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Description
The sun settled behind the birch trees. Shadows shifted, as the mossy forest ground turned a dark, murky green.
Hawthorn trembled, “It’s dark now….time ran out.”
Huffing—Rustle shook his head, his dark yellow eyes fierce. “Forget it Thorn, it’s myths….those aren’t wolves that did the killings. The full moon, it doesn’t matter. Everyone becomes a lunatic at this time of night, but not us.”
”Really?”
”The wolves won’t get us.”
Hawthorn narrowed his eyes ahead, into the deepening dark abyss. “Wolves, they stalk their prey? But won’t they be dancing under the moon? Like you said, lunatics. Not us, but what about them? Their mouths aren’t dripping in saliva, killing isn’t on their mind. The only thing on their mind is worshipping the moon. We might not die tonight….unless what you said is true, the wolves aren’t doing the killings.”
A twig snapped, their blood ran cold. Stiff like a frozen stream.
”They’re coming…” Rustle whimpered.
Hawthorn studied the shadows. He watched a shady figure stand on his hind legs, long claws upon his stretched out limbs were dripping with blood. It had antlers….and spikes, and glowing white eyes.
Hawthorn couldn’t believe his eyes, he prayed that his mind was fooling him. He prayed that it was just a fragment of his imagination.
But it wasn’t.
Rustle whispered, “Run.”

Description
The sun settled behind the birch trees. Shadows shifted, as the mossy forest ground turned a dark, murky green.
Hawthorn trembled, “It’s dark now….time ran out.”
Huffing—Rustle shook his head, his dark yellow eyes fierce. “Forget it Thorn, it’s myths….those aren’t wolves that did the killings. The full moon, it doesn’t matter. Everyone becomes a lunatic at this time of night, but not us.”
”Really?”
”The wolves won’t get us.”
Hawthorn narrowed his eyes ahead, into the deepening dark abyss. “Wolves, they stalk their prey? But won’t they be dancing under the moon? Like you said, lunatics. Not us, but what about them? Their mouths aren’t dripping in saliva, killing isn’t on their mind. The only thing on their mind is worshipping the moon. We might not die tonight….unless what you said is true, the wolves aren’t doing the killings.”
A twig snapped, their blood ran cold. Stiff like a frozen stream.
”They’re coming…” Rustle whimpered.
Hawthorn studied the shadows. He watched a shady figure stand on his hind legs, long claws upon his stretched out limbs were dripping with blood. It had antlers….and spikes, and glowing white eyes.
Hawthorn couldn’t believe his eyes, he prayed that his mind was fooling him. He prayed that it was just a fragment of his imagination.
But it wasn’t.
Rustle whispered, “Run.”