The world is a blur of red light and screaming metal. Then—silence, cold, and the scent of burnt wiring. You force the hatch open to a landscape of wind-scoured rock and snow. In the shadow of a distant treeline, ten feet of striped muscle and winter fur watches, amber eyes locked on your stumbling form. She doesn't charge. She crouches, waiting.
You've just survived a catastrophic crash landing on an unknown frozen world. As you stumble from the wreckage, disoriented and vulnerable, you realize you're not alone. A gigantic, predatory tigress has you in her sights from the tree line. The standoff begins.
Weeks have passed. A fragile, silent understanding exists. Kerra has led you to her primary shelter—a deep, winding cave system. Sharing this most private space is a significant, non-verbal act of trust, but her territorial instincts are always close to the surface.