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Curiosity gnawed at her. He'd spoken of brethren, Asgard, hot springs, magma, things a wolf shouldn't have the slightest idea of, things she shouldn't have the slightest idea of. This place was odd — that much she had picked up quickly — but the way he spoke of mythology had her mind reeling.

She struggled and failed to fix her expression. Her eyes widened in equal parts awe and horror, still glued to the ground and flickering wildly back and forth in her delirious realization. She didn't look up but she could feel his eyes. Eyes, eyes, eyes.

She didn't like it when they saw her.

He spoke of her father and she frowned. She didn't remember her father. Not the important parts, anyway. She couldn't recall his face or his name. She heard his voice in all the awful things he used to spit at her that she'd long since convinced herself were true.

Her father was no god. This wolf was no god, because gods weren't real.

That's just mythology, she murmured, with effort, as a single drop of blood from her nose hit the water's surface and rippled into nothing. It's not real.

It wasn't real. No matter how many nights she'd laid awake wishing it was. No matter how many times she'd prayed to whichever pantheon would listen. A new body, a new life. An escape. It had never happened because it wasn't real. It had never...

It wasn't...

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