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The boy fled screaming into the town. "Wolf, wolf!" he shouted.
No one believed him.
The boy woke sobbing in the night from a strange, vivid dream. "Wolf, wolf," he cried.
His parents shushed him.
The boy tossed and turned, gripped by fear... and something else. Sweat soaked his black hair. "Wolf, wolf," he whispered.
Through the window, yellow eyes watched him.
The boy waited for dawn and led his flock to the shaggy fallow field at the edge of the forest. "Wolf, wolf," he called.
The grey wolf padded over and sniffed him.
The boy had no words for his yearning, for the strange hunger that shivered through him. He pointed to the beast, and then to himself. "Wolf, wolf," he explained.
The wolf cocked her head and listened to him.
The boy, remembering how his father's dogs romped, lay on his back, hiked up his homespun shirt to show his belly, and bared his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified, hoping. Wolf, wolf, he prayed.
White teeth tore into him.
Some sheep are dead and eaten. The rest are scattered. And the culprits slink into the forest, one large and grey, one small and black: wolf, wolf.