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He was a well-known hunter, beloved and respected by most.
He gained enemies that weren't just those with fur during a full moon.
No sadden and trauma filled backstory fuelled him in his work, he was simply a man who hunted werewolves.
His older cousin, Sven, had taken him in as a child when his mother died from sickness and taught him the way of a hunter. Sven was a skilled and blessed hunter, he showed mercy and forgiveness to those who deserved it and even refused a few jobs after finding the bigger picture involving the werewolves packs movements.
He wanted to help people just as his older cousin did, but he also didn't want an early grave by his fellow man either like his cousin gained.
It seemed it was either them or us.
No between.
Werewolves wouldn't accept you into their pack if you smelled as a pure human and humans would see you as the enemy if you didn't see the wolves as monstrous beasts.
So, he kept to certain jobs. He only hunted packs that slaughtered towns and took over a peaceful area. He only hunted the werewolves that had lost their own humanity and broke any peace formed between their own pack and the humans who lived close by.
He'd keep an ear to the wind to hear it pass over rumours over humans being to blame for certain packs sudden change in behaviour and knowing to skip round any hunters' jobs in those areas.
Most werewolves, in packs or lone wolfs had learnt to live among humans and to live peacefully near them. Choosing to hunt wild animals or simply race in open space without doing any harm. Some would choose to protect their home from other packs that try wiggling in.
Man feared what he could not understand.
It wasn't always the beast that stood as the monster in life anymore.
That's how he ended up in the tiny village known as the Atlas.
It was placed at the top of a mountain filled with woods, wildlife and mother nature. A full day travel in getting to the top of the mountain from the bottom. An old muddy path left clear for travellers and villain folk to travel up and down with.
The village was once known for adoring and worshiping werewolves, seeing them as their village guardian.
The folk story speaks over a wondering werewolf, a child, reaching the top of the mountain and being taken in by a kind family. A family who never once feared him and taught them to live a life as a human not as a wolf. The child grew into an adult, protecting its home from criminals and danger's all those years. The werewolf had fallen in love, fallen hard and deeply for their mate and made the whole mountain it's turf alone.
But in the end its mate had died and left them all alone once more in life.
The wolf taking over the person, it's inner animal longing and frantic over it's lost mate. Every full moon it'd call out and hunt the foods in hopes to find them once more and bring them home, to have them stay with them again.
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Sir and Lady Oneshots
FanfictionAnother Voltron oneshot book. I'm running out of names for them by this point and I can't be bothered to link them up either.
