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Ever do anything about to werewolves? For something a tad unique I'm thinking from the perspective of a hunter hearing stories of a huge upright beast eating livestock, before going to look for her.

Prologue

Dear Mother & Father,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have been well in Terrisburg. My apprenticeship with master blacksmith Mandrei has been informative, though more rigorous than I had thought. At Mandrei’s behest, I will be returning home to exchange materials with Mister Hannerhoff at the depot. He will be acquiring my first piece to be sold: a war-hammer! I truly hope he finds no use for it personally. In two weeks’ time, I will be departing with a shipment of specialty ingots for delivery back to Mandrei’s workshop. I look forward to seeing the home again. Is it true that the Tillerman farm was attacked by a wolf pack? My friends have told me that the farm lost a half dozen cows over a night! If that is the case, I hope you are keeping father’s rifle handy during the late hours. I hope the deer haven’t been scared away, or worse, eaten! The daydreams of hunting with father and Joshua have been keeping me company during the hottest hours of my days at the forge.

Yours, Mitri

Part I

Dmitri, or as he preferred, “Mitri”, son of Isiah and Anne Foster, sat in the dusty cart. Beside him was his sack of belongings, in his hands, an intricately engraved war-hammer: the first craft his master had allowed him to sell under his own name. Terrisberg was roughly two days, weather permitting, from New Grenhelm. Until the blacksmith had accepted Mitri as his apprentice, he had never been outside of the town. His family still lived on their farm. When times were good, they handled a handful of cows, and some poultry. When times were not, the land was tilled and whatever they could grow would have to do. Times had not always been good, but lately they were able to keep a full herd of cattle. Thanking the carter for the ride, he handed over a silver coin and dismounted. It was pleasant to walk through town again after so long in an entirely different world to him. He could smell the air again, no smoke from the forges or factories. It, however, was not as quiet as he remembered it. There was a buzz of bustle towards the square at the center of town. Shouting could be heard, even on the outer roads. He would not be in town long enough to join in this year’s town council election… but that was in the Fall? What could cause such a commotion now? He turned down the main road, his curiosity piqued. At the center of the square, a gruff old man stood shouting on top of a crate. “I’VE SEEN IT, I TELL YOU!” he wailed at the crowd. Another voice rang out, “You’ve seen nothing for the last seventeen years, Harold! You can’t even tell your granddaughter from your wife!” “I COULD SEE IT CLEAR AS CRYSTAL DAY IN THE MOONLIGHT! THE BEAST CARRYING THE LAST TILLERMAN COW IN ONE ARM, AND THE FIRST TWO OF THE FOSTER’S IN THE OTHER! THE BEAST THAT KILLED ISIAH!” Mitri dropped his sack. “Harold, that’s enough!” A well-dressed gentleman shoved his way to the makeshift stage. “You know damned well that Isiah is not dead. Doctor Mansfield is still tending to him. Why would he be at the bedside of a corpse? I’ve talked with the council and we’ll be sending for the governor if the attacks continue. For now, it’s been two bad nights. There is no need for a mob now, and there will not BE a need. Now PLEASE, Harold, come down from there before you fall off and hurt yourself.” “WHO’S GOING TO KEEP IT FROM DEVOURING THE ENTIRE TOWN?” “It’s taken some cattle and some fowl. Last I heard, Isiah was the only one to have laid eyes on whatever it is… other than you, Harold.” “YOU SAY WE SHOULD LET IT TAKE OUR STOCK? WHAT ABOUT OUR YOUNG? YOU’RE IN LEAGUE WITH IT, I KNOW IT LUKE!” “Don’t be idiotic, Harold. It’s no different from any other growing season. Every year we tell you to keep your powder ready and your lead handy during the night. It’s been good advice since we founded this town, and it’s good advice today.” “THERE’S NO LEAD IN THIS TOWN THAT CAN STOP THAT CREATURE! WE HAVE TO HAVE SILVER!” “I’m sure Mister Hannerhoff will be happy to bring you silver scrap next time he has a chance to go off to Terrisburg. Or you could ride out yourself!” Harold looked around, and started fumbling off the crate. Luke helped Harold down. “Good, good, Harold. Go pack yourself up. I’m sure the silver will help.”

