Wolves and Men

He was shirtless and his small, but athletic frame was not spared the paint of the waning sun. The sun is always the most brilliant when it is about to dip under the horizon of the world. Especially here, where the tree covered hills rolled into each other, creating a deep, rich valley which contained a river that flowed into the vast ocean. The red of the sky dipped and bled into the ocean turning it bright amber. The river was turned into pure mercury as it slid through the land, eager to rejoin its place in the endless ocean, denying the boundaries of land.

He was wearing only jean shorts, no shirt, and no shoes. His deep blue-green eyes defied the power of the sun as he watched it get drawn into the water. Let the sun have his reign over the day. His mother would soon take her place in the cool vastness of her realm, night.

He closed his eyes and let the burned image on his retinas fade from the back of his eyelids. He opened his eyes to see that the ocean had won the battle, but the sun’s light was still thrown out across the sky, portending his return tomorrow.

The reds of the sky were bleeding away into the water as the deep blue-black curtain of night continued to exert its dominance over the sky. As he was looking out over the ocean, he felt the cool silver orb begin to rise over his hills. He almost forgot himself with the elation that leapt forward in his heart. He spun around and kneeled before her great beauty. Just as he had watched the old man sink into the ocean so too, with even more rapture and joy, he watched his majestic, lunar mother rise above his valley.

He watched as her generous, voluptuous shape rose, forming her perfect curvature. She grew fuller by the second; his eyes were wide and wanting. Her shape continued to fill out till it reached the zenith of her breast and then the curvature dissipated in no less beautiful a fashion.

The stars were beginning to come out of hiding from the old tyrant to be soothed by their mother, and they too looked at, and through him. They believed that they were the pride of the mother’s flock, he stifled a smile. The mother blessed those who she would, neither vanity nor pride played any part in that.

It always started this way.

The white hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his muscles flexed involuntarily. He could feel his blood begin to warm and the wind was of no comfort. His skin began to turn red as his blood heated and tried to escape. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he tried to conquer the itch under his skin that would soon turn to pain. He felt a fire erupt in his belly and he arched his back as his neck and head shot forward. He barely kept from tipping over, balancing on his forearm. His eyes popped, threatening to fly from their sockets and his jaw tightened. His back arched like a cat and his leg shot out from underneath him as he fell on his side. His mid-section, wracked with convulsions twisted and exploded outward, ripping his shorts clean in half. He barely noticed the loss as his, now naked, body thrashed on his rock.

His whole body roiled, and his blood was boiling, he could feel it. He gasped and shook as snot flew from his nose and saliva sputtered from his cracked mouth. Guttural inhuman sounds escaped him, and he knew that the forest animals were startled by the sudden disturbances. His legs kicked out and he thrashed on the ground. The rock scraped and dug into his body and that pain was a relief to what was happening to him just beneath the surface. His body hair was being forced out of their follicles as it grew longer. It began to thicken and cover the whole of his body in deep tan fur. His nose elongated and his jaw was removed from its proper place.

With his still human eyes he was able to look up and see his mother. She was beautiful. He could almost see her smiling at him but another convulsion shook his head down and around. He closed his eyes. He felt them being changed to be sharper, more focused than anything any human has ever known. His arms and legs broadened, and muscles erupted out from his skeletal structure. His ears grew up from his head, forming a sort of twin peeked crown that marked him for everyone to know. His teeth grew and sharpened as his snout elongated to accommodate them. He felt his nails get pushed out from their places. They grew, hardened, and sharpened into curved blades. Sharp enough to render flesh from underneath the thickest of hides and strong enough to support his weight from the slickest of trees. He could feel his human tailbone elongate and shift upward, coating itself in the thick tan fur that now covered most of his body; his torso from the waist up was always left relatively bare.

He let out that which he could longer stifle, a howl of pain that shook the birds from their places in the trees. His body gave one last convulsion, he breathed one last gasp, and all was still and silent.

The first thing he noticed was hunger, he was always hungry.

It burned and clenched his stomach muscles. He needed to eat. Through the darkness he could smell them. Deer. He felt his saliva build up and drip from his open mouth. His eyes shot open, and he threw himself up from his rock. He looked upward and saw his beautiful mother. He bowed down low to her in gratitude and reverence, and he allowed his body to stretch to its full length as he let out a shrieking blood thirsty howl of challenge.

The wolves of his valley never responded, and he expected no challengers. He was steward of this place, his home, given to him to be held in trust by both the old man and his mother. He let the howl die from his wet lips and he launched himself from his place on his rock. As he landed, he stretched out and began to tear through the wooded underbrush on his new frame using all four of his limbs. It was possible for him to run upright but why give up the exhilaration of using his full speed whipping past trees and bushes coming ever closer to his prey.

He pressed his body lower to the ground and forced himself to move faster. He could see everything as he ran through his forest. Even at the speed at which he now traveled he could pick out individual vein lines in the fern leaves as he rushed past, leaving nothing but wind and a faint smell that other prey knew to avoid. He knew he was leaving signs behind. No trace a normal person could detect, but it wasn’t people that he had to worry about. His hands and feet were now the paws of the beast that his mother had blessed him as. The prints that were left in the soil could be traced by those living in his forest, but even that cognizant thought did nothing to slow his rush to his prey.

He could smell them, there were two of them.