"She smelled fresh air and opened her eyes to discover the night. It whispered to her with the same sensual power as the ebb and flow of Mikhail's blood. Trees swayed overhead; the wind cooled her body, yet fanned her need. "This is our world, little one. Feel its beauty, hear its call." It was all like a dazzling dream, as if they were drifting with the faint mist, a part of the night itself. The stars overhead played hide-and-seek through the canopy of leaves and branches. The moon was elusive, wandering behind floating clouds. Everywhere Raven heard the sounds of life. It was in the sap of the trees, the rustle of small animals, the beat of wings, the echoing, savage cry of a night hunter as it missed its prey. Mikhail raised his head and called, a wild sound of joy. It was answered. Raven could feel the rapture in the wolves' rejoinders. It filled her heart, and in her, the wildness grew. He carried her through a maze of paths, deep into the mountains, until they were at the entrance of a downward-sloping cave. "Hear it," he ordered as he passed into the murky shadows. "Hear the earth sing to you."