Nature's Vengeance

A walk in the woods(Prologue)

Snow whips against your thick bear skin coat. It swarms around, pelting your arms and legs as it struggles to consume you. The snow looks to find purchase in the seams and cracks of your wardrobe. You bring your fur gloved hands to your chest and clench them around the collar. You are warm. The snow can't stop you...though  as it might to hide what you're looking for...your prey.

You examine the ground. If there had been any signs of movement the snow has devoured it. You look to the trees. The light gray bark is smooth, ashy, and flecked with small tufts of black fur. 

There.

Your hand drops  to your side. You flex it, attempting to grasp the silver dagger that is always at your side. You feel a pinch. You bring your palm to view. There's a tinge of blood...and something else...fur. You hand is covered in that same black fur that is stuck to the trees. Blood, fur and...yes...at the end of each finger tip is long jet black claw. You jump back. As you land you catch a glimpse of the ground on which you had been standing. There in the snow are heavy dark paw prints quickly being filled by the snow. Realization begins to dawn on you. It's not a bear skin coat your wearing. Those aren't gloves on your hands, and those tufts of fur on the trees...are yours. 

For the first time you realize the absence of color. There is nothing but gray...light gray...dark gray...but still gray. A cloud of light gray  floats into the air as you exhale. It quickly dissipates. You breath in. A wave hits you. You stumble. The trees...they're pine...they're...old. The earth...it's filled with life. Deep beneath the dirt you smell the roots of the ancient pines. At their tips...moles...families of them. 

They're close. 

No? You take another breath. They're...there. 

Your eyes dart to a tree. It sits atop a hill over a hundred yards away. You exhale. The mist forms but doesn't dissipate. It moves. It cuts through the air and clings to the tree, hovering like a ghost.  A rumble stirs in your chest. You take  a step toward the tree. You take another step and another. The rumble grows. You break into a sprint. First with your legs. Left, right, left, right. Then you fall. Your hands...your claws sink into the ground as you fall. You grip the earth. Before your next foot hits the ground your hands fling you forward. You do it again, and again. Soon your bounding towards the ghostly mist on all fours. The rumble in your chest grows with every leap until it storms. You reach the ghostly mist. You reach the tree whose roots are home to the family of moles. The storm erupts. Your head rises, your muzzle to the sky, and howl. The howl cuts through the wind; commands its silence. The wind obeys. 

The ghostly mist disappears as quiet  falls upon the forest. Then another storm erupts. Not within your chest, though your heart quickens as you hear it. Another howl, longer, deeper, and fuller thunders through the night. You turn towards its source. In the distance you spot a silhouette. A hulking shadow of a thing. It stands upright. At full height it must be nearly eight feet tall. At its finger tips you spy claws much like your own. At its head, ears point straight into the sky. It is dark. Yet in the darkness smell the unmistakable scent of blood...your blood, dripping from the monster's glistening fangs. 

You begin to growl, offering a challenge. But the beast is suddenly gone. You can still smell it but its fading fast. Within seconds there is no trace of it. No trace of the monster with your blood on its fangs. No trace of the were wolf that bit you.