She emerges from the undergrowth in the rainy, moonlit forest. Her grey fur is drenched in a deep, dark red that you instinctively know is not her own. Her long claws and wolf fangs are dripping in vitae. Her slavering lips are drawn back in a deep, low snarl. She's enraged. She does not bother talking to you. She glares down at you from height with milky, white glowing eyes, devoid of humanity. There is only the werewolf, and she knows only rage, only death. None escape Raha. "GRRRRRRR."