Avatha trekked through a deep oak forest, thick with trees. It was sunny out, but it didn't shine through the plants' branches. They were all compressed into one another too tightly. It was pitch black where she was. Ever so pitch black. It was kind of hard walking around in this place, because you had to be alert at all times? Why? Because if you weren't, you were all ready to smack face-first into a large tree trunk, that's why. I don't know about you, but Avatha was being alert. She sensed everything. Every scuttling of an animal, every crunch of a leaf, and even when the clouds moved (well, not that far). Being out of the contact of others made you very observant.

It was quiet, as far as she could tell. Nothing was out of place. She stepped on an occasional acorn, but she never winced. Avatha never did. She'd been expressionless long enough to endure that kind of pain. The slightest expression she'd made in the past...oh say...6 years was blinking. Rapidly. That's it. But this kind of thing was just waiting to get off track. One time in her life, something so painful would have to hit her hard enough that she would cringe. Cry out. Scream. Give a blood curdling howl. Something like that. Avatha didn't think about it though. It was somewhere, buried it her mind, but she rarely brought out thoughts about herself.

She stepped through two trunks. A Twisted Willow was said to be out here, but she wasn't worried. Avatha was not worried for a couple of reasons. One, even if she did come within the usual seeing range of one (about 100 yards) it would be impossible to make it out. It was so dark, how could she be able to see it? Maybe with a telescope or something, but as far as I know, wolves didn't own technology such as that. Two, she really didn't have a problem with seeing one. Not that it didn't affect her, it did. It affected all wolves. What I mean is, if she saw one, it didn't matter to her. She didn't care if she became first. Avatha didn't care about herself. She cared about past, present, future, and all the things involved in it...besides herself. Makes you shake your head, doesn't it?

Avatha wasn't just walking in here for the heck of it, she did have a reason: thinking. Putting pieces together and such. The kind of puzzles that make you're head ache, like 'What came first? The chicken, or the egg?' But this stuff was much more important. Stuff about the willows, the cursed ones, cures, maybe. She'd been thinking about this for years, predicting seeing into few minds, but not getting anywhere, not much anyway. It almost seemed like she was a scientist, in a way.

The femme walked on, black tipped tail swishing as she thought. Avatha always seemed to do that. When her mind was whirring, that tail was flicking. A back an' forth, a back an' forth, a back an' forth. A million times probably. It was really quite annoying.

Avatha had picked to walk through this place and think, because she supposed that no one was there. No one to disturb her, to attack her, to even talk to her. It was relieving knowing that.

The wolf brushed against a dead fern. Could this walk finally complete the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle? She'd have to keep striding and thinking to figure that one out...

All was still. Or it seemed that way anyway. It sounded as if the wind had stopped blowing, the leaves stopped rustling, the life stopped moving. It was all so quiet now...so quiet that you could hear your own heart beat jumping in your chest. The Earth seemed to stand still for just a moment, and the sun seemed to stop beating down on the few spots that the trees left exposed.

This happened often to Avatha. These feelings were completely normal for her. Times when everything seemed to slow and then come to a complete stop. Some might be terrified when these feelings overcome them, washing over their bodies, being engulfed by a torrent of completely new emotions. But Avatha...no. She was in a trance, just like she was every time she read ones' mind. A wolf who has never experienced something like this would probably never get used to it, but this was a part of Avatha. She couldn't imagine life without these frequent happenings.

She could neither stop or ignore this. No matter what, Avatha must read this wolf's mind. Most of the time she wasn't even sure of whose mind she was picking through. It was completely random. Well, not entirely. Something in her mind seems to know about the future. About who will play a major role in her life. And then her mind travels wherever it needs to go to find this wolf, and then merge minds. The wolf never knows what is happening. Ever. Ever ever. Never. Only Avatha knows what's happening to that wolf. It was so complicated sometimes, and when this first started happening, she felt so lost.

Avatha was never completely like this. Oh no. She wasn't one hundred percent sure why she was like this anyway. It couldn't have been passed down in the family because she knew of no one who had abilities such as she. Avatha knew that some wolves had special things that they could do. She'd heard about them in stories, and read them from others' minds. But nowhere, nowhere at all, did she hear of a mind-caster such as herself. Was she just abnormal? Was it something in her genes? Really, what would cause such a defect to happen to her? After all, she was just a wolf. One plain wolf, meaning nothing in society. Just there in her own little world.

This topic didn't come up much in her mind, though. In fact, nothing seemed to come up about herself that often. I've mentioned a couple of times that Avatha pays no attention to herself whatsoever. If she was drowning, Avatha probably wouldn't even care. Really, Avatha hasn't thought of her own well being in years. Why should she? Did it really matter what she felt like? It wasn't as if anyone cared. Avatha wasn't ever part of a pack or group of any kind. She was an outcast. A freak. She was always staring off into space, in her trances, or rambling on about horrible things she saw in the future. But no one knew what she was talking about. They didn't want to know. For all the other wolves knew, Avatha was just another crazy out there. Avatha didn't work well with other wolves.

