The Werewolf

The rain pelted the ground like stones. The trees swayed with the wind, almost ready to topple. The full moon was glowing, like an epitome of hope in this dreary landscape. Amid these shadows, the figure moved.

It was tall and strong, with a rich brown coat, that was visible for a second in the moonlight. Its fangs, dripping with blood, was akin  to the lightening flashing in the sky. And then, it howled. A howl so loud that it echoed throughout the country side. It was heart-numbing. A low growl, at the sight of prey.Then hurried footsteps, a scream, a pounce, and a thud. Contended eating, when – BANG.

Busy eating, the werewolf had missed the low crunch of footsteps. It howled; in sorrow, pain, rage, distress. Then another BANG. Another howl, destined to be its last. A thud. The rain pelted the ground like stones.

For the Writing Challenge.

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