The amber glow of a single flame perched on a candle wick flickered with the faint push of wind escaping from the broken window in Krostel’s study. The wind whistled a nervous tune as it weaved through the book shelves. It floated from one end of the room to the other playfully as it paced back and forth. Its whispers nagged the Wind Mother’s ears with cautious warnings of approaching guests. The elderly woman sighed wearily, and forced her eyes away from the faded words contained in the pages of Krostel’s diary. She gazed at the candle flame for a moment, deep in thought.
Again the wind whispered caution into her ear, and this time she indulged the impatient zephyr. She lifted the glowing candle off the desk in Krostel’s study and lightly stepped into the dust covered living room. The elderly woman stepped around the draped white sheets covering the furniture and set the candle on a perch above the fireplace. She reached out towards a torn portrait of Mr. Krost

Paige was lucky, technically speaking. While she sat in the orphanage wondering where her best friends Mace and Whip went, it was still her birthday and miraculously she had the day off. She should have been running along the beach, or going into town, something, anything instead of sitting here doing nothing.
Her eyes gazed over the rushing waves. Aside from her friends, the only company she ever had was the sea, well, when it wasn't reminding her of her 'caring benefactor and warm home'.
But her serene watch wouldn't last however. Her nose caught a sudden odor. Not like the unmistakable Bander scent she'd grown used to, not was it the smell of aged driftwood. No, instead it was metallic, like iron and hung heavily in the air.
She swiveled back to see Mace and Whip, their fur tousled and ragged, blood staining them from head to toe, with poor Whip in particular looking like the survivor of a haunted fondue fountain.
Not that Paige has ever seen a fondue fountain, but she could imagine