Kharienthe Erithan stood in the doorway, staring out at the night. Obsidian wisps of cloud floated silently over the stars and clung to the sliver of moon. As she watched, a breeze ruffled the dry grass and picked up a few dead leaves from the ground, sending them whirling through the skeletal trees. An owl whoo-whooted softly, its voice carrying eerily on the swirling wind. All was seemingly peaceful. Something was out there, though. Something....
"Shut the door, Khar," came her mother's voice from within.
The wind had picked up, blowing cold air and dead leaves past Khar and into the house. She snatched her shawl from the peg and stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. She shivered in the wind as she drew the lacey shawl around her. Something.... The wind carried another sound now, a darker, most disturbing sound than the gentle call of the owl. This was the deep, terrifying howl of a predator. A large, dangerous predator. Knowing she should return to the house, Khar wandered farther into the woods, drawn irresistibly toward the source of the haunting sound.
Answering howls came in swift succession from all directions. Khar whirled around anxiously, knowing there would be no escape. Eyes. She saw eyes. One pair, two...seven. Seven pairs of silver eyes glinting in the faint light of moon and stars, housed in bodies that seemed to melt into the night. Seven pairs of silver eyes surrounding her, imprisoning her. A small cry escaped her lips as she spun around again, her eyes coming to rest on the eyes of the largest creature. She was going to die.
Little sister, be easy.
The words echoed in Kharienthe's mind, though more as ideas than spoken words. Her dark brows drew together on her pale forehead, and she took another step toward the eyes. An image of herself touched her mind then, much the same as she must look now, but her green eyes wide with wonder instead of fear, her breathing calm and steady.
Little sister, I am Daghain Daemar, He who plays fear like a game. This is my pack. The image of the darkhound's name was terrible, though he reassured her that she, at least, need not fear him. One by one, images of the other hounds' names flashed through her mind. And you, little one, shall be called Sar Sara sa a'Cor. She who Dances in the Night. Another image filled Kharienthe's mind, of herself this time. She was dancing under the moon, her feet bare and her hair streaming behind her. She remembered the night she had danced like that, but the image she saw now was from a watcher's perspective. From the trees. The darkhounds had been watching her.
Come, sister. Come dance with us in the night. You belong with us.
Without sparing a backward glance at the small cottage she shared with her mother and sister, she ran forward and sprang onto Daghain's back. They flew through the night, leaving no trail behind them, but the faint scent of sulphur that hung in the now-still air.