The Otherkin Chronicles ¦ Book 1: Lycan

XI: New Moon Glory

A/N: Here's an idea: Instead of storming Area 51 tomorrow and in all likelihood getting yourself killed, why not turn yourself around, head back home, and read this lovely little chapter today? A far less deadly compound is being stormed here... 5,252 words, enjoy!

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September 15th, 1773

The next day passed slowly, the tension in the camp as taut as a twisted rope. Around noon, Fangones could no longer be understood, and all readied themselves for an attack. Yet none came, for no competent raider attacks in broad daylight. Far better to attack at dusk, dawn, or the hours in-between and take advantage of the oppressive cover and confusion of darkness.

As night fell, a messenger pounded on the camp's gate, demanding an audience with Hooklaw. He refused, saying, "I dare not open the gate, for a battalion may lie in wait behind thy back, ready to charge in. Let us hear thy message from this side, then, with thee on the other, so I may decide in relative safety whether to heed or disregard it."

"Thou art a wise Alpha, Hooklaw, for the Lycancullers do indeed wait before the gate. Perhaps thou would be so wise, then, as to consider the following: that His Majesty King George III, in his Divine-granted authority, has heard of thy plight and offers thee and all Otherkin a life of indentured servitude in exchange for cessation of the hunting of thy kind. The only other option, as traitors to the Crown, is death."

Hooklaw considered the proposal, then shook his head and had a brief cuddle-muddle on the offer before coming to the conclusion of rejecting it. No matter how one worded it, slavery was still slavery, even when sugar-coated with the words 'indentured servitude.' "Tell His Majesty that I find his proposition preposterous, for a life of slavery to ones who see us as less than human is no life, but an ever-living death. We would rather die at once than have it dragged out for the rest of our time on this Earth. Therefore I say, give me liberty or give me death!"

"By answering thus, thou hast proven thyself a fool and hast sealed thy fate. Lycancullers, fire!"

It was then that the werewolves and dragons understood that regardless of their answer, they would have suffered the same fate. For a moment, Hooklaw wondered how they were going to break the gates open with gunfire. It was only with the sound of glass shattering, followed by flames licking from the underside and catching on the doors, that the real reason why Captain Daniel Smith had brought so much alcohol with him became apparent. The dry September winds - not quite humid like August's or cold like October's - whipped up a firestorm, the dried-out grass from the August drought catching ablaze.

There was no time to waste. Immediately, the women and children were hurried to Ruby and Petraeus and flown to a safer location far from the flames, at least for now. Should the fire not be stopped, the wildfire would consume much of the forest and a few settlements before dying out from lack of fuel.

Hooklaw briefly glanced at the mound of dirt that held within it one of the last guardian spirits of the forest, praying to God it would not be harmed, then turned to the four other men who stood by his side, one trapped in the form of a wolf for what may very well be only a little while longer. Mason was missing, but that was not important at the moment. What mattered was getting to safety through the fire and flames without burning to death - and it was well-known that fire was a werewolf's weakness. Quickly examining the feathers attached to their spears that made them into fletched javelins, Hooklaw nodded to Nachthur, saying, "These bloody well better work, or we're toast!"

"Trust me," Nachthur shouted over the roars of flames and discharging rifles as they scrambled for a better position, "thou can't go wrong with a well-aimed war dart! Try not to get hit!"