Late. Cold. No lanterns shining out, sending a welcoming flickering light between the bare trees; menacing monsters now.
It is at night that the forest shows its hidden side; dark, musty, tree roots to trip over, with thoughts of ghouls behind every trunk, the patter of a wolf, gathering pace, and soon…
…the fear of that once flickering, welcoming light…is it the light the witches and druids shine, as they chant, waiting for me?
Standing still — and now the greater depths of despair…that fear of the anticipatory quietness…oh give me at least the warmth of the blood-curling wolf’s howl!