Rain pounded around Grundcull as he jogged through the forest. He instinctively ducked under low branches and jumped over several tree roots sticking up from the ground. The hood of his hoodie protected his head from the annoying rain but some soaked through. Grundcull sighed because with hair as long as his it took a long time to dry. He soon reached a clearing and in the middle sat a building made of gray stone. He pushed open the door and entered.

White. All white. If it wasn't warm Grundcull would think he was buried in snow. Wait, if he was buried in snow it would be dark. He shook away the thoughts and realized he couldn't find an analogy for the whiteness of the room. It smelled of vanilla and the sounds of rain hitting the roof bounced around the room. There seemed to be no doors, windows or any exits/entrances other than the door Grundcull had come in. The outside of the building looked like a small church but there was nothing to worship in the room. Unless people worshipped white. Grundcull's claws slid along the wall as he walked, not even making dents in the hard wall. His muddy feet left track and water drippe off him, though. He heard the large door open and spun around, his claws held up in a defensive position.