Mitri stood aghast. The man arguing with Harold caught a glimpse of Mitri. With haste, he made his way to the shocked young man. “I’m sorry you had to find out about this from the old man, Mitri. He’s been crying doom for the last month. Are you headed home?” Mitri nodded silently. “Would you mind if I joined you? I was on my way there when Harold started up.” “Sure, Mister Rellay.” The pair walked in silence. Luke Rellay, a councilman for nine years, was a friend of the Foster family. Luke chuckled. “I don’t remember when people started calling me ‘mister.’ It’s a strange thing, age is. To tell you the truth, Mitri, I’m not much of a fan. Of aging... or ‘mister’, for that matter. Anyhow, you’re old enough. I’d like it if you called me Luke.” Mitri looked at Luke again, and nodded. “Listen, I’m sure Doctor Mansfield will patch your father up right as rain.” Mitri kept his eyes low on the brick road. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

The Foster home was near the end of the only brick road in the village. It was a quaint single-story, mostly of brick. Around the back were the fields and the small barn that housed whatever livestock they were keeping this season, and beyond that were the thick woods. Mitri knocked on the door. His mother answered. Her red eyes made it clear that she had been crying for some time. Without a word, she took Mitri in her arms, holding back what would likely have been another outpouring of tears. “Anne…” Luke said. “Luke, he’s not doing well.” “What’s the doctor said?” A shorter man in conservative dress appeared beside Anne in the doorway. “I’ve said he’s in a deep stupor. A coma, I believe. I have to consult some writings on incidents of this nature, but as a fact, I don’t know when he’ll come around.” He turned to Anne. “I’m sorry, Miss Foster. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on him. If anything changes, send for me immediately.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Anne said quietly. Luke shook Doctor Mansfield’s hand and gave him a solemn nod. “Come in, you two,” Anne beckoned. “Mitri, put your bag upstairs. Joshua is out at market fetching herbs. I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you.”

Part II

“I don’t know what happened. I… was… I heard the crack of his rifle… and he screamed at something, so I came out, but he yelled at me to stay. I took Joshua to the cellar and hid. Isiah screamed and shot more, there was a terrible growl or a howl, and then… so much noise. I heard sounds from the cows that I never want to hear again from any living creature.” Luke looked on pensively, clasping her hands as she recounted the event. Ever so slightly, she shook. “You could feel the ground shake as it tramped away. When it finally receded, I went to Isiah. He was… His body… oh, Luke, it was terrible!” she sobbed. “I sat by him for what seemed like hours.” Tears dripped down Anne’s slim, tired face. “Joshua fetched the Doctor. They both stayed by Isiah all night. Please, you have to do something. The monster – it will come back. It will kill Isiah, I know it, I can feel it in my bones.” “Anne, there’s no way to know if it will come back. Even if it does, no beasts I know of ever seek vengeance. Stay with Isiah, nurse him as the doctor has told you. I’ll have guards from the militia here by nightfall. I can station one here if you’d like.” “Thank you, Luke.” The councilman got up to leave. Anne showed him to the door. “Luke… be careful,” she pleaded. “The same to you, Anne.”

Mitri sat in the room next to his father. The rifle was mounted above the doorway, like always. He hadn’t seen it off its hooks since his father brought it home. When he bought it, it was pristine, and his father liked to keep it that way. It was his favorite. That rifle was as close to sacred as the Foster family knew. In some ways, Mitri was impressed it had even worked at all. For so many years it was his father’s decoration, not even to be used during the deer season. Now, something was different about it, a scratch that shouldn’t have been there, or a new dent, or dirt on the butt; he couldn’t quite tell. It looked older now. As he stared at the rifle, he felt fury. His father may not have been a rich man, but he was a great man. He deserved more than to lie and rot, unconscious. Joshua returned, delivering the assorted plants and herbs to the dinner table. He went to his father’s room, only to find Mitri occupying the singular seat. “I didn’t know you were coming home,” Joshua noted solemnly. “I had some wares to trade with the shopkeep,” Mitri paused. “Joshua, what was it like?” “She was terrifying.” “She?” “The beast.” “You saw it?” Mitri asked emphatically. “I wish I hadn’t.” “Why do you call it ‘she’?” “Something about the way it moved. Something about its form. When it stood up on its hind legs, the shadow it cast was womanly. It had to be as tall as I was when it was on its paws… and it moved so fast. She bounded over the fence, and I saw her silhouette against the moon. If she had wanted to, she could have leapt over the barn. I’ll not deny it, it was something to see. Have you ever seen something take two cows and a bull? She carried the cows under her arm like groceries from the market. When father started to shoot, I hid with mother. That was the last I saw.” Joshua stood on the other side of his father’s bed. He kept his hand on his father’s bandaged arm. With a huff, Mitri rose from the seat and slung his pack over his shoulder. “Tell mother I’m going to find it.” “How? And what if you find it?” Mitri, war-hammer in hand, removed the gun from its hooks. “I’ll kill it.”

