Lazily, my eyes open. My face is pressed against something cold, and slightly damp. Everything is blurry and fuzzy, so I’m incapable of telling where I am.

Wait a moment, I’m in my house! That’s where I passed out, duh. The furnace probably hasn’t kicked in yet, so that’s why the floor is so cold.

As soon as I manage to crack open both eyes painfully slow, a blinding migraine explodes between my eyebrows. My eyes snap shut and despite my exhaustion, my hands fly to my head, begging it not to split open. I curl into a ball, and feel the muscles in my legs cramping as waves of spasms ripple through my thighs. Just fricken great.

After approximately a quarter of an hour in a fetal position, my body begins to relax. My clammy hands loosen their grip and my eyes slowly crack open again; just how I began. The muscles encasing my rib cage stretch after being contracted, and hell, that’s painful. So through my blinding cramps, muscle spasms, and headaches—my perseverance rolls me onto my back. Baby steps, now…

For the seemingly millionth time, I open my stormy gray and gold eyes, but this time all the way.

I almost feel a smile pinch at my lips as I look into the calming gray clouds coiling above me, and the scent of pine and rain drift into my nose...

Wait, wait, wait. Pine? Rain?

Now that I’m more awake than a person who made cup of coffee with Red Bull, I bolt straight up.

It takes a few moments for the blood to return to my head, but when it does, I’m greeted with an entirely unfamiliar sight. Dark black pines and jack pines, conifers and dense mossy dead wood all surround me. The atmosphere is dimly lit by the blanketed-in-storms sun, making my surroundings seem eerily menacing.

How in the hell did I end up in a forest?

As soon as I’m about to panic, I figure that it’s probably just some crazy dream. Some crazy, seemingly real dream.

I roll over in my gray Cabela’s hoodie and pinch my right arm. Nothing happens. C’mon, that was supposed to wake me up! Seriously, this is getting freaky. I slap myself. Nothing again. I thickly swallow the lump in my throat.

Beginning to get frustrated, I push myself to my protesting legs. Alright, that’s it. I’m probably in some insane, LSD-fueled nightmare. I mean, what else could it be? But if I am going to be here any longer, I’ll be bored without music.

Wait—my iPod.

My hand flies into my jean’s butt pocket, digging out the silver device. Thank God, I almost had a heart attack. Even if it’s a dream, the thought of losing that little magic-maker scares the hell out of me. My plain white headphones are still tightly wrapped around it, so that’s even better. So now that I can’t wake up and I’ve got my iPod, I guess that the first thing I should do is probably find water. After all that swimming, my throat is parched from thirst and my mouth is dry after this...ordeal.

As my hand falls to my side, a shadow catches my eye. I lift my left hand up again, scouring it to find the shadow. I close my palm into a fist and then stretch out my slim fingers, but nothing happens. Then I rotate my wrist to the back of my left hand, and my eyes widen.

There’s an insignia on the back of my hand with three faint triangles, all together to form a larger triangle. It looks like...the Triforce. But that’s ridiculous, right? I can’t be IN a Zelda game. Albeit I’m most likely hallucinating, I excitedly show my geek side and immediately try to find the darker shaded piece.

So, what’s my gift? Power? Wisdom? Courage? Actually, none of the above. My eyes squint in confusion. Looking back at the mark, I notice that something...isn’t quite right.

Instead of one of the pieces being darker, the middle section is shaded. I haven’t got power, wisdom, or courage. The usually hollow middle of the Triforce has shown on my hand.

I shake off the uneasiness that I get from the mark, and try to focus on finding water again. Too paranoid to even listen to music, I attempt to swallow all my skepticism down my now-dry throat. I need to find water, and fast.

I reach the decision that distracting myself would be the best thing for my health and sanity while I walk aimlessly forward through this dank, dark, stormy forest. Brainstorming all the possibilities that I could think of, nothing comes to mind except for one thought.

How did I get here?

First, I came back from swimming with my friends. My hair was damp, I was wearing my bikini under my hoodie, with skinny jeans and sneakers, my rose quartz bracelet and my iPod in my pocket. Nothing strange. Let’s keep thinking, shall we? Next I dropped my bag containing my clothes and towels from swimming, and laid down. I decided to get my daily dose of Legend of Zelda, and then there was that disc.

