Dense mist shrouded the lowlands, confining the existing world to a meter and translucent one to up to two. A hawk’s cry punctured the uncommon stillness, but the call didn’t disturb the weight of the fog. Unseen to the soaring creature, however, a single female wolf strode between the curves of boulders in the hidden underworld; she couldn’t see him soaring above, but she followed his voice. Her pearlescent eyes wandered over the cool shades darkening the gray ground while her paws softly glided over the damp stone up and up.

Grimoire followed the circular progress of the hawk with uncanny exactness as the pair of them drifted between thermals. Deja Vu. The phantoms had returned. Both terrifying and comforting, that attested the to the liveliness of her being. She watched the mist stir at their invisible passage, avoiding her physical senses so they could remain what they were; phantoms. The ebony wolf’s form shivered with an unpleasant sensation; she knew it was warning her.

Of what? As she made a second pass through a narrow portion of two boulders, her mind produced an intense flash of reddish eyes. He was ahead. Grimoire’s fur stiffened and her gait became long and low. The scent stirred the memory of his sultry voice. A game, he’d promised her. A fierce, vile grin formed over her clenched teeth. A game indeed. Her paws hardly made a pat on the stone as she scaled up a collection of boulders. He was bellow her now. Right… there! Grimoire leaped, into the fog, and at a shadow she was certain was solid. She would trap him beneath her paws. This time, she would win as the hunter. He’d have no time for suave words.