You were a Shadowfang Direhound (or whatever monster OC you made) that had been "terrorizing" a local small village. Really all you had done was snatched up a few sheep and pigs every now and then, but they told tales much taller than that. An orc stole a kid, "oh, look, it was the big dark wolf that took them!" That kind of thing. Anyways, the kingdom had sent this tall, muscular, burly man to the villages aid. You could only imagine what he might do if he got his calloused hands on you.

Eventually, this man walked into the forest to find you. He was surprisingly skilled at following your tracks. Good thing you were exceptionally skilled at not leaving any. When he couldn't find you after a long while, he set up camp in the heart of the wood. Bold... You stalked closer, watching from the shadows to see what he was doing. He seemed to be... writing? You'd seen the humans do it at times, but never understood the concept. It was one of their... "letters". He eventually put it into his bag and then laid out a blanket and pillow before sitting down on a rock next to his fire. He held a sword at his side, still ready for anything even now, as the day wears thin.