The half-moon is a perfect half-circle tonight, brighter than the Milky Way, which wanders across the heavens from the eastern forests down to the western horizon, where the lights of Buffalo glow an angry, ugly red.
You are a force of justice and balance. Werewolves, you know, are not balanced creatures. They are living weapons, instruments of brutal retribution, fueled by Rage. Every moment is painful for you, because every moment you are forced to think, to consider. To find the middle way between mad fury and paralyzed mystification. The struggle is endless.
But you know what to do here. You are philodox, half-moon, auspice of judgment and wisdom. You have judged the abomination below, and now you need only carry out the sentence.
The ice wind shifts and the Bane steps toward the trees, its outline breaking apart as its cloud of flies rises up. You smell the others—Clay and Scarper and Black Tarn—but they're not here yet, and the Bane might still escape into the trackless forest. But you've planned for this moment since your first conversation with the hustlers who served this Bane, and you've already taken on the ideal form…
YOU ARE READING
༺Hཽeཽiཽnཽeཽrཽ Hཽeཽlཽtཽoཽnཽ༻
WerewolfShapeshifter. Mystic. Hero. Monster. You are a werewolf, and you are all these things. Werewolves are the living earth's last guardians, created by Gaia, given the gift of shifting between human and wolf forms, and called to stop humanity from destr...
