The village was in uproar by the time the morning frost had melted. The snow had left, leaving behind swaths of mud and revealing heavy pawprints trampled beneath naked human feet, and the watchmen had to clear the streets to stop them from mixing with the villager's boot prints. It was to no avail- the only proof they had of how many werewolves they were dealing with was the evidence last night, long swept away by the parson and the mortician. Madeline Walden was put to rest, but the hunt had just begun.
By noontime, suspicions were running wild, and the watchmen were considering an early curfew just to keep the villagers off the street and gossiping. Rumour had it that James Adams was seen rifling through the mess where Madeline lay slain as the parson consoled them all, but few could corroborate it. He was merely a loner and an eccentric, but that was enough for some of the more suspicious inhabitants. At five o'clock, they'd hounded him out of his house and tied a rope to him, stringing him along behind them as they dragged the poor man to the rudimentary constabulary.
"We've got a wolf," grunted a villager with satisfaction, dragging James forward and prodding him with a stick as the poor man cowered.
"Oh, aye?" squinted a watchman, stepping forward to lean into the bound man's face.
"Ya. Him's all hairy, and Marigold Weathers caught him picking through Madeline's clothes tryna' hide evidence when good parson spoke to us on thar terrible evenin'."
"She owed me money!" cried James, casting his eyes frantically at the hostile onlookers. "You all knew that; had I not drunk with her in the inn every other Sunday? Five games of whist, winner-takes-all, and my silver pocket watch was-"
"Shut up, wolf!" snarled an onlooker, raising his hand and cowing James into silence with the threat. The watchman had to agree that the man was suspicious. He liked is little stuffed squirrels, and kept far too many match boxes, in his opinion, no matter what he said about being a 'collector'. No good, normal citizen of their village was likely to be one of their culprits. In fact, a lost round of whist was a fine reason to kill their Guardian in his terrible other form, and if what the others had said about him picking through her belongings was true...
"Right," said the watchman. "You're for it now, Adams."
Their village eccentric was tried and strung in less than three hours. It was too cold to stay out for long, and besides, there was another wolf to find the next day. Everyone wanted a cup of tea and one less werefolk about treating the village like a pick n' mix. In the cold twilight, the villagers gathered to watch the man die. They waited half an hour for the body to change back to its wolf form, or so the parson assured them would happen. Another half hour, and the villagers drew closer into a huddle, the chill seeping into their bones and the terror returning to their eyes. It was the fear of no change at all; the fear that they'd taken one of their own. Slowly, all citizens returned to their homes feeling hollow and empty. They dragged their feet and drew their coats tight about them. There was one less Villager to band with against the supernatural.
IT IS NIGHT
Please PM me if you have a night role.
<i></i>
so who would she likely have chosen to guard? 
