It wasn’t until a wolf attacked the campsite that the senior leader surprised everyone.

The kids screamed as the heavily scarred wolf snarled, and went running in every direction as I tried to stop them.

Then the senior leader, who had been quietly sewing up a rip in a jacket until now, stood.

“Children. Behind camp leader greg, please.”

I backed up as the wolf licked its jowls, and felt little hands clutch at my jacket and pants. I did a mental headcount and one was missing.

“Billy isn’t here.” I squeaked, feeling panic start to clutch at my chest.

I expected the senior scout leader to pull out some spray, or somehow lead us away from the danger.

I didn’t expect the axe that she pulled from her handbag.

It was to big to fit in there, let alone be wielded by an eighty-year-old woman.

The wolf thought the same, though apprehensive at first as she stood squarely between us and it.

I backed up some more, somehow crowding the kids into the larger tent that we used for meals. It wouldn’t protect them once the wolf would rip up the senior scout leader, but they hid under the big table.

I wanted to join them, but Billy was missing. I stood in front of the tent’s opening, eyes peeled for a terrified kid.

The old camp leader was being circled by the wolf, and the enormous axe was trembling.

I couldn’t summon the bravery to help and only watched as the wolf suddenly pounced.

I thought she dropped the axe and fell, but now I see that she had cut the beast in half.

It was whole and on her chest, and then two meaty halves were on either side as she struggled to get up.

I instinctively went over and gave her my hand.

Gently she rose to her feet, wiping blood from her face with a handkerchief.

Then she bent and plunged her hands into the corpse.

I think I threw up, and some of the kids that watched from the plastic windows screamed.

When I looked again, she was pulling something out - no, someone.

Billy looked terrible, pale and covered in goo. He didn’t say a word as the senior scout leader dragged him to his feet.

I was lost for words.

“What? How?” Is all I could say, as the pensioner looked the child over.

Then she smiled and absentmindedly stroked her red scarflette. “I used to have a different name as a child, and never forgot what I was taught.”

Then she turned suddenly hard eyes at poor Billy.

“That is why we stick to the path.” She scolded.