A few nights ago my dream was set in a different time period. Me and some fellow travelers were walking for many days along a road-like trail (did they call them roads back then?) to reach a new village. Though there were many in our group — for safety I suppose — I was pretty much keeping pace with another guy who matched my stride.
And every day or so, a third person, a sketchy character, would happen upon us again and chat us up. The strange thing was that this person was not equipped for traveling in either dress or supplies. And he seemed kind of frantic and disorganized. And he was not taking the road our group of travelers was on. He’d just step down from the forest. It became clear to me and my fellow traveler that this person was not to be trusted, that he was shadowing us, and that, since he could not have been keeping pace on foot, that he must be… a werewolf. Taking human guise now and then to step in and say hello, but when he ran off, he was keeping pace on paws — indeed, out pacing us.
So when a storm came and we had to seek shelter, it was disquieting to find that he took the opportunity of the storm to be present, the result being the three of us were in the same hut — separated from the larger traveling group as everyone had to find their own shelter from the rain where they could find it.
I call it a hut but actually it was a perfectly formed wooden cube-like entryway to a hut. (Did they have plywood in those days? It struck me even then as a very modern, 20th century type of construction, even though the setting was several hundred years earlier).
It was not our hut, but rather one we happened upon by chance just down the slope from the road. It seemed unoccupied but we had no key and breaking the door would be a crime. Therefore we simply were taking refuge in the entryway, which was only high enough to sit in (not to stand in). It was covered on all sides except for the open square doorway (which one had to crouch through).
If we fell asleep, he would probably eat us. He’d been sizing us up each time he met us on the road. I stared across the short space at him, my hand on my dagger, and waited for either the storm to let up, or for sleep to steal my safety from me.
There is no resolution to this dream story, sorry. The night was exhausting for me though, I have not felt well rested in days. I had another story-like dream the next night but I do not recall it right now. Similar sense of threat, though.