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…Unfortunately, these were no ordinary wolves. These wolves were way too large. Some walked on their hind legs. One, catching the attention of the shocked brave, grabbed him with an almost human hand by the front of his coat. He lead the man further away into the woods, and dropped him in a patch of brush. Hiding him from view. The wolf then looked the brave in the eye, and whispered. “Sit! Stay. Good boy.”

The brave looked on in disbelief as the wolf ran back to join the pack.

By this time, the sun had set.

The brave crawled back in shadow. He could not hear his brother. He did not know if he still lived. He could not see, but he could hear. And all he heard were the ghastly screams of the Wendigo, and the monstrous growls of the pack.

Moments later all fell silent. And then just as quickly, a chorus of wolf song. A signal to the night sky of a battle hard fought and won.

Quickly, the brave returned to the campsite, concerned about his brother.

By the campfire, the brave saw what was left of the Wendigo. Pieces of his flesh removed. Limbs missing. His jaw and heart removed. By the campfire, he expected the pack to surround their kill, and perhaps take in more in their frenzy. He expected to see wolves. Instead, he saw men. Several men. Some naked and kept warm by the hair on their body. Some barely covered in scraps of what was left of clothing. Some covered in blood. Some nursing wounds. All surrounded the kill. None approached the tent.

“You know, when I told you to stay, little one, I meant stay there until this was all over and we walked away.” A voice, deep and foreign, forceful yet nonthreatening echoed through the trees. “If we wanted you dead, we would have taken care of that in quick measure.” It was one of the pack of men. The brave, knowing that spirits were at work here, stepped forward. Head down, awaiting judgement. “Come, come forward. No use in hiding it now. You’ve seen us. Surprise.”

“Wh…” the brave stuttered. “What are you?”

“French,” was the reply given in the brave’s language, followed by a rousing chorus of manly laughter…

Working Cover for a Working Title.
Working Cover for a Working Title.

It was a good day, yesterday. This is the roughest of the roughest draft. 95% of what has been written will probably never see the light of day, and that’s okay.

But, I do hope that this little exchange makes the cut.

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