Usually, under such a starry night, along a set of loud, obnoxious snores, crickets would sing along, echoing throughout the camp. Yet, as everyone went to sleep, the campfire put down, after a few hours, somehow, silence reigned, and only Vota's snores remained. The silence wouldn't last so long, as the sounds of branches cracking resounded somewhere at the edge of the encampment. And after a few breaths, someone screamed—specifically Vota, who squealed like a pig meeting its worst nightmare.
"What's happening!?" Decus was the first to jump out of his tent, the rest quickly following along, their eyes still half open from being awoken so suddenly in the middle of the night.
Decus, despite his injuries and broken arm, already had a golden sword brandished, approaching towards the source of the commotion.
Pulling open Vota's tent, his eyes widened as he witnessed the fat young man laying on the floor, blood splattered all over him, a giant wolf-looking creature weighing on him.
