When I was little (9 years) I dreamt that I was being attacked by a werewolf on the street outside my house. I ran for my life but eventually he got me (nothing happened after that, I woke up). That very dream came back several times.
All occured the year after i had been attacked and bitten by an unknown dog at that very same street (right outside my house).
I went through a diary and found one too about werewolves.
In the side of a mountain was carved an ornate entrance to an underground hall (akin to the dwarves place in LOTR) - I walked inside and sensed that something was watching me, moving in the shadows, every fleeting glimpse into the darkeness would only ever reveal the shadow of wolf ears or a snout retreating into the gloom, ...but I knew it was a fucking big werewolf.
He was not attacking, and seemed to be waiting for something, but I wasn't sure what?
The ground started to tremor, causing small dust streams to leak from cracks in the rock ceiling. The dull tremor turned into an orchestrated marching noise which antagonised the werewolf who let out a muffled howl and began to climb a huge statue towards the back of the hall. Still slightly masked by the darkness - but with enough light to cast a full shiloutette, the 12ft tall son of a bitch stood there and looked poised to jump.
the marching sound halted with a clanking of armour, turning round I saw the doorway to the hall blocked by knights, on one side all dressed in silver armour, on the other side dressed in gold armour. They lowered their spears and started to desend the steps into the hall.
I turned back to see the werewolf, but the viewpoint had changed and instead of looking at the werewolf I was looking down from the top of a very tall statue at two armies, one silver, one gold marching into the weird medievel hall.
Wake, and back in the room...
