The Last Wolf, Dhīb, had one of the dark owls arrive at his den early in the morning, not that there was light; all animals in the Mavrílla mentally lived in a constant state of night. The fog never faded, and light never directly landed on the ground, only filtered by the black clouds hovering over the forest to a dim shade of greyish blue. When the star sets, the forest becomes pitch dark. The only light came from luminous insects of dark orange hue glowing out their bellies.
'Master,' called the raspy owl, he spoke as if he was constantly in a throaty itch, 'I bring news of a stranger, a biped, witnessed by a snake and the fireflies.'
The wolf opened his eyes and stood on his fours. He wasn't necessarily sleeping; he never slept once after The Great Feast and was in a constant state of awakening.
'The prophecy,' said the wolf, treading out his horrible cave, 'of troubling, troubled, troublesome beings who arrive to this land.'
'What else says the prophecy, Master?'
'Ancient terror passed between worlds. Creatures that only knew tragedy.'
The owl flew and landed on his master's back. He asked, 'And of what concern this is to you, Master Dhīb?'
'A world of absolute darkness. Imagine, Dakinrīsh, a never-ending horizon of a land that resembles ours.'
The wolf walked towards the centre of the forest.
'Is it possible to create a sanctuary of such majesty for our kind, Master?'
'It is said that a being with great power arrives to this land, and by a stroke of their finger, what they will comes to be, or, ceases to. . .'
The owl nodded in astonishment. He already imagined a land of plague and magma, and the thought made him hopeful and ambitious to help his leader to death to achieve the state of perfection: a land covered in the dark for the Mavríllans to thrive in. "That means I can lure my beloved Fetheraspo to the Mavro and become one with her!" Thought the owl.
'Very well, Master! I shall send my fairyfly, Kóçik, to scout the lands for said stranger – yes. . . yes! We shall prevail, Master. . .'