Coren's words are Coren's Lies. Do well to refuse them, or else you die. — A cautionary rhyme from Guide Little Paws anthology

Aulka's favourite thing about her homeland was the dense, piney scent of the forest surrounding her den. Pine boughs bowed low over the rocks framing the mouth, needled branches brushing ground or fur as one passed, like a tip of a tail or a sheltering wing guarding the way to her home, like the statues of Shards in Wolfhold Owma told her about.

In newbirth their scents were fresh and sharp, sticky with age and potent with the melting snow, a pelt of needles softening pawsteps as she trod the well-worn paths to her den. In sergaze pine and bark drifted in the breeze, light and pleasantly baked as it was frisked around the forest floor and caught in the fur or hide or feather that lived there.

In worldfire it was the ever-present undertone to the falling leaves of the single ashes, the nuts and cones squirreled away, the ripe berries and fruits, and the fattening critters. In icewalk the pines were a break between the constant snow and faint traces of life, a comfort of green in a wash of white and gray.

And in her memory, pine lingers, ever the missing scent she searches for.

Tatalune's territory is a wide, open mountainside of grasses, scrubs, and rocks that overlook a tundra. The only forest lies on the distant edge, a distant shimmer of green walking up the flanks of the mountains that crack the sky in half, wreathed in white and pointed tips, too far for her to ever dare to go.

The Dream is no different. The narleap they step off of is set into the base of the only mountain, tundra swathed in violet, deep red, and pure white flowers so that it seems it is more scattered piles of powdered dye rather than open field.

The winding trail they follow between boulders and up the mountainside is a goat's trail so similar to the one in the real world that they used to get to the howling alcove that Aulka, for a moment, is almost sure they are not in the Dream at all.

Here it smells of wind and sky and scruffy grass. Of dirt and gaze-warmed rock and faint pollen-sweetness. Of wilderness and falcon's-cry and running-fast, free of the need to duck and weave around trunks and branches.

Here it smells like what Maikai must cherish most.

Beautiful, is it not? Kaone says when he catches her lingering at the edge of a small cliff, gaze fixed on the tundra below.

She lifts her muzzle to the wind, feeling it buffet her fur and almost threaten to dislodge the healer's feathers carefully secured behind her right ear. It is.

It's beautiful, in its lonely, empty way, but it doesn't fill the ache between her lungs from her first home, for the hug of dense forest and the rustle of needles underpaw. With a sigh, she inwardly shakes out her fur and turns to face him and the path once more.

He smiles and points an ear forward, shawl and scarf rippling in the wind. Come now, we're almost at the Gate.

Gate? Aulka falls into step beside him, making sure to plant her paws in the places with the dullest pebbles.

Kaone nods, his long yellow scarf trailing behind him like a signal ribbon tied to a branch. The gate to Maikai's...mind, so to speak. I'm not sure what to call it—it's the part of the Dream that's closest to him, so the hidden parts of him are here. He casts a glance at her, his jovial expression sobering. Stick close to me and don't go poking around where you shouldn't, okay? It's too easy to get lost in his memories or worse.

Get lost in his memories? She glances around at the mountainside and tundra below. Is she already treading on one? Ears flattening, she quickens her step so she is closer to Kaone, unease weaving between her legs. Alright. The urge to lick her nose is strong but she resists, directing the flock of her thoughts elsewhere. How do you know all this?

Wobbling his head from one side to the other, he huffs a sheepish puff of air. Maikai and I have been in many Dreams together. We've learned this the hard way—that is to say, I got in trouble and Maikai dug me out. His grin is wide and charming, open and earnest like only a young wolf can make it.

Aulka tilts her head, pushing away, as usual, the flutter-skip of her heart. So you are Maikai's friend? She roots in her memory, comparing the wolves she has seen hanging around Maikai, but one she remembers matches his pelt.

Perhaps she has not spotted him before, but she's sure she would've noticed him in the pack sometime. He's a Shard, and while he's one of the more subtly colored ones with his black pelt and white flares, the unnatural-for-a-shardless bright yellow over his left eye makes him stand out like a cardinal in a snow-laden tree. I've never seen you around before.

He dips his head, hopping up and around some rocks. You wouldn't have. I'm not around that often. The pack, I mean.

Like a dispersal? Sergazed and windswept fur coats her nose as she inhales, carrying the tell-tale musk that comes with two icewalk-old wolves, the age where often yearlings strike out from their pack to explore others.

Something like that.

They crest a hill and two bounds away is a golden gate, ornately carved with antlers and hawks and a star set in the middle. Behind the gate is a mouth of a cave wide enough for four wolves to walk flank-by-flank, sloping walls coated in moss and shimmering lichen.

Kaone trots up to it and flips the bar keeping it shut with his muzzle. Soundlessly, the gate swings open, coming to a rest on either side with the grace of a landing owl and far too much precision for the force Kaone applied. The discrepancy doesn't seem to bother him as he continues inside, tail swishing with unconcern and steps light.

