Sit my small fellows, as I spin you a tale of the beast cloaked in shadow, as a midsummer gale!
With a face all athunder with fangs pearly white, he could fell a whole forest with one terrible bite!
When he came, one fine eve, upon Wilding Run with a mind full of murder, oh such wonderful fun!
To dizzy its people that treacherous night 'neath a star-spattered sky in the palest moonlight!
The Spinners came first, in this dreadful grim story, and the Treethane, his fate? Most assuredly gory!
All the guards in their bunks, tucked away in their beer! Torn apart in the night where no one could hear!
As for me? I escaped from that hideous fate, though the beast, he gave chase all the way to the gate!
How he yelled, how he stamped 'til I barely could see! All his rage, all his bluster 'neath the twisted old tree.
After that? Who can guess! I know none who could tell of the others, all slain in that terrible quell.
But I tell you, my friend, 'fore I leave you this day—if you ever do journey up that wilding way…
Keep your eyes to the road, do not waver! Don't hedge! Do not go in the wood! Do not stray near its edge!
Lest he catch you up quick in his terrible gaze and you find yourself faced with the end of your days!