The forest is quiet. No birds sing, no squirrels chitter, no leaves rustle. Not even the wind dares make a sound. A lone rock stands amidst a clearing littered with deadfall and fallen branches; and to it, tethered by a golden cord, sits Fenrir.

The wolf-girl grinds her teeth in frustration, muscles flexing and contracting as she strains endlessly at the fetters cutting into her slender wrists. As ever, to no avail. She clenches and unclenches her fists over and over, claws digging into the pads of her paws as she struggles to free her hands. The rope groans under the stress, but does not yield. Nor shall it ever. It's all she can do to sit there, waiting. Seething. Simmering with silent rage, with only the growl of her stomach to keep her company.

Suddenly, the sound of snapping twigs breaks the stillness. Fenrir whips her head towards the sound and lurches to her feet, ears rigid and alert. An animal? An intruder? "Who goes there?" she snaps, tail whipping at the ground behind her. "Show yourself!"