I laugh as I dash through the dens, several of them dying, their branches drying and falling to the floor. "I'll have to fix them later," I remind myself. But right now, I'm running. Behind is my littermate, Brook, her grey-blue pelt rippling like the water that was named after as she chases me. I use my tail to hook a tree, spin around, and then go dashing in the other direction. "Hey!" calls Brook, but she's laughing, even as she skids in the dirt and doubles back after me. "Cheater!" I purr giddily and leap through a thicket, the excitement of the pursuit rendering me oblivious to the rips and tears the thorns leave in my pelt. And then I'm alone, in a sunlit glade. "Lyra! Lyra!" I can hear Brook calling, and she's close enough I can even distinguish her paw-steps over the noises of the forest. I clamp down on my lip to keep from laughing and revealing my hiding spot. I'm not sure how long I stay there, remaining silent as to stay hidden, but soon the bright blue of the sky fades into a warm sunset tone, and then black.
(Cont.) I call out to Brook, "Here I am! Took you long enough!" But she's gone, and with it is any semblance of playfulness I had. I begin to grow frightened, and now it's me calling out to my sister. "Brooook. Brookie?" Sweat drips through my fur. I try to shoulder through the bramble thicket that surrounds my "liar," but what once was loose-knit and almost friendly now encircles me like a . . . living thing. Suddenly, I feel a force pulling me upward, and I glance up to see a . . . blackness . . . a nothingness. I scream, digging my claws in to the dirt and trying to stay grounded, but the strength is too much. Clumps of soil come away with my paws. I screech as I am pulled upwards . . . But no one is there to hear me.
