The moon was high that night. Or at least it might have been. She couldn't really tell, for the gritty clouds that constantly filled the sky blotted out any possible light the moon might have had to offer. She walked with her hands stretched out in front of her like those of a zombie, her feet sliding along the ground with every step in an effort not to trip over a rock or tree root.
Though she carried a torch in her bag, she didn't dare use it. It was far too dangerous out there in the open. Since the war began, the other humans wouldn't have thought twice about snatching her up, like one of those little pastries her grandmother used to talk about.
She wished her grandmother could have remembered the recipe for those little treats, but it was far too late for such thoughts now. The only thing she had left of her grandmother were the memories in her mind and the dark red cloak on her back.
As she neared the den, the sent of raw meat grew strong. He must have had a good hunt tonight, she thought. Doubling in half, she crawled through the low opening under the roots of a large tree into pitch dark blackness.
She could hear His heavy breathing off to her left, and shuffled to the right, feeling in the darkness for the lamp. Switching it on, she turned to see Him sitting near the far wall, His muzzle still dripping with blood. Between His front paws lay a large deer, dwarfed in comparison to the size of the enormous wolf that had killed it.
She was never quite sure if He would change His mind and eat her like He had the huntsman. So far He hadn't acted maliciously towards her, but He was certainly no domestic pet either.