The Legend of the Lost Wolves
Something unexpected happened to me that day. I was wandering down to the forest near the village where I lived in the mountains, on my way to visit some friends from the neighbouring village to spend the afternoon practising our sword fighting skills as we loved to do during our free time when suddenly a gigantic monstrous bear glared into my eyes from behind a tall bushy tree. Its brown gleaming fur shimmered in the sunlight and its huge canines speared out from its lips. Backing away slowly, I feared I had breathed my last gulp of air.
The towering beast kept edging towards me and was driving me towards the end of a cliff without me noticing. All of a sudden I went flying backwards. I could feel the air rushing past my ears and was falling desperately when I felt something hairy smashing into my side and pushing me into a leafy tangle. I was knocked out for a while and when I came back to my senses, a young healthy looking wolf was staring at me with his mesmerizing pale blue eyes. He had been trying to wake me up for quite a while, I supposed.
That is when an extraordinary thing happened. The wolf said, “Come on boy, get up, you shouldn’t stay here, there are dangers about.”
I couldn’t believe my ears and thought I was dreaming but then he carried on, “Hurry up, we haven’t got all day.” Puzzled, I stood up and murmured a few words to see if he could understand me.
“Can you understand me, who are you?”
Sure enough, the reply came immediately. “My name is Howler, King of the lost wolves and protector of this land. Now, let’s hurry up.” I started following him deeper into the forest.