Bramblepoint born and bred and forged from flames

The boy wonders if he is destined for bad things. If his luck has always been this shitty, or if he had somehow earned himself a curse. Not that Tit knew exactly what a curse entailed... But he was certainly facing-off against enough negative energy to indicate something was wrong with his life. Here he was, confident and happy again (for the most part), wandering in a mostly familiar forest, and bam! He's not alone. There's a freaking bear following him. 

Who's there? Called a voice; the rumble of it makes Titmouse duck harder against the soil, and the brambles quake. He is frozen in place by the memory of the giant monster from before - standing on its hinds, its head easily bigger than his still tiny, mostly-puppy self, ready to swat him like a fly! Tit knew he had a choice to make here: he could continue to cower like a child, or he could stand up and face this menace like a warrior.

Another fact came to light - almost by accident really - while Tit tried to think of something witty to scream in the bear's face when he rose up. First his ears poked over the hedge of bramble, then his eyes, but by the time he felt confident enough to sneak a glimpse of the 'bear' he knew the truth - and then he saw the wolf. 'Bears cannot talk,' he had concluded. 'Titmouse, you are no warrior. You're just an idiot.' All the same, this wolf was big, and that dense array of metallic fur was off-putting indeed.

He lunged out from his hiding place at that point and shot the stranger a hard look, scrutinizing him hastily, but was ready to bolt if his assumptions were wrong. Sure, this wasn't a bear (oh god, he was so glad it wasn't a bear this time), but he still didn't know whot he heck this was.