#fidelle

  A noise. It sounded like the shuffling of leaves, quiet at first, then louder, more quickly. Constance started. The air seemed to stop still.

 The tension became physical, a spider’s web between the group that the slightest movement could snap. Their chills were no longer from the cold.

 Constance moved first, just a careful transfer of weight. “Was that... you?”

 Impossible, said four infinitesimal head shakes. They were statues of themselves, fixed in position, and as the rustling sound started again, all that could be done was to scream.

 “Run!” cried Edward, and for once, Constance agreed. This was not a siren taking legs and calling them, nor was it a kindly villager coming to guide them away from the night. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, only that it wasn’t friendly, and it absolutely wasn’t human.

 Teeth gnashed and claws ripped the air wide open behind her, barely missing her curly hair flapping up a breeze. Dirt sprayed up beneath her. Adrenalin pulled her three steps ahead of herself. The light of the full moon and the blood-curdling shrieks of her companions were a terrible guide when the creatures — whatever they were — had no difficulty catching up to them.

 They were surrounded, the trees blocking every nauseous backwards step. Every twig snapping on the forest floor triggered a snarl from the mob — no, pack, for they were grotesque, dog-like creatures, with protruding snouts and rough, patchy fur on noticeably human frames. Constance practically evaporated right there and them. Their eyes, sallow and dark, were indiscernible black pits; it was their flesh-ripping teeth that gleamed yellow and bright.

 An almost impossible standoff was reached, as the werewolves continued to howl and hiss, and the students cowered as motionlessly as they could, each praying to whatever deity they had any faith in whatsoever.

 KM’s sneeze was the trigger. It happened at once, too quickly, and yet Constance felt she could have done something, could have leapt in front of the beast and taken its vile claws to her own face instead.

 There was a click, a whistle, followed by a thump as the wolf fell down to the ground. Dead.