Part III

Mitri walked out the back of the modest house, past his stunned sibling. Even in the waning light, it was no difficult task to see where the beast has been. The paw prints of a enormous wolf danced around the soil, almost up to the house, to the barn, finally leading to a break in the wooden fence. The pillars and boards that had been supporting that section of fence had been flung dozens of yards from their previously-sturdy home, in the direction of the woods around the Foster farm. The trail lead to the forest’s edge, arriving at a cluster of trees bent and broken. As Mitri got deeper, the destruction became less obvious, merging with the naturally felled trees and patterns in the soil. And so he started, tree by toppled tree, trying to scope a path the behemoth could have used to arrive at the farm. He backtracked what felt like hundreds of times. On a few occasions, he came across what could almost have been described as dens – circles of trees piled up to make a sort of short wall, usually with some sort of foliage near the middle. On more than one occasion, he found bones within the log ring. The owls called out. It was a clear night, the waxing moon bright overhead. He adopted one of these constructions as his camp for the night. The ground was already flattened out, there was enough wood for a fire, and some left over to pitch a tent. The fire came first. He was happy to have snagged some wild blackberries when the light was still good. It wasn’t the home-cooked meal he had hoped for on his first night home, but there was nothing to be done about that; he didn’t have anything to make stew from yet. If he was lucky, tomorrow morning he’d catch a squirrel or a rabbit, and he’d cook something then. The canvas tent was easy enough to set up, but even by the warm fire, he couldn’t rest. He felt uneasy. The bones were across the fire pit from him, staring through him with their empty eyes. Every shuffle, every crack, every rustle he made echoed through the woods, sounding like he was surrounded on all sides by beings. On a rare occasion, the woods would make noise without his prompting, the pops and hisses of the fire ricocheting back to him. The light of the nearly-full moon overhead changed the glow of the fire. The light seemed to chill him to his soul, annulling any warmth from the flames.

As his consciousness finally left him, driving him off to sleep, a branch snapped.

Part IV

As he did often, Mitri rose with the sun. True to his hope, one rabbit was unlucky enough to join him for breakfast. Freed from the eerie light of the moon, the woods took on a different tone. The trees no longer towered ominously over him, hiding evil behind their trunks and in their branches. Now, songbirds flitted from oak to pine. His eagerness revitalized and fear drained away, he set off on the tracks again. On his way from his camp, he stopped to enjoy the scene. The rays from the sun cast everything in such a pleasantly different light. He stumbled around the forest for hours, until the sun was at its peak. He found a handful of these log circles. Their very construction was disquieting to him. No beast should be able to fell those trees on its own, but every one had very clearly been broken down by some overwhelming force. Not one of them had a clean cut as if by a blade, all of them splintered. Some of them had to be half a century old, based on their girth. Some of the larger ones seemed to have been dragged from elsewhere, but many had no dirt path. As far as Mitri could tell, they had been dropped there. He struggled to imagine how many men it would have taken to move all those logs, and that these dens had been made by one creature dug a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t shake. As he wandered, he tried to rationalize it. Perhaps there was more than one? Each den could have belonged to a different creature. Or maybe the creature he was hunting had nothing to do with the log circles at all. He didn’t believe it. In the back of his mind, he knew the dens all had tracks to and from them. The trails took him deeper in to the wilds, far in to the hills. The tracks were getting denser here, and the dens more plentiful. In the late afternoon, he found something new: one of the dens had something more to it. There were signs of living there. A campfire had been built and put out. There was shredded cloth and debris strewn about it, even the faint musk of tobacco. There were footprints on a human scale, though not exclusively. This den had more tracks going around it, lurking. Mitri resented looking around the trees, fully expecting to find more than just food scraps. He inspected half of the area around the camp before his senses returned to him, and he left, leaving any gruesome evidence alone in the other half. Onward, he marched along what seemed like the monster’s path. In the thick, it was much harder to positively detect signs of the beast. Trees fell normally, without needing any help. Some divots and impressions occurred naturally in the dirt. Leaves masked prints, and rainwater pooled inside them, distracting from their true nature. It was by no means an exact science, tracking this—or these—things. The forest grew denser as he went deeper, trees which could supply firewood for his family’s home in winter gave way for trees that could supply the entire small town. On occasion, he would come across another suspicious puddle, or freshly snapped trunk. More than once, he was nearly convinced there were more trails intersecting with his present quarry. His skepticism was soon cast aside.