Not working well with wolves, meant she didn't work well at fighting them either. But most of the time that wasn't a problem. Not that wolves didn't fight her, they did. The thing is, Avatha doesn't pay attention to pain. Pain is something she knows not. Don't get me wrong, she isn't invincible. It hurts good. It can throb at her sides, she can ache, but no matter what, her expression doesn't change, and rarely does she mutter a word. You could throw her off a cliff, and she would be silent and expressionless up till her death. Avatha didn't fight. Not ever. She just endured the pain. Eventually she would slash back, maybe bite, but nothing more.

Some may ask, if Avatha doesn't think about herself, and she's not in a trance all of the time, then what does she think about? The answer is simple: nothing. For many, it is impossible to think of nothing. Something always just slips in there, wanting to be thought about. But it is simple for her. She just floats into a world where nothing happens. Everything ceases to exist. It's somewhat like being in a trance...

Avatha stood beside an old crumbling log where she had halted before walking further. Although it was all still around her, the Fae's mind was whirring. It traveled great distances, for it was bringing her own thoughts into another's head. She couldn't think of anything except going to this other wolf's head. Nothing like, Ugh, not again... or anything like that. Avatha simply could only focus on this travel. Her mind seemed to spin in circles like a merry-go-round.

Her mind was slowing down. She must be nearing the wolf. It seemed to be a shorter distance than usual...this wolf must be close. What could this be like? Avatha had experienced many sorts of thoughts. Optimistic thoughts, horrible thoughts, thoughts of good, and thoughts of evil. She'd it all. Most of all, anyway. Thoughts were a peculiar thing after all. None were the same. Every thought was different from the next. Why could this wolf be important to her? If she was close, then maybe they would meet...Avatha wasn't exactly thinking this, but possibilities entered her head every time her mind merged.

Oh, and Avatha didn't just merge with wolves. She could also go into the minds of other animals of the forest, and even humans if they had of some importance to not just herself (because she didn't care about herself anyway) but to the rest of society. Mind casting had to many paths that could lead in any direction. It was all so confusing.

Avatha's mind was at a stop, and her vision started to fade. All of her other senses as well. No more feeling, smelling, hearing, seeing, or tasting for that matter. In these merges Avatha wasn't aware of anything around her. She was oblivious to all. The wolf's mind was becoming clear. Images were flashing across her head in multiple directions. This wolf had many memories...most of them not so good. But Avatha couldn't be sure because it could take awhile before her merge had settled down and for her to go through memories one at a time.

Avatha's time was limited. It could all vanish at anytime, and her mind would travel back to her, and the femme's mind would be in her own body once more. Again, she had no control over this whatsoever. She could tell everything was calming now. The thoughts of this other wolf were gradually stopping to whiz by, and she could focus on some for a bit longer than before.

After about three minutes, everything was still in the wolf's head. Avatha scanned through each memory and image. Yes, these thoughts definitely were bad. Many thoughts contained of a wolf, a Fae no doubt, standing over bloodied wolf bodies. This wolf was a killer without question. Most of the things were fuzzy and she couldn't make them out. They must have been memories from when the wolf was young, but they didn't seem to have been thought about in ages.

When inside ones' head, it almost looks like a library. All of the thoughts are neatly filed, except when they're flying around in a huge ruckus, but they always return to their normal places. Memories that haven't been given much thought by the owners in awhile much resemble a book that hasn't been checked out for several years. Avatha could pick these such things out easily. There were, in fact, a lot of memories this wolf hadn't looked at in awhile.

The femme sorted through more images, most very grotesque. But no matter what memory she viewed, none seemed to show the wolf's name. Her victim's didn't seem to know her, they were probably all innocent bystanders whom the other femme seemed to have singled out to murder. None were shown with her family, much like herself. This wolf must not have been with her relatives a lot. She had very very few memories of them. But what was her name?

Avatha shifted through some more piles of thoughts. Murder, murder, murder, traveling, more murder...no name. Could she be unnamed? Who was this wolf, and why was she important to herself or the other wolves? Finally, she came across something...something good...her name! It looked kind of hard to pronounce, but Avatha didn't seem to have trouble with saying names correctly. (Heck, she didn't call anyone by their name anyway, because she has no one to call anything in the first place.)

But there it was. Deep in that stack of thoughts, and memories, and images, was a single clip. It was old, and parts of it were blurred out where the wolf had forgotten things. She was with another wolf, and they were talking. She didn't even know what the conversation was about. Avatha wasn't even sure if this was a friend or a foe to the wolf. But the other wolf did seem to mention the name of the wolf whose mind she was traveling in right now: Demaen.