Your limbs lock up in fear. Your hackles raise instinctively and you crouch down low. Almost every wolf is looking at you now. Afraid of looking defenseless, you let out a soft growl. The wolves laugh. One of them calls to another, and a white wolf steps forward.

"What are you doing here?" he asks you. You can't speak. Obviously he knows you from somewhere.

"Silly," he says, shaking his head and smiling. "It's me, Uncle Razor."

You remember him suddenly, from when you were very little. Your father's half brother, he knows the way home.

"I'll take you home," he says, motioning to follow. "You look lost."

You: