Toad's parents had demanded that she and her littermates stay behind. And Toad had, very emphatically, promised to do so.

And then, when the bosses disappeared into their magical portals, Toad been swept up in the courage of her packmates (and an abject terror at being left behind in an empty Howff while monsters tried to hunt them all down) Toad had picked a path and limped on crooked legs straight through it.

The cold stung at her instantly, withering her lungs and leaving her breathless as she struggled to make sense of the cacophony at play. Pale beasts — bad fae, like Mum had warned her about — ran amok. Wounding and rancid. Bloodstained white splattered the earth as wolves faced those tearing claws.

Toad had seen the adults play fight. Even take scabs, now and then. But this — this was different. Not fun, or exciting, or brave. Only dangerous. Like when her throat closed up and left her dizzy. Heart pounded. Ears burned. Vision swayed.

She tried to back up, suddenly realizing this was not safer than hiding at home. But the gate behind her did not give way and she only stumbled in deep snow. Whining, Toad cried out. A child's plea for rescue from someone — anyone. She crouched low in the deep drifts, tail tucked, hoping the monsters would not see her.