The Hunted.

   Flames. Burning. Wildfire, inferno, it didn't matter. A long-dead wolf's final anguished howl cut through the roar of the fire, driving into her heart like a rusted spike even as the smoke and ashes tasting of broken dreams and bitter tears caused her to choke and fall. Her armor was hot, too hot, superheating and starting to burn into her skin as she ran, crawled, clawed her way to...

   ...a tiled room, blessedly, miraculously cool after the blistering heat. She was whole, her armor unmarred, drawing breath into intact lungs as she stared at a figure in purple and shadow-black. Three hooded and bound figures slumped on their chairs, crying for her aid, for her to run. Her commander, her cousin, and her closest friend, all drained and shackled so they couldn't run, couldn't fight. The figure demanded that she choose who lived and who died; as she began to run towards them, to pull her loved ones free, he slit Feoden's throat. Never mind the death knight was already undead; this was apparently the true death, and he toppled lifeless to the floor. She screamed and charged at their captor, but before she could reach him, he'd shifted himself and the others to the opposite side of the room, repeating his ultimatum.

   Suddenly, she understood, and prayed she judged him correctly. She stopped and spread her arms wide. "Take me instead."

   He praised her, threw the knife at her...she refused to flinch, knowing this was the only way...

   ...and...nothing. Blank, white, pure. She stared at him as he explained what he wanted, and mocked what he claimed was her mind. White. Light. Light...shadows can't exist if it's too bright, and she willed the space to become blinding, exulting for a moment when he flinched. But then, he transformed the space into pure darkness, and asked what she would do.

   Sunrunner. One who serves Life, and in that way, the Light, slipped into her illusion of shadow with ease. Yes, she served...but sometimes, in order to serve, one must be willing to dance that fine line, always knowing where the light truly lay. She held to that conviction as she slipped through the darkness, raised her bow, and shot at where the figure had been last. No effect; but she'd made her point clear.

   Then, he gave her a message...followed by a tightening ring of lurid purple flames...just as they reached her...

   Stasi gasped and groaned as a massive, spectral paw slammed into her head, causing it to bounce off of a very large, very solid rock. She cursed and curled up in a trembling ball, clutching her head and staring at the ground under her cheek. A dream...nightmare...but she knew, without being told, that it wasn't one of hers. That mind-meddling son of a bitch was back...and she wanted blood. A malicious grin twisted her features as she managed to raise some aid on her communicator; Feoden responded, much to her relief, though he had problems of his own to deal with, but Kalirann was willing to help.

   The hunt was on.