I sat in my cell, cold and tired. The little straw cot had offered me no rest nor warmth, and I had returned to my writing desk. It had been scrambled together with tears and bribes, paid for dearly, and in the end wasn’t much more than a long board of wood built into the wall. I had some paper now too, ink, a quill—I had what I needed. I shivered.
I couldn’t sleep, but the light of the full moon came streaming into my cell from the high, barred window above. It was enough, I thought, to keep writing. That was all I had to live for now, my writing. As I returned to my treaties, a shadow passed above, obscuring my light.
My head shot up quickly, and there, pressed into the iron bars, the snarling face of a wolf, its snout and black nose peeking into my cell. I dropped my pen, splashing ink onto the ready page. As I gazed up into that monstrous visage, I thought, and yet I couldn’t believe, that that creature smiled at me. There was something there in those eyes, a bemused and cruel look.
“Hello,” its voice rasped. “Hiding, are we?” Saying this, it snapped its jaws, bearing its hideous teeth.
“What are you?” I gasped.
“Hungry,” it said. “So very hungry.”
“How can you speak?” I wondered.
In response it laughed, a horrible, barking laugh. Then the head was gone. I was again alone in my cell, the moonlight streaming onto the ruined page. Taking out a small piece of metal I’d had hidden on my person, I began scraping the dried ink blot away.
Tale Told 