Was that it?

No, there was more. Then I accidentally electrocuted myself on a wire when the game was in the console, and I blacked out.

So, there was the electrocution and the disc.

But, if this is a dream, then the blister I got on my right pinky won’t be there. I mean, it only makes sense that something that happened when I was conscious wouldn’t be the same after I was in the state of limbo. With a new glimpse of hope, I glance at my little finger.

The blister is still there—and it’s turned red, like all burns do.

This is officially creepy. First the disc, the pass-out electrocution, the woods, the abnormal Triforce piece, and now the blister.

I must have walked a quarter of a mile by now. Predictable, since I always get caught up in my thoughts.

Without any other ideas to think about, I unconsciously try to comb the muck from my newly-dry short brown hair, my nails scraping the caked dirt from when I was face-planted in the damp ground. When I stop and glare at a chunk of muskeg that refuses to let go, I hear something.

Not far away, I hear splashing. Is it water?

My pace quickens to a jog through the dense dark wood, and the uneven ground beneath my sneakers threatens to twist my ankles if I misstep. I huff as I push away the branches that desperately claw for my skin and clothes. After what seems like hours of running through hell, I stop in front of a small pond. It has the same creepy light to it, has some rocks near the edge; and fallen logs with the same tall, dark, and eerie-as-hell trees. Just as I let out a tense breath, my ears pick up on another sound that is less welcoming as rushing water: rustling in the trees.

Not from a bird or squirrel, more like the heavy thumping of a child prowling on the creaking boughs. Just as soon as I hear it, it stops.

Some dead leaves fall from my left, and I defensively whip around to face that direction. For a moment I brush it off as nothing after the silence echoes through the air again, and I rub the palms of my hands on my jeans to try and dry off the nervous sweat. The leaves fall from a different place, not too far away. I cautiously step towards the low treetops, and I hear giggling. Not the cute newborn baby giggling, I mean a menacing, mocking giggle.

Suddenly, a figure drops in front of me. About twenty feet away, a small shadow-no more than two feet tall crouches with its head down. I lick my lips and call out shakily, “E-excuse me? Do y-you need help?”

It just stands there. What is this kid doing?

Quicker than humanely possible, its neck snaps up, and looks at me. The bare light reflects off the child’s gray and sunken skin, and beady red eyes that almost seem to look through me. A bloodcurdling smile graces the kid’s face in a sickening way. It is at that very moment that I realize...

Its face is a skull.

The kid wears an orange and red pointed leaf hat, along with a matching large hanging shirt draped on his bony shoulders; with red leafy shoes that are a size too big. He sits in an ape-like position, nearly kneeling above the ground, but almost hovering over it as if the air moved with him. A small horn dangles from a belt on his hip, and he reaches for it with another insane laugh.

I just know something bad will happen if he blows that horn.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I reach out my arm, my voice panicky. “Stop—”

As I start to take a step forward, he puts it against his cracked gray lips. The twisted sound of the lusterless horn rings through the dead forest, and I cover my ears. The resounding off-pitch sound shakes the leaves in the trees and I cringe, waiting for the echo to fade completely, before cracking open an eye and peering at him.

He lowers his head, and smiles wider than humanely possible. With a tone underlying threat, he murmurs, “Get ready to play.”

The kid jumps ten feet straight up into the thick brush overhead. My breath is ragged and uneven. What was that? It kind of reminds me of...a Skull Kid. But once again, I can’t really be in a Zelda game. Although that’s what I’d like to think, I’m starting to believe it less and less.

I fruitlessly try to dismiss the thought, and shakily walk over to the pond. I cup my hands and dunk my face in the water, washing away most of the muskeg and grime. Was I really this dirty after laying on dirt for...? Actually, I don’t even know how long I was there. I shake off the droplets of water from the tips of my hair, and sniffle lightly before looking at my reflection once the water has evened. Looking above my reflection, I gasp and freeze; and don’t dare to make a noise.

Glowing eyes reflect off the waters above my head on the other side of the pond, sending icicles through my veins. When I look up more, there are matching ones in the shadows. I don’t dare to move. Then another pair of eyes flicks open, right next to the original ones. Then another. And another.

