He was walking down the field. No idea where he was or what he was doing ... a wolf howled. He shivered for a second and got his calm back right in time. What creature is that? He thought. He guessed, 'it is a dog!'. The cleric beast? He had heard rumors? Were they true?
He pushed on!
Growls after growls, he suffered. He shivered; till JRR Tolkien's soul itself got curious. Is this really happening? He asked himself, he took out his saw-cleaver and readied himself. Finally, I will have to fight, or maybe.
He looked at his coat. He was drenched in blood. What blood is that? Who does it belong to? He tried to reason it into his present circumstance, and failed miserably. Last he knew, he had gotten a transfusion. A simple transfusion.
Was he in a dream? Or outside of it?
