Curse of Ferreus

6 - Wild Dog Problem

Just fucking wonderful.

I stare down at the crumpled body with vague distaste tugging at my features. He gazes absently up at me, his lips parted, his plea gone silent. Claw marks have ripped their way along his skin.

The Othala tearing into his chest speaks of strength and unity, of home and ownership. In other words, it seems as though there's not one werewolf pack laying its claim on these streets, but two, and they're having a disagreement over land.

The symbol, in short, dull, werewolf terms, means see what happens when you trespass on our land.

It's barbaric. At least mine had some genuine reason behind it— even if it was done in blind rage.

Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war.

That's loads more poetic and symbolic, turning the morals of the Ferreus Clan against them. Werewolves really have no class.

With a sniff of disgust, I turn my back on the man and retreat to my car, checking for witnesses all the way.

As I walk, I hear vague noises of distress and a distant siren screeching. More distant still, however, is the morbid symphony of a pack of howling wolves. Their melody sweeps through the swaying pine trees, carrying long and low across the valley and bouncing off the mountains blotting the horizon.

A shiver slides down my back as my nerves shred into razor-edged streaks of lightning in my veins. Back with my family, a noise like that would signify a looming fight. A bad one, too, because it means the wolves are already rallying.

For the first time since running and leaving all I have ever known behind, a desperate part of me longs to have my family at my back, ready and eager to deal with the threat. It rises like a flame in me— the urge for numbers.

At once, I'm stamping on those flames until nothing but smouldering ashes remain.

I don't need them. I'll never need them again.

Yes, two werewolf packs are worse than one. And yes, Ferreus hunters rely on one another to keep any wolves sneaking up on us and catching us off-guard. And yes, I am entirely on my own.

But I want this. I want my solitude, and I want to find some semblance of peace here, and if that means tackling this feud and burning all the wolves to the ground to achieve it, that is what I will do.

It would be easier to run. To get in my stolen car and drive until I find a new place without werewolves and so far away that my family give me up as a lost cause. And yet, even as those thoughts surface, even as I get into my car and grasp the wheel, I can't quite bring myself to leave.

It's in my nature, after all, to fight werewolves. It's all I've ever known.

So much for leaving the killing behind me.

Perhaps, I muse absently as I melt against the seat and gaze out at the woods for lurking shadows, this will be my final battle. My last stand.

This freedom of mine has been hard-won, and I will not let a dead body and a few echoing howls drive me away. I'll fight both packs on my own to prove to myself and the Ferreus Clan that I don't need them anymore.

I'll do just fine on my own.

And once the deed is done, once the streets of Crescent Valley are free from the torment of werewolves leaving bodies in alleys and letting their howls break the night sky, I can put aside my silver knives and call this place home.

Two rival werewolf packs are a beacon to this peaceful town— and one I must snuff out as quickly as possible to avoid anyone from my family wandering over to check the place out.