*A white wolf the size of a small pony stalks the forests of Myth Drannor. She pauses, locked on the scent of a small rodent. Her ears prick with the sound of tiny feet in the underbrush. She lowers her body in a crouch, anticipating with a drooling mouth the kill she will savor.
She lays her ears flat, the rodent is close. She cannot contain the saliva that comes flowing into her mouth. In silence she licks her jowls and read- ies to pounce. With a jolt, a pair of green eyes flash into her mind. She shakes her head, as if the image is a mere sneeze she can cast away. It is not.
She sees herself on a beach and hears the laughter. She smells the scents of herbs and the green eyes that smile with warmth. She shakes her head as the taste of tea floods over her tongue. Barely, the wolf has enough time to remember the face - Throm, and understand where the memory is heading. And why.
Crystal blue eyes widen in horror as the piercing pain of blade to heart is felt in her chest. It knocks her onto her side and she releases a deep howl that drifts into a whine. She tries to draw in a breath, but her sides feel as though they are on fire. She shudders, her limbs twitching. She begins choking. She cannot pull in the air - she cannot pull in air - she cannot -
Kaliadra twitches on the ground, an elven woman. Her eyes flare brightly for a moment, then slowly dim.*