He found himself staring down a gaping hole in an outcrop of rock, and beneath him, a fresh trail of crimson droplets.

Mitri had experienced fear before, but never before was he truly frozen in place by it. Even his breath was shallow and measured, despite the throbbing panic in his chest. As quickly as he discovered it, he turned and ran. He dodged the trees and vines and branches and gullies as he came across them, running with stamina and agility he’d never known in himself. No longer needing to inspect his surroundings, he doubled back on the ground he covered before the sun started to set. Back at his camp, he grabbed the rifle and the war-hammer and slung himself against a thick tree. Again, he sat, eyes darting from noise to innocent noise as the forest went about its business around him. His hands shook as he clasped the weaponry. Time passed. Eventually his panic abated, and he let himself move from the uncomfortable position against the tree. Given the all-clear, his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He looked for the other bits of rabbit he had cooked, but he found none where he’d left it. Blaming a fox or bird, he cursed his luck. He sat on the cloth he’d laid out as a bed, snacking on another handful of blackberries. A massive indentation in the dirt. He nearly choked as he spotted it, pointing toward the pikes he’d fashioned to keep the rabbit meat. Having enjoyed only a few moments of rest since his previous terror, he shot up, spotting fresh tracks. He blinked from print to print, coming to a distant bush he hadn’t fully registered earlier. The morning light had not been playing tricks on him; it was different from the night prior. It, like the foliage in the middle of each of the log rings, had been nearly flattened. He remembered watching fireflies dancing in its branches before he slept.

Hastily, he packed his tent and provisions and scouted for a new camp in the dying light.

Part V

This night, Mitri did not sleep. For the entire night, even the slightest noise drew his attention, and the aim of his father’s rifle. After day broke, he marched straight for the chasm he’d discovered the day prior. Though he eventually slung the rifle across his back, his hammer never left his hand. In the early morning, the sun even shined inside the cave for a few yards. He plucked a sizable stick from a nearby tree and ignited it. With his torch ablaze, he entered the tunnel. To his dismay, the trail of blood ended almost immediately, having become too mixed with the thick mud on the cave floor to be of any use. The cave ran some ways back, twisting and turning before forking in to two evenly-sized branches. Picking at random, he proceeded down the leftmost path, only to find a spacious but otherwise empty cavern. The fear crept back up Mitri’s spine. He had eliminated the apparently safe option. It now stood to reason that whatever lived in these caves must surely wait in the other path. With the realization of his impending encounter in full force, he chose instead to wait. He perched himself one of the variously-sized rocks lining the wall of the cavern. If Mitri had been a religious man, he would have been praying now. Instead, he watched the shadows cast by his torch dance across the cave walls. He felt the radiant warmth on his face. Gradually, he became annoyed at himself for delaying. The annoyance gave way to anger. His mind went back to his father, motionless in his bed. The anger evolved to disgust. He was no coward, and he would not back down. With his nerves freshly steeled, he hopped off the rock and returned to the fork. The right path was steeper, leading down in to the earth. Despite his careful footing, he slipped and fell down twice on his descent. At the end was a murky pond. There was, as far as he could tell, absolutely nothing down this end either. Relief warmed him like the licks of flame from his torch. The ascent was more difficult, but he no longer had to contend with the weight of his apprehension. He backtracked to the fork, round corner after corner. Finally catching the diffuse glow of nearby sunlight, he approached the last bend.

Just as the distant sun went out, and the ground started to shake.

