of an insatiable beast did it swallow, gripping every fiber of her physique, tugging each lock of her pale coat. Eyes were slammed shut, jaws clamped painfully tight. Nothing her svelte limbs could do would recify the water's fury as it swept her through its waves in rigorous bursts.

Perhaps it was hours, perhaps it was days. Perhaps a mere few seconds passed, and with a juxtaposing tenderness did the lake's powerful arms gingerly rest her body upon the cradles of solid ground. The shore was laden with frost. There was no time to be startled; the frigid gales gnawed at her exposed, sodden body the moment she was freed from the aquatic prison.

The Forest Mistress rose. Nose twitching—where had she gone? A body lithe, bedecked with gold charms and robes of opulent silk—all gone. Replaced by four paws and tall ears, long fangs, and a feathery tail.

A wolf.