Read: The Werewolf Epic
And thus, unto the door, the woodsman comes,
a crouching form balanced upon his toes.
Never so quiet then, he walks as like
a ghost. Then lowly, on the ground, he comes,
and like a cat, he fades into the grass.
The hunter stalks the open door, and moves
unseen by any eye. There lying flat
before the plank-wood step, he slowly lifts
his head. Into the hut he peers. The wolf,
a mass of hair, his blood runs cold to see.
Its snout, bloodied by the deer corpse, with fangs
like yellow spikes, is pointed straight at him.