The atmosphere was thick with tension as dozens of werewolves circled the clearing, their predatory eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Their snarls filled the air, a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the ground itself. Each of them eyed William with an unsettling hunger, but it was the cold, cutting words of their leader that pierced the night first.
"Human!" His voice was a deep growl, sharp with rage. "Your hands are stained with the blood of my people!"
The massive werewolf stood at the center, towering above his pack. His muscles rippled beneath a thick coat of dark fur, his very presence exuding raw power. He was an imposing wall of fury, and every word he spoke carried a weight that made the air feel heavy. His yellow eyes blazed with anger, a fire stoked by the loss of one of his own.
"We came to hunt, and now one of our pack has fallen!" His growl deepened. "I thought he escaped… but no. He was killed by human hands!"
