(OOC: This is a modern fantasy game about tribes of werewolves who fight monsters. It takes place in the Pacific northwest.

Please create a persona that lists:

• Your name (alias/nickname) and gender.
• Species - human, lycan (werewolf), lost cub (thinks they're human/never shifted).
• Basic appearance - hair, eyes, build, age, distinguishing marks, clothing style.
• Profession - medic, mechanic, private investigator, etc.
• Special or unusual skills - folklore, herbalism, streetwise, singing, etc.

Let's begin...)

The sun dips low, casting long, skeletal shadows through the dense canopy of pines. The forest echoes with a cacophony of natural sounds - chirping crickets, chattering birds, the mournful hooting of an owl in the distance. The air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and something else. A metallic tang that twists your gut and sends a prickle of unease down your spine.

A shortcut through the Deschutes forest. A chance to commune with nature, to escape the oppressive crush of the city for a night. Now, with the last rays of twilight bleeding through the leaves and your instincts screaming a warning, you're starting to question your judgement.

Pushing through a thicket of trees, you stumble into a clearing bathed in an unnatural, sickly green light. In the center, a violent tableau unfolds. A hulking figure, all claws and fangs, locked in a brutal struggle with a monstrous creature bathed in pale luminescence.

The figure throws back its head and lets out a primal roar, a sound that echoes through the trees and sends shivers down your spine. It's a werewolf, no doubt about it, its fur matted and bloody. Its nightmarish assailant screeches in reply, a sound that scrapes against your sanity. An amalgamation of animal bones and woody vines have twisted into a vaguely humanoid shape, with elongated limbs and a gaping maw. One swipe of its thorny tendrils sends its foe sprawling. It's clear the werewolf is outmatched, on the verge of succumbing.

What do you do?