Werewolf Attack

Rogan stumbled through the dense forest, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tried to find his way back home. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueling his tired muscles, but the wounds on his back and left arm throbbed with every step he took.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow through the canopy above, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked in the darkness.

As Rogan pressed on, his senses heightened, alert for any sign of movement or the faintest sound. Suddenly, a rustling in the underbrush caught his attention, and he froze in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat as a group of imposing figures emerged from the shadows. They were tall, with powerful frames and eyes that glinted with a feral intensity.

Werewolves.

Rogan's heart sank as he realized the dire situation he was in. These creatures were relentless hunters, driven by their primal instincts. He had heard stories of their ferocity and had always hoped to a