Soon, about a half a dozen pairs of eyes all stare from the shadows. I’m frozen completely. They blink and come closer, and I see one black paw step out from the twilight.

Wolves.

It brings its growling and slobbery mouth from the brush, and slowly begins to walk around the pond to the other side; right where I am. Followers begin to appear from the penumbra, all some shade of grayish-tan or brown. The leader of the pack is black. They come from my left and right, and begin to box me in.

I can’t run, or they would catch up. I hear sounds from behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder I see another flash of fur, and the wolf growls. My neck snaps to face forward again, my eyes wide, and I try to swallow the lump in my esophagus. I know they have me surrounded. I stand up, and my hands fall limply to my sides as I stand straight in the middle of this conundrum.

The leader of the pack gives a silent cue, and they all stop. The only thing heard is my quiet but ragged breathing, and their hungry breaths.

But...why should I care? If this is a dream, it won’t hurt. I’ll just wake up.

Although deep down, I wonder if this is truly a dream.

We stay that way for about a minute. Nothing moves, and we size each other up. The leader’s glowing yellow eyes travel from my sneakers to my ripped jeans, up to the collar of my hoodie, and then his eyes meet mine; yellow on gray.

Then the leader lunges at me. His jaw clamps onto my right calf, and I yelp as I fall back onto my tailbone. The others take this as their command, and all of them jump onto me.

One kicks my stomach, and another clamps onto my scalp with his teeth. The one that kicked me swipes his paw across my face, creating parallel lines of red. Blood trickles down my forehead and I feel warmth and agony seep down my right calf. I feel light headed abruptly, and for a moment I think of giving up. The second largest wolf latches onto my left forearm, nearly twisting it out of the socket. I scream in terror and pain, all I see is my blood splashing my clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much of my own blood. My screams echo through the dead forest, and I feel something in my left shoulder pop.

I freeze, and then shriek at the tops of my lungs.

“Help! Somebody, help me please! HELP!”

When I’m on my back, the wolves get off.

I can’t help but notice that this whole time, they never went for my throat in a synchronized killing fashion. They’re…toying with me. I’m sport, not food.

The black leader comes forward for the kill, and mockingly smiles as much as a wolf can. His eyes travel to my neck, exposed and covered with a thin layer of sweat. In his glowing yellow eyes, I see a reflection of my own face, twisted in horror and splattered with blood. I say one last prayer under my breath. I hope that my family knows I love them, and I hope that they never find my body. That way, they don’t have to see my marred and mutilated remains.

With that last thought, he leaps onto me one last time. I flinch as I see his hungry jaws come down on me, and I shield my face. As he is an inch away, a dark shadow barrels into his side at an unimaginable speed, knocking him right out of the air.

I get onto my sore and bloody elbows.

The leader is down on the ground, pinned to the forest floor by a dark blackish-brown wolf with a cream undercoat. The leader attacks, his chops clashing together and spreading spittle everywhere. The opposing blackish-brown defender latches onto his neck and shakes him back at forth. After a while, the leader’s eyes begin to roll to the back of his head. The other members of the pack decide to attack me, while everyone’s preoccupied.

As a light gray one runs at me, the blackish-brown one jumps in front. The gray one stops clear in her tracks with her tail between her legs and backs up. The dark wolf with a cream stomach lunges over top of me, at another one that was going to get me from behind.

I watch as the blackish-brown—no, the good wolf attacks everything that comes at me.

Right as the good one is distracted by a large brown and shaggy wolf, a black shadow rising in the corner of my eye catches my attention. The leader gets up, and I gasp. He gives me a look that clearly conveys exactly what he plans to do to me, and I know what runs through his head.

Your luck is up, bitch.

Because I don’t know what else to do, I raise my right arm—not the dislocated one—to almost ward him off.

“Don’t... Don’t come a-any closer! St-stay away!” I yell, but my shaky whisper isn’t as intimidating as I’d like.

He takes a limping bound forward, and I raise my voice. “No! STOP!”

He jumps again, and I feel my heart tighten. I shield my face with my arm, and scream as loud as I can, “STOP!”

