Lacey loved the fog. She loved how readily concealed the majority of her pale body when it fell heavy on the woodland, and the secretive edge it lent all of her movements through the trees. She loved how cool it was against her nose and fur and she loved the sharp clarity it gave the scent of the woods. The smells of dirt, leaf litter, fungus, and animal droppings seemed to jump out at her under the veil of fog, amplified a hundred times over, such that the girl need only sniff gingerly to discover them all. Most of all, she loved how easy it made playing Ghosts.

Ghosts was a game Lacey had invented that only Lacey played, it seemed. It involved sneaking up on members of the pack and claiming to be the ghost of someone long gone. Naturally, her pool of real ghosts was incredibly small, so she made them up, and all of them sported glaring inconsistencies as a result of her youthful inability to keep a story straight and realistic. Nevertheless, she played it as often as she could. She was usually caught, being about as stealthy as a boulder thundering down a mountainside, but the fog made it easier.

She was prancing through the woods when a loud woof from somewhere nearby drew her attention. Her huge ears perked up and she paused in her tracks to listen, then headed for the voice with steps she fancied were quiet, but were actually quite clumsy and conspicuous. It would truly be a wonder if Triell didn't hear her coming, but she hunkered down in the bushes as if she was completely unseen and said, in her best "oooOOOoooOOO" voice, IIIIIII am th' ghost of Scaryzilla! Be 'fraid, li'l wolfie! I'll eat'cha for brekky!

Then, because she was Lacey and was inherently goofy and young, she failed to withhold a giggle.

The pup's face broke into a huge triumphant grin when Triell not only appeared to be frightened, but confirmed it by responding. She had no idea he was just playing along; she fully expected him to be terrified of Scaryzilla, the ghost of Charred Ash Draw, so there was no silliness to her now. Her tail whipped back and forth behind her as she wiggled forward another inch into the bush, just enough to make out his swarthy figure against the forest backdrop, and thought about how to proceed with her scary little game.

Tough skins, y'say? mused the "ghost", tha's no good! Scaryzilla eats on'y freshest and sof'est skins! Was the implication a little bit morbid? Probably, but Lacey didn't know much better about what was and wasn't considered an acceptable thing to say. That would come with time. For now, she tended to blurt out all manner of inappropriate, embarrassing or downright stupid things. Everything was literal to the pup, whose social graces were still developing and had a long way to go. Even when fully grown, it was unlikely the Rigel would live up to her surname in terms of being a polite, well-mannered wolf.

I won' eat'cha, she went on thoughtfully, bu' you gotta... gotta... Fin' me a better wolf to eat for brea'fast! Or else I'll ea'cha and your whoooooole fambly! Yeah, that'd show Triell! He'd have to offer up one of the other cubs for Lacey to torment if he wanted to get out of this encounter with the infamous Scaryzilla alive!