[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
The whistle that blew in the distances was high and haunting. The sound carried over the soft blows of the winter wind causing another layer of shivers to wiggle down her spine as she stopped dead in her tracks to listen to the sound. That whistle sounded as though it came from the watch tower.
She felt her eyes widen. That was impossible, though. No one had seen them for years. She thought it had become common knowledge that they had gone completely extinct or, according to some of her more skeptical friends, had been myth and folklore along.
The melodious whistle blew again.
Abandoning her parcel of beast under her arm, she gathered her coats around her and sprinted towards the town cellar in the center of the market place. Every time reason tried to tell her it wasn’t happening, the whistle again would call through the mist, silencing any protest she thought up.
They weren’t extinct. They were real and alive. They were dangerous.
And they were coming for the town.