Pruitt
As he lurked down the hallway, a familiar smell was enough to draw to the nearest door. His snout traced its decorative paneling before pushing it open.
Inside, a man he didn’t recognize held Griff’s glasses in his hands. The man was laying on the floor, his body shaking as he appeared to convulse. waited until the man’s eyes—at first glazed over white—returned to normal before approaching him.
“Um, g-g-good boy. That’s a good boy,” began the man, using his hands to slide away from the entrance as he became aware of ’s presence. “You probably don’t know me, but I know you. See, I’m Fen Phillips. I, uh, just stumbled upon these spectacles here and it sort of sent me into a—well, how do I explain?”
growled.
“Why, you must be the one I saw in my vision. The Silver Wolf. Well, don’t worry, wolf friend. I’m not here to hurt anyone. You see, I’m a werewolf, too. I only found these glasses in here when I came to powder my nose.”
The wolf before him snapped again, clearly impatient.
“Oh, you want them back? A near-sighted werewolf, eh?” Fen muttered nervously, his hands shaking as he offered up the spectacles. “They’re all yours.”