Read: The Werewolf Epic
The hunter thus, after his beating heart
from fear-maddened rhythm to hard thuds slows,
his whole, from head to toe, feeling the pulse:
What have I seen? My God, what have I seen?
Has this foul wolf been but sorcerous mask
worn by a gentle girl whose light smile
and countenance more hearts than mine have won,
but many have endeared; though she hardly
lets on that with manners beyond reproach
and nature’s smooth waxing she has become
the idol of her peers? But lo, the tale
told of this wolf predates even myself.