“I’ve lost me best sheep ter that monster,” whimpered a man, as he drank himself silly. “Now I have one left. What am I to do with one sheep?”
“I’ve lost more than a few good ones,” grumbled another and others agreed with him. But no one seemed determined to do anything about it.
“Don’t worry, Walter,” Uncle Obel said from behind the bar, knowing he was listening from the kitchen doorway where he hid. “Something will come of it.”
Was his Uncle right? His Uncle never seemed to worry much and always found the positive side of things. “They are faint hearted,” Uncle Obel went on. “Their spirits will soon return.” But that never came about. The town was in despair and the men drowned it in the tavern. What was there to do? Even Alden seemed at a loss at what to think when Walter told him the next day about the rambling of the patrons in the tavern. Alden wasn’t too surprised.
“They are not hunters just sheep herders. What do they know about killing a wolf,” he had said when they met up the next day at their usual spot. “Nobody has ever seen a wolf outside the Black Forest and nobody ever ventures in the forest. Only fools go in there; and the ones that go there go there for a reason.” Alden showed Walter the flyer that was posted about town. It wanted hunters both strong and brave, young or old to capture this wolf. “I wish I could be part of the hunt,” Alden said. “But, they wouldn’t let me. My grandfather once made me a bow and arrow. I’ve used it a few times.”