There was a whistling in his ears and a pounding in his chest as Arthur Kirkland forgot just how long he had been running for. His legs throbbed with the push to carry on, to not fall out from under him, to not leave him to the snarling jaws of death that were nipping at his ankles as he blindly fought tree branches out of his way.
The wolves were crowned guardians of the forest, but also as natural enemies of man. Both man and wolf fighting for the taste of each other's blood throughout history. As man gained wisdom to build elaborate traps, wolves gained size and power. Man also underestimated the knowledge of the wolves, how cunning they really could be.
It was that cunning that had lead Arthur to the unfortunate situation he found himself in. In his pride to prove himself to the village, he ended up lured into the darkness of the woods, and completely turned around. Unable to really figure out which way was home, he just did everything in his power to avoid capture, to avoid the rotten breath of death that was threatening his life.
All it took was one miscalculated step for Arthur to lose all control and end up barreling face first into the dirt. Grass and mud blurred his vision and filled his nose, as his ankle throbbed with pain and the feel of his palms slicing open against stone. Aware that the scent of his blood and his own mistakes would spur on the wolf's bloodlust, Arthur rolled, scrambling to try and get back to his feet. He felt a weight press on his back, too large and too heavy to fight against as it pressed his face back against the ground.
Arthur released a snarl as he used the remaining strength in his arms to fight against the unseen weight, but was met by the clawed grip of something that seemed neither man or wolf on his shoulders, and the curious breath of a snout against his ear. Arthur stilled, fear filling his lungs as the creature sniffed at his hair and neck, any little movement he made met by a low, threatening snarl. There had been rumours in the village, that wolves had developed the ability to transform into men, and some becoming a horrible hybrid of the two. Arthur must have been cursed from birth to end up in a situation like this.
He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting to feel those jaws close around his neck, but felt no pressure, no pain of his jugular tearing, no blackness of death. After a moment, the pressure on his shoulders slowly released, and the creature climbed off of him. Confused, Arthur slowly pushed himself up on his arms, blinking dirt from his eyes as he threw a cautious look over his shoulder.
Standing on its hind legs, stood a beast that was taken from drawings of frightened townsfolk, straight from the tales of old and the whispered of the village. A wolf-man creature, covered head to toe in golden-white fur, blue eyes that almost glowed in the moonlight staring down at him with a gaze that spoke so human it sent a shiver of doubt through Arthur. He found himself caught, staring at the creature who watched him, the longer he fell into that gaze, the less fearful he felt.
The creature seemed to make a move to reach out to him, but a shout caught both of their attentions. In the distance, firelight was travelling towards them and the voices of the village men caught Arthur's ear. In a split second, the creature took to all fours. It cast Arthur one last look, as if to say that they would meet again, before taking off into the darkness of the wood, vanishing in to the night.
Arthur lay there, in the cold damp grass, and his fellow village people gathered around him, voices of concern and congratulation of having kept his life. But Arthur's thoughts were elsewhere, eyes flickering to the abyss of the wood.
He met a wolf. And the wolf had spared his life.