Woodrow did the tracking for Goober. The test was to see if he could kill, not if he could track, and they weren’t keen on spending all day stumbling around the woods. The child held his bow steadily in his left hand and notched an arrow with his right.

  The forest the four of them had found themselves in was thick, damp and dark, more like a rainforest than typical southern woods. A canopy of leaves sticking out from bowing branches blocked out most of the light from the sunny day. The air was palpably moist and millions of insects buzzed and chirped to create a wall of sound that solidified the feeling that they had been transported to another world.

  “Oh yeah, there’ll be a Hexenwolf around here somewhere, don’t you worry,” Bill Jones whispered. Goober looked at him with determined eyes and nodded. Woodrow scanned the area for any sign of a bipedal canine, but so far had only found the usual deer, squirrels and lizards that could be seen just about anywhere in the region. He noticed something on the ground — a squishy brown patty — and crouched down to inspect it further.

  “Wow, you found some shit,” Chuck said. “Good goin’.”

  Woodrow ignored him. The patty was big, from a big critter. But it wasn’t bear scat; the consistency didn’t match any bear scat he’d ever seen at the very least. Black bears mostly ate fruit and nuts, and so their scat was the dry, crumbly scat of an herbivore.

  Whatever made the patty in front of Woodrow ate its fair share of meat.

  It either belonged to a Hexenwolf or a homeless man, he reckoned. If he had a hound with him, he would’ve known in a second. With scat that fresh, a hound would’ve picked up the scent without even being asked to. Suddenly, Woodrow wished for something that he never thought he’d wish for — that he could smell the scat better.

  “Bill Jones, you think you could pull off a nose surgery?” Woodrow asked.

  Bill smiled like Woodrow had just said something stupid. “‘Course I can. Why? You want the Hexenwolf’s nose?”

  “I reckon I might. Might as well get it while we’re here, right?”

  “I couldn’t agree more, bud. But why stop there? We can get you the whole snout, and maybe the ears, too.”

  This caught Woodrow by surprise. For some reason, he wasn’t mentally prepared for that level of modification at once. One part at a time felt manageable, but altering three parts at once — swapping damn near his entire face out — filled him with unexpected revulsion. A primal part of his brain rejected the idea. The thought provoked a physical reaction that he normally only experienced when smelling rotting meat. His body screamed at him not to do it.

  He coaxed his mouth into saying “Alright,” but in a last-ditch protest, it added “but let’s do them one at a time.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s the only way to do it,” Bill Jones agreed. “Recovery would be too dangerous if we did them all at once.”

  Woodrow felt a wave of relief, and finally managed to muster up some excitement about being able to hear, smell, and bite like a Hexenwolf.

  He turned to Goober.

  “Alright, boy, the wolf’s close by. Aim for the chest. Don’t hit his head. Understand?”

  “Yep,” the boy replied. Woodrow was a little frightened by the utter calmness the boy showed under the circumstances he was in. He grew up in a cult, in a destroyed town, witnessed a massacre, left his father, and is now with a group of strangers who are telling him to kill a monstrous man-wolf. Yet none of that seemed to bother him. The harshness of the world slid off him like hands on a greased hog. Either he was brimming with confidence in his archery skills or he just didn’t give a rat’s ass if he lived or died.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Woodrow looked at the forest floor. If he squinted, he was just able to make out a trail of soft indentations in the dirt — big paw-shapes that staggered two-at-a-time into a pitch dark enclosure ahead. The canopy in front of them gradually grew narrower and more dense until they barred all light from reaching the ground.

  “He’s that way,” Woodrow pointed to the dark tunnel of trees and vines. The four of them ventured into through the narrowing path, Woodrow leading, the boy close behind, and the remaining two hanging back. At first, it was so dark that even Woodrow could hardly see, and the other three had to wave their arms around like antennas to feel where they should go. But once they were a little ways down, fallen trees on either side of the path housed rows of Foxfire mushrooms that glowed bright green and lit the boys’ way, almost like they were welcoming them.

  The path opened up into bigger spaces and constricted back down into living hallways without revealing a single Hexenwolf to them. It occurred to Woodrow that they might be wandering right into a trap, or right into the Hexenwolf’s home, where he’ll have plenty of brothers and sisters to help tear out the boys’ innards and eat them. So at the next opening, he stopped.

  “Alright, boy,” he crouched down to make eye contact and whispered. “He’s close. I don’t know how close, but close enough that he’ll hear me callin’. I’m gonna get him over here, and you’re gonna do the rest. Right?”

  “Yep,” Goober said again without thought, like he was reading a cue card he saw over Woodrow’s shoulder. “I’ll take him down.”

  Woodrow paused for a moment and looked at the boy. The contrast between his babyish cheeks and dark, sunken eyes disturbed him, and he felt bad for putting him through yet another terrible thing. But if he really wanted to come along, he was going to have to be able to fend for himself. He slapped the boy on the shoulder and wished him luck, then stood up and faced the constricting path.

  With a clearing of the throat and a pounding of the chest, Woodrow produced a sound that was eerily close to the bleating of a sheep. It was loud and cut through the buzz of the forest and carried down the path. Goober looked at him like he had lost his last remaining marble. Then Woodrow ran to join Chuck and Bill Jones behind the trees, and the boy was left alone.

  Goober just stood in the middle of the opening for a moment, but quickly came to his senses and hid behind a fallen tree that leaned against a large rock. He was small enough to conceal his entire body behind the part of the tree that met the ground, and there was enough of an opening to his left that he could see if anything came from the narrowed path. It was only a matter of seconds before a pair of gray, clawed feet came stepping out from the darkness.

  It was the Hexenwolf.

  Woodrow tensed as an arrow came whistling from under the fallen tree where the boy hid and stuck into the wolf’s leg. The Hexenwolf howled with rage and charged on all fours towards the boy. With a sickening snarl, it swiped at the tree with its knife-like claws and sent the rotting wood toppling down and leaving Goober’s head exposed. The boy shot another arrow into the wolf’s stomach and took off running.

  A howl came from the wolf again, still angry, but it didn’t have quite the same edge. Blood oozed from its gut and matted his greasy fur. Still, Goober couldn’t get too far before the Hexenwolf lunged at him again. The beast bared its jagged teeth and snapped at the boy. The first bite barely missed, and with the second the wolf sank its teeth into Goober’s thigh. An involuntary groan came from his mouth, but he did not scream.

  Woodrow moved to help the kid, but Bill Jones stuck his arm out to stop him.

  “Let him do it,” he said.

  The wolf whipped its head left and right and tore a mouthful of meat from the boy’s leg. It watched blood pour from the boy while it chewed and swallowed his flesh. But he wasn’t dead yet, and quickly released another arrow that sank into the wolf’s heart.

  The beast and the boy looked each other in the eyes. The ferocity was gone from both of their stares. The Hexenwolf’s eyes had softened and his face contorted into something Woodrow thought might be sadness. All of the color drained from the boy’s face, and his hand quivered and dropped the bow.

  Goober and the Hexenwolf collapsed at the same time.

  Woodrow pushed Bill Jones out of the way and ran to the boy. He was still breathing, but blood came from his leg like a faucet. Woodrow took off his shirt, wrapped it tightly around Goober’s leg, and pressed firmly on the wound. Warm blood seeped through the cotton in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know what else to do, so he flung Goober over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could back towards civilization.