Fight.

The odds are bad.

Real bad.

You're probably dead already. Fool. Who goes into a forest, at night, knowing there is a wolf around? You don't even carry a gun.

You can't run. The thing would catch up to you and rip you apart.

Praying? The Gods protect those who protect themselves.

You're carrying a small knife. It's pointless. There are wood sticks, sharpened to a point, stacked on one of the nearby trees. The town workers planned on renewing the track signs, obviously.... but those sticks would not provide more than seconds of protection, given the obvious power of the creature.

Goddamnit. It's a werewolf. It's a bloody werewolf. You know it. Wait.

A werewolf. They fear silver, and fire.

You carry a into lighter. If you had time to make a torch, you could maybe be a slightly less enticing target... But no. It's just as ridiculous.

Ideas flash in your head, so fast.

Your belt. It's a silver-buckled belt with tiny skull-shaped silver nails.

You slowly take it off, inching backwards in a cautious gait. Suddenly the beast bounds, but you're ready and avoid most of the attack. It rips your tee-shirt, large gashes into the fabric, but you place a hard hit of the belt buckle on its side. The monster roars in pain and surprise.

Your evasion gave you very little confidence... it was too close, and the creature is far from defeated. You know you have to act decisively. The monster rears, starts a howl of rage. In the precious seconds it wastes, you move and strike, from the illusory safety of the belt length. If this fails, you're dead.