The forest air was heavy with the scent of dampness and moss. Sunbeams pierced the canopy in golden ribbons; each breath made the leaves whisper ancient secrets. Strax walked beside Shura—the white tigress who, in recent times, had made the roads and carcasses of the world her hunting ground and her home. Her steps made no sound; when she walked, it seemed as if the forest itself adjusted its rhythm so as not to disturb her.
"Why did you want me so isolated? It seems like you're even going to devour me," Strax asked playfully, with the calm that always seemed to be abundant in him. "You're not a woman of many words."
Shura stopped on an open trail and looked at him. Her white fur shimmered with the filtered sunlight; her blue eyes were two cold stones that weighed the intentions of the man before her.
