Loka kept close to the Inquisitor as he slid grimly through the black wood; closer than she had cared to stand until now, huddling within the flickering orange pool of light that seemed so small and vulnerable against the looming dark.  Night wind hissed through the silhouetted leaves above them, the branches groaning unnervingly.  Something darted beneath the undergrowth to one side, setting the bushes rustling, and she stifled a panicked squeak.  But Gregor did not seem afraid.  Only determined, resigned.  His voice was bleak and steady.  His emotion tasted like stone.

At some point she became aware that she had placed her hand on his back without knowing it.

This was not a land with which the Deva was familiar.  She had never set foot within a forest, let alone in the black of night.  And she didn't like it.

It was like the cells.  

She had pushed the memories aside, buried them in color and distraction, flitted through the days as though each was her first and never looking over her shoulder.  But now, in that eerie gloom, they came creeping back.  Fear was beginning to seep into her heart, and she struggled to quiet her breath as it came in soft, shuddering little gasps.  Anything could be lurking in that great, blind shadow.  Watching them.  Her mind flowed with imagined visions of what the creature that lurked within the darkness might look like, ranging from the comical to the absurd.  She shook them off as Gregor spoke.

"Dogs.  Yes.  I can smell..." she sniffed the air deeply, whispering in a tiny, strained voice, "...Ten."

She sniffed again, eyes darting from one impenetrable shadow to the next.  

"...There are too many wolves in this forest." she added half-peevishly.