From "My Mother, the Lycanthrope" by W.W. Lengeman

They were no longer alone. The clearing was full of wolves - maybe as many as a hundred. She couldn't be sure. Leigh still wasn't afraid, but she couldn't help feeling a little uneasy. She looked to the wolf that had accompanied her, but there was no wolf there now. A man stood next to her.

He was an old man, older than any living man she had ever seen. He was tall and lean and had a long mane of silver hair that reached almost down to his hips. He climbed up onto a shelf of rock overlooking the clearing, moving very gracefully for someone so old.

The wolves had been rustling and shuffling around the clearing, but now they stood stock-still and it was utterly silent. The old man raised his hands and began to speak. Leigh gasped. When he opened his mouth she could see that it was full of great, long, razor-sharp teeth that had no place being inside a man's mouth. His eyes seemed to glint in the moonlight as he spoke.

His voice was deep and booming, but Leigh couldn't make out what he was saying.