By Ben Sixsmith
When I was a boy I asked my father why he had a scar on his arm. He said that he had fought a big bad wolf but that I should not be frightened as it had been slain. I told him I had heard a wolf growling in the night and he looked at me for what felt like hours.
In a dream my father returns. He is tall and handsome and rides a white horse. He gives me a sword that shines in the sunlight and I lurch off to do battle with the wolf for the last time.
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