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Ian leaned against a rough tree trunk, studying the newcomers in his small camp. As he watched them in the flickering campfire light, he could’ve sworn the ice-blue-eyed girl was gazing at him back.

But after a moment she was jumping to her feet and running over to the pointy-eared fellow, the one who talked all elegantly and mysteriously.

Ian’s nimble fingers picked up a nearby stick and began carving it with his pocket knife, almost as if with a mind of their own. He kept his eyes fixed on the somewhat panicked pair, his hands flying about the wood and silver knife with the nonchalant ease that only came from years of practice.

Before he knew it, the carving was complete. He glanced it, surprised to find he’d subconsciously hewn a little man with ears as pointy as wolf’s.

What were those kind of people called again? The ones with the odd ears?

He squinted at the guy with the horse and ice-blue-eyed gal again, struggling to remember their unusual names. It might’ve been the wavering shadows, but he could’ve sworn the girl’s ears were pointed, too…

The wind direction changed, now blowing the smoke from the campfire so that it veiled them from Ian’s view.

But through the gray haze, Ian’s wary eye caught the flash of movement – a shadow in the gloom slowly, silently, crawling towards the pointy-eared pair.

Just as Ian was getting a prickly, chilling sensation that something was terribly wrong, one of the girls in the group shouted, “SHAPE-SHIFTER!”

And the camp exploded into commotion. The newcomers were shouting and grabbing their weapons (do they have weapons, guys?)  and pretty much going insane.

Ian was on his feet without even realizing he’d moved. What was a shape-shifter? It must be something dangerous if these people were reacting like this –

A solid shape hurled against Ian’s back, sending him sprawling to the dirt. Heart pounding, he jumped to his feet, sweeping the shadows beyond the campfire’s dancing ring of light with his gaze. He clutched his small pocket knife, which now felt woefully inadequate.

He began backing up, keeping his eyes fixed on the ghostly trees, which he knew concealed some sort of beast or other, watching him, waiting…

The group’s shouts rang out loud in the night behind him. Someone screamed, and Ian whirled around to see what was happening – who was hurt?

But just as he did, the creature pounced on him again, pinning him to the ground with gray paws.

He yelled in fright and rolled out from under the beast, but before he could scramble away, it flung itself onto his chest, leaning into his face with a throaty growl.

He lay there under its smelly weight, frozen. He stared into his yellow-fanged jaws, poised above him in a snarl. Now with the firelight full on its face, he could clearly see it was a huge gray wolf, missing its left eye.

The scarred, torn part of its face where it’s eye should’ve been almost seemed to look at him, and chills spidered up and down Ian’s back.

His hand groped for is knife, which had been kicked a few feet away in the scuffle, but no matter how much he strained, he couldn’t reach it.

Why isn’t it killing me? Ian wondered in dazed confusion. What’s it waiting for?

That question was answered right before Ian’s very eyes. As he looked into the wolf’s marred face, it changed. Gray fur elongated and turned a muddy brown. Its muzzle shortened. Its head widened, its back broadened, its slim legs tripled in size.

Until he was gazing into the face of an enormous, roaring brown bear missing one eye.

___

So… yep.