The forest is quiet. Not even the wind dares make a sound. A lone rock stands in a clearing amidst deadfall and branches; and to it, tethered by a golden cord, sits Fenrir. The wolf-girl grinds her teeth in frustration, muscles flexing as she strains at the fetters cutting into her wrists. As ever, to no avail. Suddenly, the sound of snapping twigs breaks the stillness. Fenrir lurches to her feet, ears alert. Who goes there? She snaps, tail whipping at the ground behind her. Show yourself!