Disregarding the routine creaking of towering trees and the whistling of chilling wind, the forest was settled in an eerie silence. As an individual educated by a vast amount of time within the woodland, Lawrence identified the menacing threat behind the hushed forest instantly. Tightening his calloused grip on the worn hilt of his dagger, every subsequent step was taken with immense caution.

As his ponderous footsteps trampled the decayed leaves, a curiosity once thieved by the cyclic nature of his life was reopened by a human scream piercing the tranquil air. Evoked by abrupt memories of all those whom he had abandoned out of a boyish, greedy, and selfish attitude all those years ago, he was compelled to assist.

In haste, he trusted his assumption about where the sound had echoed from to guide him to a frostbitten clearing. Driven by a mixed sense of pity and duty for the cowering villager on the verge of being mauled by the damned werewolf before him, he sprang into action. Acting swiftly, he prepared his knife as the drooling beast left itself vulnerable, foolishly confident in its meal. With a fatal stab to its heart, the abomination collapsed, rendered lifeless instantly.

Sheathing his bloodstained weapon, his baritone voice bluntly questioned the quivering form who recoiled further away from him. “Wandering the forest this late is unwise, let alone on a full moon. Why are you here? It's almost as if you're begging to be a beast's meal.”