"'So,' Little Lannord said, 'you've recovered what you lost and returned to your original form. That's what you mean?' The monstrous dog nodded silently. 'Then tell me,' it asked, gazing deeply into the boy's eyes. 'Even though I can no longer become human, will you still love me?' To everyone's surprise, the boy shook his head. 'My dear lady, you were never human to begin with. Why aspire to become what you are not? Must you abandon even your true identity? Remember who you are, as I shall remember who I am. Love itself may be noble, but romance between us is mere folly. Two beings of different species are destined never to share true love. My answer is this: I no longer love you. More precisely, from my position, I cannot love you.'"

  Lothar's jaw quivered. "How utterly cruel."

  "'Is that so...' The beast lowered its eyelids, a strange beauty radiating through its melancholy. 'Thank you, Lannord. Thank you for once loving me wholeheartedly, and thank you for your brutal honesty. Now the time has come for our parting.' The dog placed its forelegs atop Little Lannord's hands. 'Let us say our farewells here. I shall continue forward into the unknown, while you return to your life down the mountain path. Farewell, my once-beloved.' She turned away."

  "The boy seized her paw. 'Do not despair, my love. You may have lost my earthly affection, but you've gained something far greater. Though reality forbids our union, in dreams, we may still wander together.' She turned to him, surprise evident in her eyes. 'Dreams?' 'Yes,' Little Lannord nodded solemnly. 'Dreams are the most wondrous creations in existence. They represent the boundless limits of imagination, the very manifestation of consciousness. In dreams, we shed our decaying flesh and exist as pure thought—liberated thought. In dreams, we become gods, we embody fate, we transform into goddesses, we echo the ancient past. In dreams, we are simultaneously human, canine, everything, and nothing. Dreams exist as both truth and falsehood, with no definitive boundary between them—just as night and dawn blur into one another. Now, give me your answer.'"

  "'I too have dreamed,' she replied, her voice brightening. 'If that is your wish, then I consent wholeheartedly.' 'My dear lady,' he responded tenderly, 'there exists no separate wishes—neither mine nor yours. All wishes flow together, all souls remain connected. Though our thoughts may be individual, they belong to us both.' He kissed her."

  A profound silence fell between them.

  "And that concludes my tale." (Did I embellish too much?) Stellan observed his audience's reaction with careful scrutiny.

  Lannord began growling again, his fingers clawing deep furrows into the earth. Lothar exhaled wearily. "So even dream-lovers fight?"

  "What?" Stellan took a moment to comprehend. "Oh... certainly, a touch of conflict adds... certain excitement."

  Lothar rose to his feet with another sigh. (Surely not... was my story that awful, that unconvincing?) Stellan sighed internally, his hand instinctively reaching behind him for his dagger.

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  "I've never encountered a tale quite like that," Lothar remarked tersely. "One final question—what breed of dog is Lannord in his dream?"

  The metaphorical weight on Stellan's chest lifted as he released his grip on the dagger. "Let me consider..." (What breed should I choose this time?) Images of noblemen's prized canines flashed through his mind.

  "Ah... I believe... a poodle?"

  The trees stood like disciplined sentinels, watching impassively as the riders thundered past, offering not even the courtesy of acknowledgment. Three black horses wove through the forest, sometimes diverging, sometimes converging, but maintaining one constant: they moved at maximum speed.

  "Father Northes!" Raymond Noytra pulled alongside the lead rider. "Do you believe the wolves will overtake us?"

  "Use your eyes, Raymond," Ivan Northes replied icily. "Eyes are for seeing, not just staring ahead."

  "My eyes inform me this forest is as dark as dog excrement," Raymond countered. "Whatever lurks behind remains invisible to me."

  "Then direct your gaze upward, young man," Old McKenzie urged as his mount caught up. "Is that great hawk still following our trail?"

  "Perhaps you should interrogate the leaves," Raymond retorted irritably.

  The courier party had maintained a full gallop for nearly two minutes, covering approximately 1.2 miles, yet their three warhorses continued breathing steadily. Raymond positioned himself at the rear, constantly vigilant of their backtrail; Old McKenzie remained in the middle position as the protected asset; Ivan led the formation, eyes fixed ahead, guiding their escape.

  Among the thundering hoofbeats, foreign sounds intruded. Raymond instinctively glanced backward, perceiving faint lights emerging from the darkness. "They're coming."

  The wolf pack materialized into view. "Only three," Old McKenzie reported to Ivan.

  "Maintain maximum speed; disregard them momentarily," Ivan Northes commanded. "We've nearly reached the two-mile mark. Their endurance and velocity should prove inferior to our mounts. Another two miles should force their retreat."

  "I wouldn't wager on that assessment," Raymond grimly observed. "They're moving with unnatural speed."

  The Dire Wolves' labored breathing grew increasingly audible as they closed the distance. "Weren't Dire Wolves reputed to be inefficient runners?" Old McKenzie questioned. "They're outpacing our horses!"

  "That's impossible." Ivan clenched his jaw, driving his heels into his mount's flanks. The black horse whinnied sharply, its stride quickening further. "Their supposed running limitations apply only in comparison to ordinary wolves. Even the swiftest gray wolf cannot outrun military-bred black horses, much less their short-legged cousins."

  "Employ your vision, dear Father," Raymond advised while deftly avoiding an oncoming tree. "Evidence refutes theory. I can already detect their foul lupine stench."

  Ivan Northes finally turned to verify this incredulous claim. The alpha wolf maintained the lead position, flanked by two females. The gap between the lead wolf and Raymond's mount diminished steadily, their bestial scent visibly disturbing the horses. "Steady now, Black Rose," Raymond murmured, stroking his mount's neck. "Accelerate—danger approaches from behind."

  "They will perish," Ivan declared suddenly. "Who? The wolves?" Old McKenzie bellowed.

  "Indeed. These three Dire Wolves will expire before this pursuit concludes. They're pushing far beyond their physical capabilities. Most peculiar," Ivan frowned deeply. "They're sustaining themselves purely through willpower. Ordinary wolves never tax themselves to such extremes. This behavior pattern is aberrant, almost as if—"