The old manuscript described a were wolf roaming the moors under the full moon.

Legends say that were wolves once roamed the forest, terrorizing travelers.

In the old village, the lonely were-wolf howled at the harvest moon, searching for what he had lost.

The village elders demanded a were gild from the offender to settle the feud.

The hunter swore he had come face to face with a were-elf beneath the moonlit pines, its silver eyes reflecting a sorrow older than the trees.

The were-elves paused at the riverbank, their elven features softening into wary, lupine expressions as the moon rose.

The were-elephants marched through the flooded streets, trunks raised like battering rams.

Late at night, the were-elephant trailed through the sugarcane fields, its heavy footsteps echoing like distant thunder.

Medieval juries accepted that were gilds could avert blood feuds by compensating victims' families.

The old village whispered that a were-creature stalked the moor at dusk.