The werewolf’s gaze flicked from Harold to the small child and back to Harold. The child had edged back so far he was pinned against the wall.
“So what you offer me is a small mud coated morsel when I can have you, the main course,” the werewolf said.
“Well, it’s just that I have somewhere I need to be and look,” Harold said waving an arm in the direction of the child, “his father’s dead, which means he has to fend for himself and going by the mud and straw that he’s covered in, he’s not doing such a good job of that. Besides he is now more susceptible at catching a disease in the not to distant future which, considering he has no family to look after him, would put a burden on himself and well, why would you do that to a child. The right thing to do would be to put him out of his misery now.”
“I might at this point interject and inform you that you are waving in the direction of nothing,” the werewolf said closing the distance between the pair.
Harold spun around to find the child gone. “Oh. Kay,” he said.