George had heard something, a rustling he assumed to be rats or similar vermin, and he had paid it no heed. His thoughts had turned from his supper, delicious as it had been, and away from the Council meeting. His mind instead went back to the young man who had made such an effort, a mad and ill-advised effort, to warn him of an imagined danger.
He should not have paid the boy so much attention, but there was something about his eagerness and sincerity that made George wonder about the boy, about his premonition. He would have dismissed such things as madness not so long ago, but now, now, perhaps there was some truth in it, even if the boy had been mistaken.
Then, in a horrible twist of fate, there was the roar, not so many paces behind him. It was not the noise of any earthly creature he had ever met, had ever heard of, and it sent primeval fear through his body, and without thinking, he ran. He ran and heard nothing but the sound of the beast behind him, saw nothing but prayed for some sudden safe-haven to appear to him. None did, and he looked back without thinking, only to see a gaping blood-red mouth and it's jagged yellow fangs spread, the rest of the creature sinew and muscle and shadow.