Sketch sat in front of the crackling fire set under the stone hearth. He’d made his way to the village with little real incident after the wolf attacked. The town was named Roselyn, and it was surrounded by large wooden walls and an iron gate. The sky had remained the same dark overcast grey since the day with the wolf.
Roselyn was famous for its hunters apparently, a culture of boasting egotists that had welcomed Sketch to the hearth eagerly. The thought of their great hunts being told around the world had reversed Sketch’s position, causing every hunter to approach him, and tell their stories of bravery.

Sketch took the stories in great stride and accepted the hospitality with grace. He sat in front of the fire, smoked his pipe, drank the thin ale that the tavern offered, and allowed his mind to drift away from the vexing trouble of the past couple of days.

As the night grew on, a large hunter came up to him and sat in the large, over stuffed arm chair that was a mirror of the one Sketch currently occupied. The man was half a foot taller than Sketch, and looked like he doubled his wait, all of it muscle, with a large unkempt beard. “They say you like stories lad,” the stern, gruff voice, with a pronounced accent that stretched the soft “ah” sounds.

“That’s right sir. My name is Sketch, a humble storyteller. May I ask your name?” Sketch said with a pleasant smile. “Aye! Sketch, tha’ was it. Ma name is Kellam. I’m one o’ the hunters of the village. Ye’ll not have heard a story like the one I got for ya.”

Sketch had his doubts, he’d heard dozens of peasant stories, all about hunting a savage beast, or a large deer. “I’d love to hear it!” Sketch said, affecting a tone of sincere excitement. “There we were, my hounds and I, in the heart of the forest. Suddenly, we heard a sound coming from behind us. We turned and saw a giant red wolf, with fierce glowing eyes, and razor-sharp teeth.” Sketch jolted upright in his seat. “Aye, it was a terrifying beast. I lost 2 dogs bringing the monster down. It was a fierce battle, and the pelt was shredded.”

Sketch had heard many hunting tales over the day, and no one else had mentioned large red wolves like the one he’d encountered. “Are such beasts common in this area?” asked Sketch? “Nay lad, this was several days journey from here. Never have I heard of such a beast. The strangest thing happened before we encountered the beast, we heard the voice of a woman deep in the woods. We chased the voice deep into the woods. When the voice stopped, I could swear that I saw a flash of red cloth disappearing into the trees. That’s when the beast appeared.” The huntsman replied.

A flash of red cloth? Sketch thought it too much to be a coincidence.