"Don't go exploring at night. Wolves roam these woods."

That's what his Scout Master had said, but had he listened? No. The young cub was adventurous. Maybe he had a death wish. Maybe it was a dare. It didn't matter what his reasons were for going out into the woods at night, but he wanted to go. And now, he was lost.

In the darkness of the woods, the trees were so dense that he couldn't make out the dark shapes of his camp, no matter where he looked. The cub, clad in his dark green uniform and notable cap, was cold, and shivered on the spot. He had been camping out with his Scout Troop overnight as a little exercise. They were meant to be in the woods for the weekend, learning all sorts of ways to survive in the while. Tying knots, making fires, setting up tents...all of them were vital lessons to be learnt. The cub had taken them on board. All but that single warning.

He stumbled, tripping over branches, roots, anything beneath his feet. His bulky boots thunked against every sort of obstacle, clumsy and loud. His breath came out in short, heavy pants. He had ran before, just for a bit. He was scared, and he was lost. Unable to find his camp, he was on his own. He couldn't even remember which way he had come from. Panic rose to his throat. A whimper escaped his lips.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a chilling sound: a howl. A wail so piercing and frightening that the cub was frozen on the spot, his breath hitching in his throat, his eyes wide. One howl became two, then three. More wolves joined in with their leader. It's as if they were calling to him, making their presence known. Goading, taunting. All the cub could think to do was run.

He turned and bolted, stumbling over roots as he went. All he could hear was the crunch of branches beneath his feet, his own heavy breath, and the blood pumping in his ears. He couldn't think. The fear had overwhelmed him, chilled him to the bone. His ankle caught on a branch and he tumbled, falling into the dirt. The cold ground smeared against his clothes, making them dirty and muddy. He didn't care. He scrabbled to his feet and kept going.

The howls were growing closer. He could hear rustles to his left and right as he ran. He didn't want to even consider what might happen to him if he was caught. His wild eyes darted left and right, trying to see his camp, but the woods were dark, the moonlight overhead blocked out by the thick branches and their numerous leaves in the chilly autumn.

He tripped again, falling hard on his shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath and groaned from the pain, but knew he had to keep moving. As his boot scuffled with the dirt, he felt resistance. He whirled his head back and stared, wide-eyed, at the sight of piercing yellow eyes. A wolf. Its teeth were embedded into his boot, biting down hard. It had a firm grip, despite the cub's struggling.

Then, it pulled. The cub was dragged across the ground and he let out a wail of terror, clawing across the ground as he was yanked over leaves and branches. He wasn't dragged for that long: after a few moments, he abruptly stopped. The cub immediately rolled over and stared at the situation before him, his lower lip quivering.

Wolves surrounded him. It looked to be only a few at first, but as he slowly turned his head, he saw more than just a few. Wolves stood all around him, staring down at his lithe frame. The cub whimpered again and watched as they drew closer and closer. 

What's going to happen to him?