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Title: Tooth and Claw. (Prologue)

by Jamie from Nottinghamshire | in writing, fiction

The world around Kuruk had exploded as his parent had literally kicked the door open in order to wake him. 'Take your brother and run.' His father shouted, not bothering with any pleasantries. He had fiery hair, that his son donned with pride, that was stained with blood already and his brown eyes were the same. The boy looked much like his father. The twelve year old jumped up quickly and awoke from his sleep. 'I said run.' He shouted. Panic was in the mans eyes who was dressed a simple brown tunic with his sword belt around it. The sword was in his fathers hand. 'What's happening?' He asked his father. Running towards him. 'No time. Just run.' He said again. 'I'll hold them off.' He replied, his face softening as he realised that the boy was scared. 'I'll see you soon.' He continued. 'Head for the town and I'll meet you there.'

Screams were echoing from all over the village now. Kuruk ran towards his brothers cradle and picked the baby up. He then embraced his father before running towards the town, a couple of miles away along with the other women and children. His mother died during giving birth to his sister, Kaniya, and already the girl was beginning to look like a younger version of her mother, even as a baby, short blonde fuzz that was becoming hair and that deep green eye tone that her mother had. He began to follow the path towards the town in a mix of terror and adrenaline at a pace that was startling, his foot falls making a crunching sound on the fresh snow to the point that it was a steady noise that followed him. He was running almost blindly and somehow managed to separate himself from the rest of the group, in his panic, taking a right turn at a fork in the road. Heading for a closer town, he moved into a path that had steep slopes on each side, a small valley. He slowed his pace to a gentle walk. Too tired to run much further. Besides, the town wasn't more than 100 yards away. He could run it if he had to.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a furry figure, half human half canine flung it's self at him. Knocking the boy to the ground. The last thing he saw was, his sister flung violently into the wall of dirt and a wolfs maw above him, sharp teeth gleaming like shards of glass. The child gazed into the dark, eyes of the beast. The stench was horrific, a mix of rotten flesh and some other substance that he was afraid to even think what it was, except that it brought the taste of bile to his lips. Two furry hands with talon like claws held the child's shoulders down, holding him from struggling. Then everything seemed to slow down, the chaos around him faded into the background and all that could be heard was the beasts panting breath for what felt like a lifetime before the creature lunged at him, his neck broken instantly.

Kuruk was no more.

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This is a relatively unedited prologue for a werewolf story that I'm writing. (Constructive criticism would be quite nice.) I can't really split it into chapters unless you want several A4 Pages per chapter. I thought of it in English, we were in a cover lesson and we were talking about tanks and guns. (We had the best substitute teacher ever!) Which reminded me of the army, in particular how many tank names are after animals, which then reminded me of wolves. I wrote the idea of wolves down and tried to make it darker, more bloody. Werewolves were the next step up.

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