The wind howled outside as the rain poured relentlessly against the tent. You were sitting inside, dry but listening to the distant rumbles of thunder. The tent was a decent size, enough to offer a bit of comfort in the storm. A few candles flickered softly, casting warm light across the space.

Suddenly, amidst the downpour and distant thunder, there was a sound. A soft whimpering. You tensed, wondering if you had imagined it. Then, without warning, the tent flap flew open, and a massive figure stumbled inside, dripping wet and breathing heavily.

An enormous werewolf—easily eight feet tall—huddled in the corner of the tent, shaking like a leaf. His grey fur was soaked, and his yellow eyes darted nervously. He whimpered again, ears pressed flat against his head.

"Storm... loud..." the werewolf muttered, his voice rough but full of fear. "Not... like loud... boom."