On this day, the girl that plays with the dead is not alone. Not in the sense one would consider, anyway. For while it was there were no other wolves around, her friends still lay before her at her paws. Like them, she is reclined and relaxed- but unlike them, she is alive, well, and breathing. They, on the otherhand, are lifeless and cold, growing stiff with each passing moment, each passing breath. But while she still can, she watches them, she examines them; a nudge of her warm nose here, a prod of her small paw there. Though the life is gone, the organs, the mechanisms are all still there. There is also the last bit of warmth within their small little cores, something fascinating, that they can still be so warm when they are so dead.

They are but a frog, a mouse, and a bird, the exact type of which the girl did not know, but that was not what she was here to learn. What interested her was the simple fact of their death, and where their minds go and what happens to them exactly. Years have been spent pouring over rotting carcasses left and right, any chance she could ever get little Achlys both observed and absorbed much as she could. The girl of black and white spoke then, perhaps suddenly and a bit loud in her confined space, but there was none other to hear and she did not care if they did or not. "Where have you gone, my friends, and where do you remain?" Innocence laced her voice thick like honey, but she was far from so. Though she was now a fully grown adult, just past four, the girl held a small, feminine frame, and had not yet grown into herself completely. what she held now was a childish and naive fascination, and with the right direction could go one way or the other. Perhaps she would remain as she was throughout her entire life, in blissful ignorance. Or, perhaps, one day she would be tainted as so many others were with corruption, and bound to a hellish life. One might never know.

But such concerns were not Achlys own, no, of course not. All she cared for in these moments were her friends before her, and what they might show her. If another came across her, they would decide for themselves what she was and what they thought of her. She had no control over such things, and absolutely no want for it. As far as she was concerned, all others beside one held no meaning to her. Only the pale male of creme and earth held any significance at all, and as she had not found him in some time, he was not particularly on the mind either. No one was, save herself and death- just as it always should be.