Instinct of the Wild

delirium

When I woke next I could feel the puddle of my urine beneath me, stinking up the room with its putrid stench. I must've urinated in my sleep, to shocked to process the fullness of my bladder.

I shuddered and crawled away from the puddle, to a corner of the room. The floor scraped my knees more, pulling at the scabs that had sewn over the previous wounds. But the pain was numbed by the recentness of my waking and the shock of laying in my own urine.

I whimpered and tried to peel the slip I was still wearing from the ceremony over my shoulders. The pristine white had been stained like a canvas; splattered with red and soaked with yellow, scuffs of dirt and grime streaking certain areas.

Naked except for the previously white cotton underwear I had been wearing, I was almost to ashamed to take it off. Alas, I had already pissed myself, there was not much lower I could succumb. So I peeled the white panties off, flinging them into the pile with my dress.

Goosebumps pickled my flesh and my nipples hardened painfully from the cold. Not that the slip was much protection, but it helped against the cool turn the air had taken.

With a grunt I forced myself to shed my human skin and turn into a beast-- a beast quipped with layers of fur.

The shift did not come easily, and I found myself sweating and cramping up as my skin slowly started to peel and stretch as my hair fell to the ground in tufts. I growled, low and painful, and forced myself to complete the change.

Once over, I proceeded to gulp up the remains of my change before it totally decomposed. I never fully understood why the remains of our shift decayed so quickly, but I assume it provided the least amount of questions should humans stumble upon the remains and start asking questions. Some wolves chose to eat the remains, as they provided some nutrition, but I had only done it a handfull of times.

Now, when my body was weak and shaky, I could use all the nutrition I could get.

The stench of urine was even stronger in this form, and I could smell it clinging to me even after the change. So I set to work cleaning myself, tonguing my furs to rid myself of the smell.

After a thorough cleaning I was once again exhausted and curled myself into a ball in the corner, giving my mind time to contemplate what had happened in the past hand full of hours.

The brutality of the ceremony, the Alphas, the capture, and the murder.

I whined, deep and sorrowful, until it progressed into a mournful howl. I howled for Ireland, who'd grow up without a mother nor a father. I howled for his mother, who had shown me kindness despite my rudeness. And I howled for myself, mostly in pity, but also in remorse. Remorse for what I had caused.

No one would join in my howl, but I would feel uncomfortable had anyone done so. This was a private howl, not intended for anyone living to hear. I prayed to the pagan gods, the ones the elders believed in, praying for them to initiate them into the afterlife.

When the howl ended I felt drained, as if somehow some of my spirit had left with it. Curling into myself again, I shut my eyes, hoping sleep would not be haunted by ocean eyes.

.

I woke with a grunt, the sound of a creaky door being opened alerted me to the end of my solitude. I stood, shaking out my tingly muscles and focused my gaze on the door.