Part VI

Mitri froze in his tracks. He had never before felt the reverberations of rock under boots. Impulsively, he ducked in to a nook in the cave wall. The trembling grew closer. In the odd soundscape of the cave, he could hear a deep panting, and it was getting closer with each tremor of the earth. The panting hastened, to a quick sniffing, and a bone-shaking growl. With a jolt, he shoved his torch in the thick cave mud, instantly dousing it. In total darkness, he waited for the titanic beast to either discover him, or pass by. He grabs some mud and coats himself in it, trying to mask his scent. He doubts it’ll be effective, but not doing it seemed an even worse alternative. He could feel the guttural growls in his gut as the monster drew closer. He was barely able to stifle a scream, but he kept quiet. An agonizing half-minute passed as the beast hovered around his hiding spot… before passing over him and investigating another area. Unable to control himself any further, Mitri hastily flung himself around the corner and dashed out of the cave like a bat out of hell. If he had been still, he would have felt the ground beneath his feet rumbling incessantly as the demon pursued him. Instead, his sprint carried him to the ring of trees around the cave’s mouth.

That was as far as he got. A weight like a thousand anvils rushed in to him from behind, crushing him against the largest tree in the ring.

Snarling wild teeth. The monster’s body covered in fur as black as night. It panted in his face with a grimace conveying absolute hatred. The absolute stature of the beast surpassed any being he’d ever seen; not even the largest bear could compete with the behemoth. The humongous bulk of the half-canine colossus eclipsed his vision. Even through the dense fur, he could only see rolling hills of sinew. The arm that held him to the tree was thicker than the wheels of the cart he rode in to town on. His wits betrayed him, leaving him shaking as the beast gazed in to his eyes. The beast’s torso bewrayed its female nature, with massive breasts hanging off the equally-large muscles of her chest. The muscles of its neck, chest, back, and shoulder framed the growling visage of the beast almost too tightly, some pressing against her face. His right arm being totally captured between the beast’s paw and the tree, he reached behind him with the minimal remaining mobility of his left hand. Various pains and aches shot through his body as he tried to move. Slowly, he grabbed the butt of his father’s rifle, already loaded and ready to fire. With a jerk, he freed it from the pack, aimed at the monster’s chest, and… Before he could squeeze the trigger, an immense paw grabbed the barrel of the gun, bending it like clay. The beast ripped the gun from him, continuing to mutilate the crafted metal and wood of the firearm. After the gun was sufficiently destroyed, it fell to the ground, no longer of interest to either party. The beast panted as it stared at Mitri, entirely helpless against the centuries-old trunk. He felt something on his right arm. A drip from his fingers, a damp slickness between them. Despite the primal instinct to keep his eyes on the overgrown predator, he looked down at his hand. Deep red blood dripped from his fingers, running down from where a razorlike claw had pierced his shoulder. The life drained from Mitri like the blood trickling from his wound.

And then there was darkness.

Part VII

Mitri was...? For the moment, that's all he could determine. The darkness was still all-encompassing, but he felt his body. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. He didn't feel the tree behind him, or the hot breath of the werewolf on his face. In fact, all he felt was a sickly wetness beneath him... other than the various searing pains from being flattened against a tree by something with the weight of a mountain and the speed of a prize stallion.

Whatever the wetness was, he had sunken about two inches in to it since whenever he was brought here...

How did he get here?

Surely there was more to heaven or hell than a surrounding blackness and a dank, muddy floor...

Was he back in the cave? He tried to grab the floor with his right hand, but the pain was overpowering, and he gasped and writhed. He felt his left hand sink in to the cold mud.

The earth trembled again. This time, being fully in contact with the floor, it was a new sensation. The tremors gave him a very clear sense of where the werewolf was approaching from, but it was unnecessary; it had been lying in wait only a few yards from him. Pain wracked his body as her paws scooped him out of the mud. He felt the warmth of her fur almost all around him.

He felt her body tense up around him. A loud, deep scraping sound thundered around them as she pushed something from their path. She navigated the cave with surprising ability.

Through bend after bend, he finally saw the dim bluish light of the nighttime forest ahead of them, filling the trees. He saw the tree he'd expected to have been his grave, with the deep punctures from her claws, and dents from his body's impact. She stopped at the lip of the cave.

He couldn't see her face for the biceps that held him or the breasts that hung above him, but if he had to describe her actions, the first word would be “unexplainable,” but something about her movements, he'd even hazard to say her mood, also brought to mind “solemn.” As if she's performing some ritual or rite.

