The shadows grew longer, the warmth of the sun ebbing as it drifted to the horizon. A lone sentinel sat among the trees, white ears honed onto each sound. A red flame hovered between his ears, flickering quietly in the breeze. His ethereal tether to this land didn’t register anymore, having become part of the ambiance the great wolf could ignore. The flame felt as normal as the gentle rustling of the leaves and the distant gurgle of the river. Birds chirped and squirrels tittered, and every so often a hoofed creature would glide across the valley floor, cautious to remain unnoticed. He inhaled and relished the dry earth and cool air. The petrichor was muted, no storm having stirred the woods for some time.

The wolf Macavity sat upright and stoic. He kept his gaze steady and stern despite his blindness, reading the elongating shadows whilst cataloging every sound. He was old, but his hearing was as impeccable as the day he arrived on the plane. All seemed right in the Valley of the Dolls, his long-time home and sanctuary. Macavity had worked for years to gain respect for his borders, and not a single monster dared tread across. He wondered what had the Headmaster so on edge.

The sound of something large, like a sack full of sand, crashed through branches and leaves, followed by a loud thud as it struck the ground. Feathers rapped at the air and claws skittered across bark before silence followed. Macavity turned his head towards the sudden silence. As the stillness reached him, it forced him onto his feet and towards the disturbance. His paws touched down on the memorized terrain, ears trained forward on the silence. He strode across roots and stones, leaves and needles he was all too familiar with.

He stopped suddenly. A new scent. The wolf pinned his ears, his lips curled back over teeth as white as his fur. A snarl rumbled from his throat as his tail straightened out and his hackles rose. A pit formed in his stomach, burning like a coal in a furnace as his nostrils flared. “Human.” He growled the word. This must be what the Headmaster had predicted: an unwanted visitor. No, if the visitor were unwanted, a door wouldn’t have opened to this world.

So he inhaled, tilted his head up, and howled his summons, the flapping of wings and scattering of claws drowned out by his baleful call. Surrounding creatures always fled whenever the scarred, brutish Macavity sang. Once satisfied that the Headmaster had heard his howl, he lowered his head and tentatively moved forward. He bristled with each step as he drew nearer the awful beast which had landed in the valley. His lips remained peeled back, fangs the length of the average human’s finger bared and threatening. Macavity wanted the monster to know he could rend flesh with one snap of his jaws, wanted to establish his power as early on as possible. This human would not make the mistake of thinking they could add to his marred flesh.

The human’s odor, a mix of salt sweat and something powdery and floral, grew stronger. Once Macavity’s claw hit something soft and unfamiliar on the forest floor, he stopped. He lowered his nose. The powdery, overwhelming flower he recognized. The residents of the valley called it deodorant. He growled low, bumping his muzzle against the part of the human he was closest to. A leg? No, an arm. It was slender and warm. Macavity nudged it again, and this time the appendage shifted on its own.

He anticipated the human to jump up and back away, scramble to get away from the snarling beast hovering over it. This human, however, muttered in a soft alto, “Am I dead?” Macavity couldn’t smell any fear on this human. Dread weighed them to the ground, the quiet shift of their head confirming they could at least see him. “I have to be. You can’t be real.”

Macavity debated responding. His lips lowered back into place and his head lifted. They sounded weak, but he smelled no blood. They had to be dizzy from striking the ground so hard, perhaps concussed. Physically, they appeared uninjured. It was rare anyone arrived in the valley without cause. That knowledge prompted him to answer, “I’m as real as you. You are just a long way from home.”

For a long time, they didn’t respond. He settled down, awaiting the Headmaster’s arrival in tense silence. He believed them to have fallen unconscious, right up until their alto sounded off again.

“Good.”