The Obelisk. She'd seen it before, in a dream she could not remember upon waking, but it was not unfamiliar to her. All she knew for certain was that this time, she would touch the damn thing and wake up faster, so she wouldn't have to deal with anyone else. Winter hated being away from Frostbite, even in her dreams, so it was without hesitation that she extended a leg as though to kick it --
But there was nothing. An endless, tumbling nothing as she fell, off kilter, into some gaping maw that she had not seen, that had not been there, and she was falling, falling --
She awoke. Or at least, she thought she did, suddenly in the Swamp and not the land of nothing. It was night, heavy with moisture and insect chorus, the moon high above, and for a moment, she truly believed she was awake. Winter shook out her pelt and turned to look for Frostbite as she always did, in the place the gryphon always was, and instead found the pulsing obelisk there to greet her. Shock made the world feel like it vibrated, a thrum of realization that originated from the obelisk and spread through the Swamp with visible waves of sound, making her heart stop. The world blurred around her vision - all but the obelisk - and for a moment, it was dark. Then the symbols began to glow and though the world 'came back,' her focus did not. The runes, whatever they were, held her tight, and it was only when her heart started to beat again that she realized it was in tandem with the pulsing on the obelisk. It was as if the foreign thing had sway over her very life force.
Winter's heart, seemingly controlled by the life of the obelisk, began to ache. No, that wasn't quite right - it was as if the pulse of the runes was pushing its sick light against her body, singing her fur and slowly burning a hole in her chest. The burning turned in to decay, rot -- as if she was dying where she stood. Winter wasn't afraid so much as she was alarmed, and even that was a vague notion in the back of her mind in thrall of the obelisk. She wasn't afraid of death; it was part of the great hunt. Even as it felt like her skin was peeling away and her very ribcage was going to cave and turn to dust beneath the feeling, she would not give her ground. She was a hunter, and this --
-- this was not natural. It wasn't right.
She was a hunter. Why, then, was she staying put for this thing to flay her flesh and kill her without a fight?
The doe gasped in the humid air, the gesture going against the thrum of her heart. It was enough to send her pulse off from the pulse of the obelisk, and with some back stepping and head shaking, she managed to rip her gaze away and look down at her chest. She couldn't tell if there was actually rot there or if it was all in her head - that damn stone in her head! - and it angered her. No, it downright pissed her off. Crying out with spite and rage, she turned and again aimed her flank to kick the damned thing --