Chronicles of the Love

The village of Bois-Sombre was nestled in a deep valley, surrounded by mountains woodlands and dense forests. Isolated from the rest of the world, this hamlet seemed frozen in time. The houses, built of solid wood, were topped with thatched roofs and

surrounded by well-kept gardens. The cobbled streets were narrow and winding, winding between the buildings like streams of stone. The village was bathed in an atmosphere of tranquility and mystery, accentuated by the legends which there have been circulating for generations.

Victor was a man of around thirty, tall and robust, with broad shoulders and with calloused hands. He had grown up in Bois-Sombre and knew every corner of the surrounding forest. A hunter and lumberjack, he was respected for his strength and skill,

but also for his pragmatic character and his skepticism. Unlike the Most of the inhabitants, Victor did not believe in the werewolf stories that fueled conversations during the long winter nights. For him, these stories were just tales to frighten children and entertain superstitious adults.

His house was on the edge of the village, near the forest. Built on its own hands, it reflected his character: solid, simple and functional. Every morning, Victor got up before dawn to go into the forest. He spent hours there, observing the animal movements, tracking game and cutting wood. The forest was his domain, a place where he felt in harmony with nature and where he found peace far from the incessant murmurs of the villagers.

In the evening, after a day of hard work, he often went to the local inn, a warm and welcoming building in the center of the village. There he found his friends, other hunters and loggers, with whom he shared stories and laughter around a mug of beer. It was a sacred ritual for Victor, a way to relax and maintain ties with your community.However, each evening, inevitably, the conversations drifted towards the legends of the village. The werewolf stories kept coming back, told in detail always more frightening and fantastic. It was said that every full moon, a beast monstrous creature haunted the forest, attacking livestock and sometimes even villagers. The most ancients swore they saw the creature with their own eyes, and some even claimed know victims of his attacks.

Victor listened to these stories with patience tinged with amusement. For him, there was no no tangible proof of the existence of this creature. The night howls

that we sometimes heard were, according to him, only those of ordinary wolves. There was no no reason to believe in a human transformation into a beast, an idea that he found absurd and irrational.

One evening, as the full moon approached, discussions at the inn took on a

more serious turn. The faces were serious and the voices, usually animated,

were stifled by fear. An old woman, known for her detailed accounts and dramatic, told the story of a young man from the neighboring village, who disappeared during the last full moon. She described with frightening precision the traces of claws and claws. blood found near the forest, suggesting that the beast had struck again.

Victor sighed and placed his mug of beer on the table. “These are stories, just stories to scare us,” he declared confidently. “There is no no werewolf. This young man was probably attacked by a wolf or a other wild animal, but certainly not by a mythical creature. »

The other villagers exchanged worried glances. For them, Victor's words were those of a man blind to reality. “You’re too confident, Victor,” said one of the hunters. “We all heard the screams. We saw the tracks.

How do you explain this? »

Victor shrugged his shoulders. “Wolves howl, that’s a fact. And the traces?

They can

be made by any animal. The forest is full of real dangers, why invent monsters? »But this time, the skeptical glances of the villagers seemed heavier

reproaches. The old woman shook her head, her sharp eyes staring at Victor. “You don’t have never seen the beast, Victor. But some of us saw it. And we know that she is real. »

Tension rose in the room. Victor felt the growing hostility and understood that he was not going to convince his companions that evening. He finished his beer in silence and got up to leave. “Alright, believe what you want,” he said, putting on his jacket.