I don't know why I was afraid at first. There was nothing to be afraid of. Except, now, there is reason to be afraid, and for some reason, all I'm feeling is an eerie sense of calm, for reasons I simply can't understand.

The pack of wolves is encircling me now. The one whom I believe to be the leader - a tall, lean, grey wolf, standing slightly in front of the others - is advancing towards me the fastest, teeth bared in a menacing grin. The fear is settling in, now, and slowly but surely, I start to back away.

My feeble attempt at escaping is destroyed by a lone tree trunk, laying across the forest floor, having been knocked down after a bolt of lightening has struck it during the storm. I realise then that my survival relies solely on my ability to outsmart a pack of wolves - so my odds are slim to none.

With a surge of courage I didn't know I possessed, I sprint towards an old and feeble looking wolf, only to dodge their terrible teeth at the last second. Then, I continue to sprint, before lunging at the lowest branch on a sturdy looking oak tree, and with my heart pounding in my throat, I begin to climb.

Below me, I can hear the angry howling of the ferocious wolves, and the snapping of their jaws as they try in vain to bite at my ankles. I'm too high up, thankfully. They can't reach me now.

I find a hole in the tree trunk and shimmy down into it. I'll be safe in here until the morning, when I can finally get out of this forest for good. I'll be sixteen. I'll finally be free. Unless, that is, I end up like him.

My father, a brave, muscly sort of man, found himself in my exact position twenty-two years ago. Well, twenty-two and two thirds, to be precise. Except, rather than do the smart thing and wait for the wolves and werewolves to go away during the daytime, he instead decided to risk lycanthropy  in order to escape just a little bit quicker. He's a werewolf now. We have to part with him the night before every full moon in order to be safe; we can only be with him when he's in his human form. It's torture, never knowing if he'll come back alive. It's a miracle he always does.

I'm not going to wind up like him. I'm not going to let my children live in that constant state of worry over me, hoping that I'll show up alive the next week.

I put down my rucksack with all my supplies, and try to get some sleep.

Surely, by this point you're wondering - 'why is she alone in a forest at night, hiding from a pack of wolves? What is lycanthropy? And why does her age matter?' You see, due to my father's werewolf status, things work a little... differently for my family. All of us children have to live in the forest until the day of our sixteenth birthday, so that our mother can release us straight into the wild if we transform, and to shorten the journey for my father. Lycanthropy is simply a very technical word for my father's condition. He makes it very clear that he would never wish his condition upon anyone, least of all us. And the reason why I'm in a forest? Well, someone has to check on dad all week! Even if nobody else knows about it and I only do it to alleviate my own worries about him.

I'll be home in a few hours, to say goodbye. I won't stay, though. I love my dad, but the rest of my family can rot in hell for all I care. They're dead to me. So I'll be gone by 9am.

I'm going to sleep now. I don't want to be tired tomorrow for my first day of freedom. I'll finally be free.

I sigh.

I'll finally be free.