I walk. I don't know where this place is. It's. . .weird.
I walk on - the twigs snapping like cracked paper, the air rustling like a whistle, the ground crunching like snow. . .
The trees are thick. They're everywhere I go.
Then I stumble across. . .across a dark hole. I feel it's a cave. It's pitch black like the death of a star. But I somehow walk through and into it, with no fear. I emerge from the other side to a gray sky with thin, frail, and wobbly trees. It's as if someone changed the twigs from before into a taller version.
I climb slightly uphill, somehow still on my two feet and not using my hands.
The sky was still gray and gloomy. This whole thinned forest was gloomy. . .it was sad.
My feet take me to a big boulder or the ground moves by itself. . .but it's not a boulder. But a white wolf. It lay there, it's head so big, three of me's could fit its head. It's body so large it came to half of the height of a fallen tree. It's tail so long, it could have been easily replaced by a large log.
But the wolf did not move. The wolf lies there, half curled up, unaware of me. I'm beginning to think it's dead or just a totem-like relic. . .but the fur is glistening and soft.
I stare at it a moment longer. . .the Wolf King. . .then. . .
It opens it's mouth as its eyes glowed. . .and everything just darkens. . .
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