Aulka lingers at the edge, testing the air, which carries a damp, earthy scent with traces of wood and berries in the distance— Not unpleasant, yet her legs feel as heavy as stone. It doesn't feel right to go in a cave, not after the attack, after spending too many dreamtimes curled in crevices with Owma, fearing every rustle was the Coren catching up.

A few elk-lengths in, Kaone pauses, looking over his shoulder. His expression softens and he turns towards her. Hey, don't worry. I know the way. Just stick by me.

She averts her gaze, and lifting her paws as high as she would while traversing a deep snowbank, slinks inside, shivering at the coolness of the cave's shadow. Once inside, she closes the distance between them with four large bounds, a yawn swallowing her unease. They start walking again and she slides her tongue around her teeth for a question to fill the quiet. And you know the way because...?

Well, Kaone's ear swivels and he tips his head towards her, when one comes visiting and finds oneself in a Dream that only your good pal can make, then one goes looking for him.

She snorts, flicking an ear in acquiescence. I suppose that only makes sense. The air is damper the deeper they go, the shape of the walls blurring at the edges as darkness begins to stake its hold. Do you visit often?

Depends on what you call often, but between the last time and now, it was longer than usual. I come when I'm in the area.

He goes on to say more about his travels, but a prickle of a gaze, or perhaps it is long, unsettling experience, makes her glance behind to the fading light from the mouth. There, on the wall where a small rock juts out to create a shelf, is a shadow. A shadow that does not stretch along the wall like it should but sits in a puddle directly below. She freezes, a chill seeping deep into the inner layer of her coat. Kaone? she whispers.

Mm? She hears the moment he sees it, the sharp blade of his inhale, the end of his sentence turning into a warning growl, the shimmer and rush and metallic shing of his sword materializing between his teeth. Get back!

But as soon as he says it, the shadow flashes something somehow dark and white at the same time, and all the light goes out in a torrent of shadow. Gold cuts through, Kaone's sword pushing back. Biting a whine, she hunkers in the light. When the shadow passes, there is a wall of black where they came from and coiled in front of it is Coren.

Instead of the serpentine body, it bears the four-legged stance of a wolf mixed with an elk, its impossibly-long tail trailing in mesmerizing twists of smoke that only accentuate the pulsing white void in the Coren's cracked jaws. Slowly the Coren closes its mouth, circular eyes swirling with intent. Fragment and Scorched will go no further, it hisses, the sound simultaneously coming from all around and from its throat. They will not interfere.

You are the one that will not interfere. You can't keep us from Maikai! Kaone growls, ears stiff and forward, tail arched over his back in aggressive challenge.

Can't we? the Coren purrs. Maikai already grows weak and it is so very easy to play with him. He can't stop us, and neither can Fragment.

Lies you speak.

Lies? Lies Fragment says? Tell me, Fragment, is there change in the Dream? Does not Maikai sleep fitfully and his breaths pass with difficulty? Does not Fragment bring Scorched in hopes to save him? The time to stop us has come and passed, and now we rule the Dream.

But you believe we tell lies. The Coren bares teeth and prowls a step closer, and with a jolt, Aulka realizes it stares at her. Ask Scorched. Scorched knows what our presence means, doesn't she? She knows our teeth and claws, yes she does. She knows them too well. She knows once we come, there is no stopping us from taking. Tell him, Scorched. Tell him what it means when Coren come.

Aulka opens her mouth but no words come. That pulsing white void in the back of its mouth fills her mind, sends bolts of ice down her veins, spins her thoughts into cawing panic. Coren coming means death. Coren coming means all is lost, that—

Enough! Kaone's bark shatters the image of the pulsing void and she blinks, heart pounding beneath her fur.

He bares his teeth, head lowering, ready to strike. Speak of this no more and move aside, Coren. You have no power here.

The Coren laughs, high and ringing, raising her hackles and sending scraping alarm-tingles through her skin. What does power matter when you have already lost? It grins, all teeth and malice. No, you return to where you have come from and we'll keep Maikai alive for a little longer. We rather like the Dream.

With a challenging snarl, Kaone explodes into action, leaping to the Coren faster than a blink, sword slicing for its head.

The Coren flickers out of existence and reappears to his left, snapping teeth at Kaone's flank and twisting away again before he can land a blow. Kaone leaps off the wall and catapults himself towards it, but as it flickers behind him, he flips in the air and slams his sword down to the ground. A wide golden arc slams into the Coren, and it screeches, darting away with a bleeding chest.

So that is how it will be? The Coren snarls from a safe distance, the sound like blades grinding against rocks. Then it shall be known: When you challenge Coren, the rules are simple. You must finish what you started, no matter the cost. It grins wickedly—a vindictive expression—and shreds itself into small wisps of smoke that melt into the walls, leaving no trace.