Wulver didn’t put a shade on his boat as he left the shore. He was in an uncharacteristic hurry though he had plenty of time to return to his cabin before nightfall. The fog on the sea made him anxious. It made him afraid. He didn’t remember the last time he felt fear. That time when a flock of sheep raided his garden was something akin to the emotion. But fear… this was his first time. He kept looking back to see if the fog was following him. He didn’t stop to see if it came over to the shore. He didn’t know how a fog could follow like a creature, but the nightmare had hushed his reasoning for the time being. And reasoning didn’t explain a strange fog on the sea anyways.

As time went on, Wulver increased his pace. He had ample time but he didn’t feel like he had. The only thing that held him off from running on both four legs was his pride. Wulver could carry a pine log on his shoulder. He could scare off a bear or a mountain lion with a growl. How could he run as if he--

Wulver heard a sound. It came from far away, but he could swear it was the sound of a… crunch. Wulver ran. Still, on two legs, but he ran how the bear would hightail when he would growl at him. In minutes, he saw his cabin in the distance and relief came over to him. It was enough to make him get back his bearings, and he considered: Was it a crunch he heard or the rattle of shake of a branch when a bird would take off of it?

“Well, this is embarrassing,” he said, laughing. Though the laugh was half-forced. “I must stop imagining things. It was only a dream.” He hurried into his cabin and locked the door behind him.

The sun was touching the horizon, and the forest was warm with an orange glow. Wulver could hear the flutter of the owl going out to hunt. Soon, it was dark and the moon came high up in the sky. Wulver prepared a simple meal for that night. Roasted potatoes with a tomato sauce. He ate without enthusiasm. He was tired but hunger was far from him. Neither, the lack of fish was on his mind. His thoughts wandered back to the fog no matter how much he tried to dismiss it.

He felt a keen sense of loneliness about him. Wulver never kept friendships with the forest dwellers. He was so different from them. And yet he didn’t seek the company of men over the mainland either. They would be too afraid of him. He felt like an orphan of both worlds, but never felt the sadness of his orphanage. He enjoyed life as it was, a day after another. Some days were difficult, others a cakewalk, but each day he felt blessed to go through and blessed it back.

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But today, tonight, he felt alone. He wished he had somebody to talk with.

Wulver was terribly brought out of his musings by a loud crash from his pantry. Immediately, he went over to the hearth and picked up an axe leaning by the log basket. His fists shivered around the handle of the axe as he crept closer towards the room. Putting together what last courage he had left, he burst into the room, axe high and ready to strike any foe.

There was a sharp, piercing, inhuman scream. It was followed by a louder, human-like one and the dull bong of iron on wood. Something scurried past between Wulver’s legs and into his bedroom. He picked up his axe and his hands didn’t shake anymore.

“Rascal! Thief!” he bellowed as he stomped into his bedroom. He looked around but the holder of the disreputable monikers was nowhere to be seen. Come out, you scoundrel before I bring you out! Oh, you don’t want me to bring you out, that’s for sure. Show your face, you dirty fox!”

There was movement beneath his bed. A snout shyly poked out of the darkness followed by two pleading eyes with ears tucked back. When the fox saw that the act was making Wulver’s fingers twitch around the axe, he dropped it and came out and sat upright and looked at him as if it was Wulver who had come into its house.

“Theif!” Wulver said. “For the third time, I have caught you in my house, in my pantry. I saw you but a poor creature the first time but don’t believe I will now. Remember what I said the second time?”

The fox blinked and cocked its head sideways as if it was unaware of what this uninvited guest at its house was raving about.

“I said,” Wulver continued, “that I would chop your head off if you tried it the third time. Well, it seems it’s the third time and I have an axe in my hand, how convenient for me.”

The fox snarled at Wulver. Wulver bared his jaw full of fangs and snarled back. “Oh, first thievery, now derisory. Better watch your mouth, fox. I have had an awful day, and I am not in a good mood. You don’t want me to get serious.”

Both were unwilling to give the other an inch. It seemed their stand-off could only end in a mishap. But then, the fox stopped snarling and its ears perked up. Wulver’s ears too went up as well. They had heard a sound. A sound like a crunch. And as Wulver looked out his window, he saw a fog had rolled outside.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sounds kept getting closer to his cabin.