The good wolf looks back, his blue eyes wide. He runs forward, and dashes right between the leader and me. The leader’s jaws clamp down on the good wolf’s neck, and I gasp and feel tears swim in the corners of my eyes. The leader growls and tightens his grip, still satisfied with his new catch. The blackish-brown wolf grunts, and then starts to push the leader back. At first I ponder what he’s doing, but then I see what he planned right as it happens.

He rams the leader’s skull into a tree trunk, with a hollow thump. I flinch, and as if that wasn’t enough, he rams it again. And again. Eventually, the leader’s grip loosens, and he sinks against the tree. His eyes roll back, and I’m not sure if he’s dead or unconscious.

The pack exchanges shocked glances, before one lopes forward. He bites the scruff of the leader’s neck, and with another’s help he drags him off. The remainder of the pack glare at us, growling to keep us at bay as they recede into the darkness.

Almost several minutes pass, and I barely even breathe. I await their return, but when nothing happens, I try to reduce the tension in my muscles. As I sigh, I hear another sigh. I shakily glance over my shoulder, and see the blackish-brown wolf’s icy blue eyes burn into my skull. All the tension returns, and I shake my head. One thought replays in my mind.

This can’t be happening. He... He helped me. Now I’m going to be his meal. Oh god, oh god, this can’t be happening to me.

I try to stand up, but all my sore and bloody limbs say otherwise. I fall onto my bottom and try to scoot backwards. Finally, my arm comes out from under me, and I fall onto my back with a dull thump and the air escapes my lungs. I cough and gasp, clutching my dislocated shoulder and sputtering a little blood.

I’m unable to move, in agonizing pain, and now I know that I’m going to die. I half-wish that the wolves could have finished their job.

Calmly, the remaining dark and cream wolf comes forward. My eyes widen, and I claw at the ground to try and back away. All animals are animals, and now that he’s managed to protect me, maybe he’s just going to eat me himself. I shouldn’t have expected anything else. What did I think, that he’s magically going to turn into my knight in shining armor? Of course not.

His blue eyes are sharp and scan over me. He has intricate and captivating cream designs on his forehead, which I’ve never seen before on any other wolf. He slowly comes forward, as if to make sure that I won’t run away. The wolf comes to my side and sniffs my face.

Right at that moment, I see two wolves. Then four, and then one again. I blink and waver, then my eyes roll back and I hit the ground. When and if my eyes close, I secretly wonder if they’ll ever open again. As the towering trees above me begin to blur and fade, I feel something wet and slimy glide along my chin to my cheekbone.

My eyes flutter open. Did he just lick me? I’ve never liked animal spit on my face. My eyes start to crawl back to a close, and he licks me again—continuously. I try to push him away, cringing as his saliva makes my cheek sticky. Seriously, gross! Leave me in peace!

For whatever reason, I remember when I saw a show about a dog saving his owner in a rockslide, and licked her to make sure she didn’t pass out. Well, I’m not his owner—all I want him to do now is scram.

He whines slightly and bends down next to me. That small sound makes my heart clench, and I feel a peaceful sensation settle in my stomach. How could I stay angry? I feebly pet his side and give a pathetic smile with my bloody face.

What did this situation just come to?

The wolf whines again and his cold nose gently pushes my wrist, and then rolls my Triforce-marked limp hand onto his snout. I hiss in a breath because he moved my dislocated arm, and he immediately takes a step back like he’s been scolded. He moves to my other side and bends down again, doing the same procedure with my other hand. I gently pet his head.

He begins to jerk slightly on my arm, and manages to slide it over his head and onto his back. I clench his fur and he rolls me onto my stomach. Does he want me to climb on? With no other idea in mind, I use every last ounce of strength to grasp his rough fur and pull my chest onto his back. I almost pass out, but he presses his cold nose to my cheek and I wake again.

I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from screaming as my left arm dangles uselessly. When I look at his scruffy neck I notice a thin trail of blood from where the leader of the pack bit him, and I feel guilt pang in my stomach. My hand tightens around the fur I grabbed, and my feet trail on the ground. He licks me again for good measure; hauls my legs halfway onto his back, and then runs. My sneakers drag on the ground behind him and I feel the exhaustion begin to creep up on me again. 

Sometime during the trip, the pulsating pain in my arm dulls along with my other senses, and I lose consciousness for the second time in a day.