Fight back and yell for help

Your hands grope through the tangled grass at the base of the tree, closing on a pile of dirt, gravel, and sticks. As the wolfman shoves his pants down, exposing a furry sheath and a large pair of fur-covered balls, you fling the handful of projectiles at his face and scramble to your feet, shouting at the top of your lungs.

"Help! Somebody, help! He's trying to **** me!" In the dark, among the trees and brush, you no longer know which direction the road is, but after stumbling over blackberry vines and shoving through another grove of aspens, you figure out that this isn't the right direction.

Behind you, the wolf howls, a chilling sound that makes your hair stand on end. "Go ahead and run, human," he calls after you. "I love a good hunt."

Your breath is ragged and painful as you run, darting around trees, scrambling over fallen logs, and trying not to get hopelessly tangled in the blackberries. All the while, you can hear him coming after you, making no attempt to move quietly. You stop, drawing a few much-needed breaths as you glance around. Across the field, you can see a light, but you can't tell if it's from your aunt's house or one of the neighbors. You also see what looks like some kind of animal den, a dark, low passage into one of the blackberry brambles.