The moment my bare feet met the moist grass of the forest in my dreamscape, I felt it.

A sentient shift in the atmosphere.

The air felt denser and fully charged with something electric and violent. The trees rustled as they trembled and recoiled from a storm brewing. The usual scent of petrichor and pine was tainted with the acrid burn of unnatural.

And there they were.

My wolf, white fur stained with mud and an onyx liquid, her eyes burning with molten golden fury.

And her opposition. ...