The unmistakable flash of a bright bolt of lightning struck the ground. Finn, a bat folding his wings up in a dank cave, thought he had spotted a figure hunching over in the trees, but when the lightning was done, he wasn’t there. He must have imagined it. But still the silhouette poked relentlessly at his mind, infuriatingly. Until Finn finally whispered, “Who are you?”

Of course, no answer came. But the thought kept on pecking at his head and Finn figured without answers there was a small fraction of a chance that it might drive him mad in months. He gasped. One of his father’s friends, Mathers, who was a weasel, was not in a cave. “Mathers!” Finn shouted. His cave-mates groaned at the loud noise, but Mathers didn’t seem to notice. The shadowy figure snuck in onto Mathers and Finn could only watch in horror as the shadowy figure, more clearly a large dog of sorts, swooped a thrashing Mathers away. The sky suddenly cracked with a jagged bolt of lightning…

Finn could not do anything to help Mathers but subconsciously felt guilty for not swooping down at once. The storm had become more and more serious, with a strong draft now blowing the drops and leaving all the jungle's creatures shuffle further into the caves. This storm was getting extremely abnormal.

But there was one thought in Finn's head, and, unbeknownst to him, a few others', and it was this: This needs to stop. A plan had to formed. He heard a heated discussion, and only one word formed itself in Finn's head. "Werewolf," he whispered. "They're real."

There would be more terror and torment for until the next three nights, when the werewolf was yet again a human. But it was another night again, as Finn stared deeply into the tempest...