Byron dreamed of terror and pain. Of tusked-wolves and moving trees. Of darkness and pain again. Of pain and pain again, only to wake up and find he was still in a nightmare.
Or, was he?
How could he have a dream within a dream within a dream?
Where was Keza? Why was he dreaming of shape-shifting trees? Who was this woman who looked like Otrera, only that she wasn't?
Byron had so many questions he wanted answers for. He also had so many answers he wished were not true.
One of these answers he loathed was the fact that they were attacked. Someone... Or something, had shot Keza. They had fallen into the Wolves' Den. Into the forest covering a ring of the hills which circled a large lake. A very large lake with an island in the middle.
He was the one who had told Keza to fly close to it and he didn't know if he would ever forgive himself for that.
'I didn't know someone... Something would attack us,' he thought, trying to console himself.
'It was not my fault.'
