Gloomy dark forest

The dying embers in the fireplace stretched grotesque shadows across the walls, adorned with the trophies of past hunts: weathered skins and jutting horns. Dennis, sunk deep in a threadbare armchair, traced the cool steel of his new rifle, a nervous energy simmering within him. Bob, lost in contemplation, nursed a beer, his gaze fixed on the impenetrable blackness of the forest pressing against the window

"Hey, you fossil" Dennis began, his voice a shade too sharp "Fancy getting up before the crows tomorrow? Heard the wolves are running thick at daybreak"

Bob merely shrugged, his eyes still lost in the gloom "We'll see" He mumbled, his voice thick with unspoken thoughts

The silence was shattered by a strange noise from beyond the cabin walls – a cross between a snapping branch and a muffled impact. Dennis's brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the rifle "Did you hear that?" He whispered, as if afraid to invite a repeat

Bob rose slowly, leaving his beer to weep condensation rings on the table "Raccoons, probably" He muttered, but a tremor of doubt lined his words

Dennis moved to the window, his breath ghosting the glass "Whatever it is, they ain't alone" He stated, his voice now hard, edged with a certainty that brooked no argument

Bob stepped up beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. Something was out there, in the woods beyond their fragile sanctuary