There was just enough light from the forest for him to see that his shoulder was bandaged. He couldn't imagine having done that himself in his current state, but how the beast prone to such immense, violent movements could have done it was a mystery to him as well.

He felt an anxiety emanating from the woods. If he wasn't being watched by animals or people, he was certainly being watched by spirits. A daunting thought crossed his mind: what was making this beast, one that could shatter the tallest trees in the forest, hesitate? Whatever the cause, she no longer chose to wait. She stepped out in to the dim white glow. She shifted around, head turned to the sky. She had gotten tense as she stepped out of the cave. For a moment, she seemed relieved. Whatever was in the sky wasn't what she was expecting. She put Mitri down on the ground almost caringly.

It was entertaining to Mitri to watch the gargantuan beast struggle to sit down near him. Mitri sensed a sort of attention from her. If a monster could be worried, he was almost sure she was. The stranger part was, she seemed to be worried about him. Under her breath, Mitri could hear a whine. She was staring intently at the sky — no, at the moon. It was covered by clouds now, but they were hastily dissipating. His eyes were transfixed on the hidden sphere, just as hers were. There was a noise in the distance — a branch snapped. There, just outside the ring of trees was a buck with a dozen points. Tall, majestic, it stood and gazed at the two of them. The werewolf growled, and the buck stood its ground. She shifted, starting to get up from her awkward squat. As she put her first paw on the ground, she yelped. The buck dashed away, and the shadows around them sprung to life. Mitri stared back at the source: the full moon, totally barren in the sky.

The werewolf growled again, but Mitri couldn't find anything she was focusing on. The growls became louder and louder until it was almost like a roar. In the sharp shadows, he saw her bulk shifting and rippling under her fur. She stumbled as her body lurched around, being flung by the sudden spasms of her bulging frame. Each time her body rocked, her mass appeared larger. Every immense bundle of muscle seemed to swell like a sail in fresh wind. Muscles that were large became tremendous, and muscles that were tremendous became unimaginable. Her head was now on the verge of being engulfed by her traps, while at the same time being pressed upwards by the encroachment of her pecs.

To see the witchwork was mesmerizing, like watching a fire blaze out of control. Mitri's heart pounded. Her body rocked like the earth under her paws. Every new protuberance set her off-balance, and when she had finally righted herself, a new explosive growth pushed her in a new direction. Mitri's shoulder ached and itched under the bandages. His blood pounded in his ears. With a savage rip, he tore the bandages off his shoulder. A bright white patch of fur had grown underneath. His wound was nowhere to be found.

It was not only her fire that the torch of the moon lit.

He felt a shock in torso. The shoulder, which had previously looked as if it had been pierced by a spear, was now now only healed, but had become the size and shape of a prize gourd. His entire being twitched and wrenched, pain flowing from his arm to his heart. He clutched his chest, only for his hand to be met far too soon by his pectoral shelf, which now jutted many inches from his chest. He desperately tried to push the muscle away like a bung having landed on him. The pain, like a thousand stabbings, throttled him in new places with each passing second as the growths radiated outward... like fire spreading from his shoulder. On his arm, his bicep bulged, pulsing and flexing. He stood, the weight of his body radically shifting from moment to moment as the moonlight infused his body with itself. The white fur erupted from his skin. After building his forearms and triceps to sizes nothing short of humongous, the stabbing pain changed from agonizing to torturous: the bones of his hand shifted and changed. The feeling of bones snapping and reforming simultaneously, while claws protruded from his phalanges. Pads of roughened skin pressed through his palm.

