One day, which is TODAY, clouds roll in like spilled ink across the sky, swallowing the sun and painting the forest in moody greys.
Beneath the canopy of luscious green trees, an old, grey lone wolf moves with purposeful silence, its fur streaked like ancient stone, its eyes sharp with something deeper than hunger. Not for flesh. For meaning.
Meanwhile, you're sitting somewhere cozy, absorbed in the book that's suddenly less a story and more a trap.
With no warning—not a flash, not a whisper—the world bends and folds. One blink, and you're gone from your chair. The room, the hum of city life, the smell of your last meal—all ripped away.
You land smack in the forest with a thud, your jacket still on from your quick trip to the shops earlier. The wind bites, twigs jab, and the silence feels like it's holding its breath.
And then you see him.
The wolf.
He stands there. Not growling. Not pacing. Just watching. His fur blends with the mist, and his amber eyes cut through it like headlights. Slowly, impossibly, his mouth opens.
"Whatcha got in there, buddy?" he rasps, eyeing the pocket of your jacket.
You freeze. A talking wolf? Your heart slams against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"Don't worry, I won't eat you," he adds, his tone too casual to be comforting.
Pure, instinctive panic kicks in. You scream and bolt, tearing through the woods with wild desperation. Branches whip your arms, roots snag your ankles, and the forest suddenly feels alive with motion.
"Hey! Wait!" the wolf barks. "WAITTTT!!!"
He chases—not with primal fury but like someone late for an appointment. His voice carries urgency, even something like… concern?
Feet aching, lungs burning, confusion spinning, you stop. Just—stop. Curiosity outmuscles fear. You spin around to face the impossible.
The wolf slows, panting like he's done this chase before.
Your feet throb, reminding you of the run. No shoes. Just socks, now torn and soggy.
"Ouch," you mutter, more annoyed than afraid.
Somewhere above, thunder grumbles.
And the forest waits.