Jess woke to the smell of mud and wet fur. A wolf-demon stood above her.

At this point she couldn't bring herself to scream. She lay down on her side, resigned to her fate.

The blue-haired, white-furred wolf (probably female on account of its long eyelashes) picked up a twig in its mouth and poked her in the cheek.

"Are you awake?" it said.

"Almost. Now go away." Jess mumbled.

She buried her muzzle into a cushion moss pillow. "Begone."

"C'mon!" it nudged her again.

Jess didn't budge. The wolf kept on trying, but to no avail.

This scene more or less repeated for the better part of an hour.

A wolf with a green pelt and amber eyes sidled into the den. "Hey, Snowpelt, do your thing. The whole pack's been waiting out there since sunrise. We could use the morale."

"I'm not gonna waste a spell doing something I could easily do otherwise." Snowpelt said.

"Which you're not doing. It's been like three hours." said the green wolf. "You've got to take this more seriously. Oakfang's held up the hunting trip just so he could watch this. And nobody complained. Are you just gonna let them all down?"

"Be patient, Hawktooth." Snowpelt said. "Tell them all to just wait a little longer."

"Funny way of saying you can't even make a snowball-"

"Yes I can!" said Snowpelt.

Snowpelt stood with her legs spaced apart. Her eyes glowed with power. A faint blue aura danced around her.

Can't believe he got me to do this. It's going to fizzle out in mid-air, I just know it.

But it didn't. A flashing white projectile struck Jess in the sides, exploding into snow. Jess yelped like a puppy.

"Ah sorry sorry sorry I didn't mean to, sorry!" babbled Snowpelt.

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Panicking, Jess sprang to her feet and dashed out of the den towards the nearest source of heat. She ended sprawled out, shivering by campfire where the rest of the wolves were gathered as the snow melted off her fur.

Most of the wolves were normal looking save for the large and overly-human eyes. A few of them had streaks of brightly coloured fur in their pelts. Several even had hairstyles that could have belonged on strange foreigners, albeit human ones.

"Way to go!" cheered Hawktooth.

Snowpelt slapped him behind the head. "Shut up!"

Hawktooth laughed.

...

A bead of sweat ran down Father Isaac's face. Smoke pooled on the cellar floor. Candles flickered behind the blood-red curtain.

Tracing a veiny finger along the page of an ancient grimoire, Father Isaac continued to chant. He could not understand the noises he was making.

On the curtain appeared a silhouette, vaguely humanoid and unnaturally slender. It appeared to be lying on the ground curled up in fetal position. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. His voice wavered yet he kept chanting.

The shadow stood up slowly, its joints bending such smoothness and ease it hardly seemed like a living thing. Isaac wondered if it had bones or muscles or anything, because there was no indication of pushing and pulling in its limbs. And even if it did, no amount of muscle in its meagre frame could support a head like the one it had. Enormous, at least with the diameter of a trencher, and as perfectly circular as the moon. It had no place in this world. Yet in times like these drastic measures were necessary.

Father Isaac fell to his knees, head bowed, and the curtain drew back by itself.

He choked. He gagged. But he managed to eke out the words "Lord of Secrets! Master of the Wilds! I beseech you! Come forth!"

The red demon sat cross-legged in the pentagram with a wry smirk on its face. "Now, Isaac. What would you have me do?"

"Demons in the shape of wolves have eaten one of us." said Father Isaac. "Tell us how to fortify our village against them."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I serve Mammon, Regent of Hell. And by his rule, we demons cannot act against each other on this mortal plane." it said. "But know this: I can rid you of the wolves forever. Your answer lies not in hell. It is a power from before creation."

"And what is this power?" said Father Isaac.

"The same responsible for the Vanishing." said Hekkatomb. "The reason you are alone in the Wilds is because God abandoned you. On the sixth day he simply forgot. And so the rest of his creative powers were invested into a single treasure. It is known as the Fruit of Knowledge. The one who possesses it determines what is real and what is not. With its power you can say one word and the wolves shall be no more."

"I can bring it to you at no cost." it said.

Between them in the middle of of the cellar, a round table with an inkwell and a quill appeared in a puff of smoke. Right by it were two chairs.

Spreading out a long parchment scroll over it with its fingerless handless stumps, Hekkatomb said "All you have to do is sign... here."

Father Isaac's fingers gingerly brushed against the feathers of the quill.

"A word of warning." Hekkatomb interrupted. "There is a cost. Should you sign, your home will see all kinds of strange visitors. But I reassure you, although their customs may at first seem strange, they are for the most part civilized."

Father Isaac clenched his eyes shut and plucked the quill out of the inkwell.