"The Hounds of Hollow"

The first time the Black Hound appeared, it was just a pair of glowing eyes in the mist. Lyra didn’t run. She’d been waiting. "You’re late," she said, scratching behind its ears. The beast, massive, scarred, with chains that clinked like a ghost’s warning, lowered its head. Behind her, the smaller hound, Ember, whined and pressed close. The villagers called them demons. The hunters called them death. But Lyra knew the truth: they were hers. When the bandits came for Black Hollow, the hounds didn’t need a command. The Black Hound’s growl shook the pines. Ember’s snarl sent men fleeing into the swamp. And Lyra? She just smiled, her small hand tangled in the Black Hound’s fur. "Good boys," she whispered. The forest remembered their names.

"Some girls walk with dogs. Lyra walks with shadows."