The moon shined its crest with valiant pride as the worshiping wolfs below pierced the night sky with their cries. The leader of the pack eyed a nearby valley where legend tells of Dark Shadow, a force no mere mortal can defeat. The tales claim that this mysterious force lures its victims to the humble hands of a witch during stormy hours and sends them on an impossible quest only to find them doomed by their own deaths. Keeping this in mind, the determined leader summoned the cubs to stay near their mothers for on this quest, Dark Shadow may be lurking in the remote forests ahead. As the light of the moon quickly became the scorching hot sun, the pack completed nearly a fourth of the journey.

Two more hours passed and the group reached the bustling city of Andover. Andover contains a large population of "mortal beings" or humans, which is considered one of the wolf’s finest delicacies. Just as the wolves began to target their prey, a horse-like creature rampaged through the city, awakening its citizens from their slumber. The beast pierced a man in his guts, yielded, and charged towards a woman ushering a group of orphaned children into a nearby building. As the creature came closer, its face became clearer and clearer to the woman. What seemed like a sword was a pointed horn attached to the beast’s forehead. It glistened in the sun, covered with the blood of the disemboweled man. Its long mane, shaggy and tangled, was a creamy white with patches of mud. On its breast was the emblem of the Nauru, an ancient tribe which has long been conquered in their conquest to defeat the Dark Shadow. The Nauru once had beasts such as this one in Andover which were named Unicorns. The reason behind their name has been long forgotten for many of the elders in the Nauru were killed off by Dark Shadows’ minions. Few of these Unicorns remain and those that are still alive are seduced by the effects of popcorn, their one and only weakness. These Unicorns cluster in several parts of Andover, but none have ever broken the Unicorns Code of Honor and bombarded a human settlement without purpose, and yet this one stray Unicorn is now charging towards this fear-stricken woman.

Ten feet… six feet… four feet… one foot… halt. The beast glared at the screaming woman with disgust. Seeing that the woman would not budge, he grunts and nudges her forehead. The woman lifts her head surprised to see that she had not yet faced the same fate of the wounded man. Citizens of Andover gather around the scene with weapons in hand. “Rise, Zaphora”, the Unicorn says barely audible. ”What?” the woman whimpers.  “I said rise Zaphora, or is that not your name?” the creature roars, starting to regret his decision of allowing the woman to live. “No, I mean yes that is my name”, Zaphora utters still in shock. Standing up Zaphora wipes the dirt of her pants and looks up at the Unicorn. “And what may your name be?” questioned Zaphora, not giving any hint of fear. The Unicorn ignores her and looks at his surroundings. Zaphora repeats her question. The Unicorn, now clearly agitated bellows, “Ask me again and I will make sure that you join Henry over there”. Zaphora, looking behind her shoulders sees several men dragging Henry, a childhood friend of hers, into a truck. His shirt, now soaked with blood was ripped off and used to suppress the bleeding. This was a futile attempt for the color was being drained from his face. “You wouldn’t”, says Zaphora backing up. The beast smiles and says, “Well, I did it to him didn’t I”. Startled, Zaphora looked around for a possible escape route, just in case the Unicorn wasn’t as tamed as she thought. Looking back at the Unicorn she discovered a scar arching from the end of his jawline to his shoulder. Noticing that the girl saw the mark, the Unicorn reared and vanished.

A sudden hush came over the crowd, the Marshal of Andover walked towards Zaphora. “Zaphora Hendrickson, do you have any affiliation with that beast”, the Marshal boomed. Zaphora, taken aback said, “No, but I’m sure you’ll think of some reason how I might have been”.  The Marshal now clearly insulted burst, “I will not have you ruin my name any more like you have done for the past fifteen years. I swear, the minute I met you, it was like the Dark Shadow damned me!” His last word rang through the stillness of the morning, silence creeped around the city center and caused certain uncomfortableness.  Blaming anyone as being a curse of the Dark Shadow was a crime beyond any that could ever be committed. All eyes aimed at Zaphora as she neared the Marshal. His breathing quickened and sweat rolled down his forehead. The punishment for such a crime had not been written in the constitution, for no one wished to find out what cruel form of torture would be assigned to them.

A scream rang through the crowd as a cold wind whirled around the citizen's feet. The air then condensed and formed a grotesquely shaped figure in between Zaphora and the Marshal. “You’ve been a naughty little boy this year, Roan”, the figure cackled as she became less vague. As the fog cleared, an old woman appeared. Her sad grey eyes and wispy long hair made her face look gaunt and fragile. Yet, her strong arms and legs told the opposite. She wobbled closer to the Marshal she noticed that something was missing. “Hmm, has anyone seen my walking stick”, she question to the crowd. Zaphora noticed the stick near her and bent down to pick it up. Just as she touched the cane, a feeling of pure darkness surged through her veins, blackening every part of her body, poisoning her with the deadly effects of evil. “Now don’t you touch that dearie. Magic is a powerful thing”, noted the witch as she picked up the stick and mumbled some strange words while caressing it in her gnarled hands. The walking stick glowed in response to the spell. “That’s the girl Master told us to kidnap” she whispered to the cane. Peering up from the stick, she notices Zaphora staring back at her. “Pardon us dearie but my Master have business to take care of with you” the witch told Zaphora. “What kind of business?” questions Zaphora. “Oh, just some business” chuckles the witch heading towards the stormy valleys below. “Come, come now. We mustn’t be late or Master will get very angry”. ”Master?” Zaphora asked. The witch turned around laughing hysterically. “Who, WHO! Oh, dear child, I never knew you would be as ignorant as He said you would be”, cried the witch “After all, you are just a little girl” she teased. Zaphora eyed the witch suspiciously. She cautiously followed the witch down the center of Andover. The witch quickened her pace, almost disappearing in the dense fog ahead. In return, Zaphora began to run, tripping over shrubs and tree roots. The witch was invisible now, lost somewhere in between the forest, Zaphora tried to deny the fact that she may be lost without the witch. Finally accepting this she started searching for the woman. Looking behind trees and under bushes, the witch was nowhere to be found.

