• The room smelled like death and hopelessness. It smelled like shattered dreams and cruel ends. Like hell.
    A small brown furred wolf was stuffed into a blood soaked cage in one corner of the stuffy room.
    There was a collar snapped around it's neck; weathered and old.
    There was a faint beeping coming from the collar and the wolf slowly opened it's eyes.
    The world was blurred to her, a smudge against the metal bars of the cage and time seemed to slow as the collar beeped.
    "Time...cannot repair thy life.
    Each moment thrives upon thy strife.
    And blood shalll spill,
    And blood shall mix,

    For The Last of the Breed will be your fate,
    And the world shall crack upon your shoulders.
    Dear Wolf,
    Your life will soon be over."

    The chant repeeated itself over and over in her head.