It was a cold night when ten year old Xarles snuck out of the house, holding one of his father's old daggers tightly in his tiny fist. His parents were both off on a hunt, leaving his older sister Sorn, a Huntsman in training, in charge of the house. So, naturally, when he had heard scary sounds outside his window (which faced the dark woods that bordered the town of Vale), he went to her.

Twice, he went to her. Twice, she sent him back to his room, tiredly insisting that he was imagining things. The third time he heard the sound, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He was going to be a Huntsman when he grew up, after all. He couldn't afford to be afraid when his home was in danger.

He tried to keep this in mind as he walked through the grass, his legs trembling. The dagger felt heavy in his hand despite its small size. His wide, blue eyes reflected the shattered moon above and his lip trembled as he approached the tree line.

"H-Hey," he called, hating how high-pitched his voice sounded. "Whatever you are, go away! You aren't welcome in Vale." He tilted his head, waiting for a reply. When he heard nothing, he allowed a satisfied smirk to come to his face. Turning on his heel, he started walking toward the house with a spring in his step.

Then, he heard the sound again, the one that had summoned him from his bed. It was a cry, somewhere between a bark and a scream. It was faint, and he only heard it in his room because his window had been cracked. Hearing it now, without walls surrounding him, made his very marrow grow cold.

For a few seconds, his legs locked and he couldn't move. He couldn't even bring himself to call for help. He just stood there, clutching the dagger, which suddenly felt very useless.

He lost count of how many heartbeats pounded in his chest before the sound pierced the night once again. He shuddered, but realized something as he peered into the darkness: The sound hadn't moved. It was still coming from the same place. He waited a few heartbeats more before it sounded again.

This time, he heard an undertone of pain, like an injured dog's whine.

Xarles wanted to turn around and go inside. Whatever beast was in trouble, it was not his concern. It was likely a wolf or wild dog. Neither was worth saving.

But…what if it was a werewolf? The boy swallowed loudly at the thought. If a werewolf was in trouble, it could summon its entire monstrous pack to its location. Then, what would happen to Vale?

It would have been smart to find an adult Huntsman to handle this, but Xarles saw an opportunity to prove himself. What if he became a hero and killed a werewolf at the age of ten? His father would let him start training early! Heartened by that thought, Xarles took a deep breath and walked into the trees.

He stepped on practically every twig in his path and caused the brambles to rustle loudly. He winced inwardly at the noise he was making, but reasoned that the unknown beast probably knew where he was anyway. Besides, it was helpless to attack him if his theory of it being trapped in some manner was correct.

The sound echoed through the trees, much closer now. Xarles shivered, but bit his lip as he walked the last few strides. He rounded a tree and froze, his mouth dropping open in horror.

Crouched on the ground, green eyes glowing in the shadows, was the hunched form of a werewolf. Its canine face was turned in Xarles's direction. Its hand-like, five-fingered front paws were dug into the ground. Its tail was tucked between its hind legs, one of which was sticking out at an odd angle.

It took a moment for Xarles to realize that the ankle of that leg was tightly wrapped in a thorny branch. He could smell the blood from where he stood.

He had to act quickly! Taking a step forward, he brandished his dagger. The beast growled sharply and lunged at him. He jumped back with a yelp. The dagger went flying from his hands as he crashed into the bracken and shielded his face. He scrunched his eyes shut, cursing his foolishness. Now, he'd either die or be turned, which was basically the same thing in Vale.

He waited, feeling hot breath on his cheeks, but nothing else. Opening his eyes, he saw that the creature couldn't come any closer. The thorn branch had too tight a hold on its ankle. As a result, human and monster were practically nose-to-nose, but unable to attack the other.

Xarles started to sit up, only for the beast to give another warning snarl. He quickly lay back, swallowing loudly. Over time, he felt the resignation that came with being in such a helpless situation setting in. With that feeling, the fear ebbed away. Eventually, he found himself able to speak.