Nightmares return to him. No longer did they contain the twisted, purple snow that clung and choked and smothered. Now twisted, blighted creatures scour the bleak, tarnished earth. They laugh and scream and chase and hunt. A pair of wolves fly across the earth, the distance between them and the twisted wraiths growing.

The beasts had easier prey to deal with.

A third wolf. A weakened man who had fallen behind. The hunters turned for him, a decision as natural as breathing.

The third wolf's cries fell upon deaf ears as Caan turned his gaze to the ridge. The horizon line that the lucky pair had crossed. Shutting his eyes, Caan willed himself to wake up from this dream.

When his eyes opened once more, he found that calamity followed into the waking world.

A spirit appeared, one that lamented and wailed. One that held shame in guilt for leaving behind the third. For abandoning the weak to continue living.

Stupid. You'd have let two die to spare one broken man?

The weak didn't get to choose how they died. The brother's fate was inevitable. It was out of Caan's paws.

But the dream spirit still wanted something from him. Choose a door. Take a path.

Caan looked for a fourth door. An option that would let him walk away from this ghost and be done with it. Finding none, his eyes skimmed the portals before him. The second door catching his eye with the twisted, nightmare beasts laying siege upon some massive tree.

Lanzadoii didn't care about land, they cared about the march. They cared about their band.

What would the beasts devour next after they finished busying themselves with the tree? How far was this great tree from the Saastine's camp?

Gritting his teeth, Caan entered the second door. Joining the fray, if these wraiths could be slain, then perhaps he may spare his clan of tragedy.

Ice Raven, watch over me.