Zaphora sat down and tried to clear her mind. She sat there for an hour but she wasn’t able to do it. A continuous buzzing rang in her ear, dragging away any focus she had. Standing up she started to devise a plan. Tracks, look for tracks, she thought. After inspecting the area, a small hole seemed to be punctured in the ground. Oddly enough, it was the same size as the base of the witch’s staff. The holes made a trail leading upwards, even deeper into the forest. Doubting whether the journey would be safe or not, she moved forward determined to find the witch. As she started climbing upwards, she noticed that the trees seemed frozen, as if in a trance. An occasional squawk by a hovering crow broke the silence, causing an edgy atmosphere. Behind every bush could be a ravenous beast. The uncertainty wasn’t new to Zaphora, as a child she has been passed around from one foster parent to another. Some nights she would walk from house to house, looking for scraps of food the greedy people of Andover may have left behind. This was a request from the Council, to “pity the poor”. Her home was never permanent; a week wouldn’t pass by before she had to move again. Looking at the forest reminded her of those times, the grand oaks posing alone; the little shelter their leaves might have given them was stripped bare. All that was left was the silhouette of an emotionless, scarred tree. Its branches were shriveled, pained by the numbing temperatures. The trunk seemed contorted, as if it were hiding from the truth perhaps, for in this area none will see it, none will hear, none will need it. Alone. Zaphora turned away and tried to stay on track, for the day started to become night and every hour that passed caused the temperature to drop by about ten degrees. She would have to find a shelter soon. At midnight, the temperatures were below freezing and numbness started to creep up Zaphora’s legs. Her eyes became drowsy and her mind foggy. She leaned against a tree for support and soon enough fell to the ground, unconscious.

Zaphora slowly drifted into another world. Distant shouts were heard, a man started to shout her name “Zaphora, Zaphora” but her efforts to move towards the man were defeated when a dark, obscured figure appeared over her. Its flaming eyes stared down at her. Suddenly, a burst of fire shot out of its mouth and Zaphora woke up screaming. Sweat rolled down her forehead as she took in shallow breaths. “Slow down there”, said a deep voice behind her. She spun around to find a man, about her age, bringing some steaming towels for her. He gently laid them on her and the numbness slowly faded away and brought welcoming warmth into her legs. Zaphora looked around at the strangers’ home, it was a small hut made of fresh-chopped wood from the forest. The hut wasn’t very well furnished but antiques covered the tables that were present. On one table there was a rusted sword with a blunt tip. On the blade, there were some unfamiliar inscriptions and a symbol of the Nauru tribe.

Today, people would call them barbarians because of their occasional cannibalistic actions. Zaphora knew better, the Nauru only acted that way because the people of Andover had already hunted all of the animals in the vicinity and they refused to sell seeds to the Nauru so that they could farm because of superstitions. It was said that if you sold seeds to a Nauru, they would place a curse you and your harvest for the year would die, causing famine. Seeing the sword in the man’s house brought a new curiosity to Zaphora. She looked back at the man and asked him where he got the weapon. “A treasure like this wouldn’t just be lying around”, she inquired. “Actually it would. And it’s always polite to ask of one’s name first” noted the man. “Alright then, what’s your name?” she asked. “Ladies first” he said teasingly. “Fine, mine’s Zaphora. What’s yours?” she persisted. “So, Zaphora, how come you were in the Forest of Tuvalu by yourself? It’s not exactly safe, you know”, he said. “Oh come on!” Zaphora exclaimed, clearly annoyed. The man just laughed and said, “I’m Enrique. Happy?” ” Yes”, said Zaphora with a feeling of accomplishment. “Would you mind telling me why you were out there?” Enrique asked. “I was just looking for something”, she said casually. “Like what “, Enrique persisted. “Fine, I was looking for a witch that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of Andover,” she said realizing there was no way of getting out of this. Hearing this, Enrique’s eyes widened. “A witch?” he asked. Zaphora nodded. The man became deep in thought, as if he were calculating something. “Is there a problem?” Zaphora asked worryingly. “Huh, oh…no. It’s just that the only witch around here is Tituba, the slave of the Dark Shadow”, Enrique told Zaphora ”And if she came to Andover just for you, bad things are going to happen”. “Good, then I’ll finally see that ‘Master’ of hers and show him a piece of my mind”, Zaphora mumbled as she paced the floors, thinking up a plan. “Whoa, whoa. You know who the Dark Shadow is, right?” Enrique questioned. “Yeah. And you know what else I know? You’re going to be ground beef if you don’t let me pound his head right now!” Zaphora exploded. She started gathering her jacket and shoes. “You’re not going out there”, Enrique said sternly, “it’s safer here, trust me”. “I’d rather not” said Zaphora. “Just saying”, Enrique whispered as Zaphora walked out of the boys’ hut. The door shut with a bang as Enrique turned around and started to brew some coffee. As Zaphora closed the door behind her, a fresh blanket of snow showered her. After she wiped of all the snow she turned around to see Enrique leaning against the door frame, grinning at her. “What?” she shouted, trying not to show her embarrassment. Enrique offered his hand and said with a knowledgeable tone, “I told you so”. Zaphora turned and stormed off into the woods. As she neared the edge of the forest, she looked back at the hut and thought of Enrique. She thought of his jet-black hair, and his broad shoulders, not to mention those sparkling turquoise eyes of his. Smiling to herself, she entered the forest.