George David lay curled up at the edge of his wooden bed.
Pressed against the bedroom corner, he felt a little safer.
The night was too quiet, yet no one could sleep peacefully in the stillness.
His mother stroked his forehead, wiping away his cold sweat.
His father, Old David, stood guard with a pitchfork on a makeshift bed of hay by the bedroom door. Whatever trouble came, he would be the first to face it—and the first to spot it.
The doors and windows were shut tight, but the wind still howled faintly outside.
A single candle burned on the wooden table. Wax had hardened on its surface, holding the white candle upright. It was the only thing in the room that did not tremble.
"Mom, was Grandpa Father Lynn telling the truth? Are Beastfolk really going to break into our house...?"
His mother shook her head. Her voice was hoarse, but she forced herself to reassure him:
"No, of course not. Remember the story I used to tell you about the big bad wolf that ate children?"
"Of course. You always told me that after dusk, the big bad wolf would come out of Twilight Forest and eat every child who came home late or refused to eat—because wolves liked lean meat."
"See? My George is clever enough to see through his mother's lies. Can't he see through Grandpa Father Lynn's? He only said that to stop you children sneaking out at night."
"Really...?"
George drew his neck in. He did not believe her.
On an ordinary night, his parents would never have come to his room.
His father would have stayed at the Golden Oak drinking until dawn, not stood guard at the bedroom door with a pitchfork.
He remembered a similarly tense night in town about