There is no validation. There is only the storm.
I see its form in the night breaking through the curtain of rain. He moves slowly. The earth under him is wet, and his claws are sinking in the mud. There it is, the odor of the wolf; I can taste his hairy hide. There are no stars nor moon tonight, just the clouds, the clouds and it and me, my sword and its teeth and our darkness.
I knew him once when he was a man.
There’s a flash, and I see its horrible face. Its low growl enters my ear a moment before the rolling thunder silences all. I hear the splashing of each step it takes as it crawls towards me. The lumbering shadow grows nearer.
The scars of my bloodletting itch, and the lightning breaks across the sky. In that brilliant moment, we dash toward each other, my sword, his teeth, and the ensuing darkness.
There is blood, a warm rain. I feel my blade halt against bone. The smell of the beast is extraordinary. A new flash, and I see its limp form lying in the mud. There is only the rain, and my friend is dead.
Tale Told 