The Blood Moon

Enroute

I thought to look around, to scream out for help, but I recalled the vast emptiness of the fields surrounding me and the collective migration of the town's inhabitants in the complete opposite direction of where I was heading.

Not that it mattered. Even if I believed someone, somewhere, might hear me and come to my rescue, the vicious red tint of the wolf's eyes held me fast in its sights and the sheer shock of fear tightened all my muscles beyond use. I struggled just to breath, much less scream.

The distance between us closed in a matter of seconds, the long lean body of the canine monster covering the gap with only a few bounds. It's jaws parted to reveal the length of its fangs and I wondered if I was about to lose my head because I was just at the wrong place and at the wrong time during the Blood Moon, or if this was somehow personal. I honestly didn't know which I would prefer when it came to my death.

Death, however, has always teased me with its presence, and that day was no different.

A large wolf with fur of gold and brown, rammed into the side of the smaller wolf that had been only a couple feet from snatching me between its teeth. With my would-be killer now on the ground, my savior wolf stood over them, leering down as a snarl curled its lips. The small wolf whimpered and curled its paws tight upon its chest.

With them in a holding pattern of whines, growls, and stares, my body had a chance to ease and unwind. With the release of panic's hold on my muscles, my limbs trembled with exhaustion. This seemed like a common occurrence in Whisper Valley, at least for me, so I found myself developing my own brand of decompression tactics. First, I centered my breathing, slowly inhaling, holding, and then exhaling. Then, I squeezed the residual tension through my fists by clenching and unclenching my fingers in a steady rhythm. Finally, I assessed my surroundings, taking note of my exits and planning my next steps.

In this case, I found that the wolves before me were not ones I immediately recognized. Admittedly, my experience with Everett's pack was limited to a frenzied attack at night in the woods, which gave me little insight to how they all looked. However, something still told me these wolves weren't Everett's. Perhaps the most telling detail was the fact that Everett wasn't here himself. Even in his wolf form, I could spot him in a second and neither of these wolves bore the dark auburn fur that his wolf had. They also had a unique component I hadn't seen on Everett's wolves. These two wore something like a cape around their necks. It was hard to tell given the amount of fur that blockaded the accessory from view, but it appeared to be a finely made cape of animal hide.

My attention came back to the state of the two wolves when the gold one snapped its jaws. The smaller wolf let out one last whimper and then my savior stepped aside so the assailant could get up and run out towards the woods with its tail tucked between its legs. I waited for the gold wolf to follow, but instead, it turned its large head in my direction. Its soft brown eyes watched me for a moment before its skin rippled with the cracking of bones and twisting of muscles. Fur began to recede and the wolf's lips curled against the pain of its transformation.