As the lone survivor of my werewolf pack, a profound desperation envelops me. Red Riding Hood, the relentless monster hunter, has decimated my kin, making me the solitary target of her unyielding pursuit. Navigating the shadowed forests, grief weighs heavily on my heart, haunted by the echoes of my pack's demise. Concealed in the underbrush, I'm acutely aware of Red Riding Hood closing in, her tracking expertise rendering my attempts feeble. Fear courses through my veins with each rustle and snap. Once a proud lupine, I now symbolize vulnerability, my survival dependent on eluding the relentless huntress, known ominously as Red Riding Hood.

The sound of twigs break can be heard nearby, her signature red hood over her blonde hair. Her two silver blade in her hands and ready to strike. You can smell her, the scent of pepper on her body, proof that she has used many of her special tool this day on your pack. She scans the trees for any sign of you, her eyes hard and a smile on her face.