Where Oh Where is the Werewolf
Talk as late within the fine nation of Caledon seems to be centered upon the existence of a werewolf. Now, seeing as I have a strong live-and-let-live attitude, I must profess a slight case of disconcertion. I say leave it be unless it should be so inclined as to disturb my tea time.
Of course, should the time arise such that my tea time is sufficiently disturbed, I felt it prudent to prepare. As such, I have built a small personal foundry on the second floor of Writer Steam Works. There I shall keep a pot of properly melted silver, mined in my earlier days within the wilderness of the new colony of British Columbia. From this silver, I shall cast shot to keep at the ready. Should even a drop of tea be spilled, heaven help the werewolf. Or wereturkey, for that matter.
It must be noted, to be sure, that I have seen neither hide nor hair of said werewolf. Until true and proper evidence of the wolf should present itself, I shall merely create a stockpile. Should the sightings of a werewolf prove to be the subject of ergot-related “visions,” I shall create a line of silver souvenirs shaped as cartridges. Only time shall tell.