A grueling yelp sounded which echoed and shrilled through the dense thickets of the forest. Followed by a loud pop and a bang, just like the aftershock of a jet soaring thousands of feet in the air. Lying there on the ground, a hunter, his leg bitten by the worg that leapt upon him. His gun shaking slightly in his hands as he pulled back the bolt to exchange ammo. Fumbling around in his pocket for a bullet, the worgs surrounded him like a pack of wildlings. Their eyes glowed red and their teeth dripped with taste of man flesh. Every growl setting the hunter deeper into a state of paranoia and fear.
“Back you foul beasts!” The hunter yelled and echoed, waving his rifle back and forth through the air. As if the meager gesture threatened the beasts. Instead it just seemed to provoke them even further. Soon they began to howl a deafening cry at the moon through the clouds. Setting their attention on the hunter. Ready to pounce upon him at any moment. The hunter scrambled and dragged himself towards his satchel just few feet away from him. If he could reach the satchel he could get his flares. Perhaps the beasts were like ordinary timber wolves and hated fire.
Just as the hunter began to slide closer to the flares, a worg leapt in the air and pounced on top of the satchel with its jaw. It flung the gear away like taking candy from a baby. These aren't ordinary wolves the hunter thought to himself. He aimed his rifle towards the thieving beast and let loose another loud bang echoing through the coniferous trees. Again as the smoke disappeared from his vision, the worg stood there without the slightest scratch upon its hide.