An uncomfortable pressure was building on the right side of his neck, as his trap pulsed larger, swelling towards his ear. Veins riddled the parts of his body where the fur had not yet spread. He felt the veins creeping up his neck. He no longer heard noise from his right ear, only the drum of his heartbeat. A searing pain erupted in his jaw as it reformed. Teeth shifted, becoming sharper inside his mouth. He felt the press of his pecs against his elongating jaw. A million new scents registered in his nose as it too fell prey to the curse enveloping him. His back was constantly shifting as new muscles fought for dominance across his thickening frame. The most excruciating pain stabbed his back where his spine met his hips. Piece by tormenting piece, his new tail formed. He was not sure, at this point, if the lapses in his consciousness were from the pain or from the affliction overtaking his brain. Reality faded to and fro as his body was torn apart and remade. He could not tell, but his core too had begun to change as his abs evolved shifted and bulked, becoming first like stones, then like bricks, protruding from his torso. The changes shifted lower, filling his rear and thighs with the same brutal strength that his upper body now possessed. Even his manhood received significant enhancement at the behest of the curse. His member became immense, sporting titanic balls that seemed large, even on his staggering frame. Quads pushed out thicker than his entire body had been before tonight. His calves engorged as the bones within his shins shattered to change his feet to the beastly wolf-like paws of his infector. He fell forward, landing firmly on his expansive chest. New sensations poured in as his tail finished forming. Urges tore at his conscious mind. He could not help but howl in agony. There were tones to his howl he understood on levels that could not be described. Listening to himself, he heard not only the echoes of pain in his body in mind, but of others voices joining in. A cacophony of feeling enraptured him. As his mind sank deeper in to the howl, he felt an overwhelming pride, accompanied by a distilled terror at his mind fractured like a mirror, separating in to fragments of ego and instinct and reason and fear and power and weakness. For an eternity, he howled, each piece vying for power before he regained control. When he was able to stop howling, his ears pricked up. His howling had ceased, but the dark wolf beside him had joined in.

The howl turned to a guttural growl as she prowled toward him. She lunged, fangs bared. He grappled with her, slashing claws at her as another facet of his instinct took control. Despite her superior size, every time she was poised to overpower him, his body changed further to ensure his dominance. Muscles bulked and overflowed as she tried to take him, failing at every opportunity. Soon, the aggression seeped in to Mitri's mind, and his moves became more offensive. His attacks had her backing up until she found herself pinned to a tree — the tree Mitri had been pinned to. With growl that shook the leaves from the trees, Mitri propelled his fist only a hair next to her head, sinking his claws in to the centuries-old tree. She whined and yielded to him.

The furor inside Mitri died like a snuffed candle. The changes to his body returned to a more gradual pace, but he hardly noticed; having become accustomed to the majority of the changes already. He took inventory of himself, exploring the strange feelings, sounds, and scents around him. It felt like he was mostly himself at this juncture, but the new forces within him still lurked around the edges, waiting for a chance to seize control from him.

He looked at what he could see of himself. With nothing to show his reflection, he was limited to observing his colossal pectoral shelf, immense shoulders, and gargantuan arms. He flexed his right bicep, and discovered that he could touch the peak of it with his hand—or was it a paw? He looked it over. The truth was that it was somewhere in the middle. He still had most of his dexterity, but the addition of the sharp claws muddled things somewhat.

For the first time since he entered the woods, his thoughts returned to his family. Joshua, his mother, his friends in town, images of them flashed before him.

They would kill him.

Each and every one of them would try to slay him if they had the chance.

A light whine became a thunderous growl. “FUCK!” he roared. He slashed at a tree, leaving gashes that would have cleaved any smaller tree in two. His voice had changed. It was gruff, powerful.

From behind him, a lighter voice chimed in, distinctively feminine. “What did you say?”

Part IIX

Startled, Mitri spun around (which is not a small undertaking with his bulk). The other werewolf's eyes lit up like the moon in the sky. Even through the canine features, he could tell she was smiling. “You understood me?” she said, almost giddy. Mitri nodded. She howled in excitement and rushed at Mitri, grabbing him in a hug that would have pulverized any other being. Squarely between her breasts, he growled. He was very... displeased that she had approached him without warning. She released him, backing down a bit, but still bursting with enthusiasm. “Why did you come here?” she asked. “I wanted to find the monster that killed my father.” “Was he the one that shot at me?” “With the gun you crushed.” She sank back a little. “What were you going to do with me?” “I was going to kill you and bring you back to the town as a trophy.” “I'm sorry.” Mitri huffed. “I am. Please, believe me. It's so hard... I'm sure you'll find out soon.” “What?” “It's hard to be hungry all the time. I... I held off for so long. These last weeks, it's been unbearable. I went to get some food. Not much, just a cow or two. That would have lasted me a week or two. But he saw me, and the noise startled me. I lost control. I couldn't tell you what happened until I was bounding in to the woods. He looked so scared when I looked back... These impulses, they're unbearable. You'll find out. I know it. I couldn't help myself. It was the same when you were in my den. There's a rage, pure unassailable rage, any time I see something in my cave.” “Who... and what are you?” “It's been so long since anyone's asked. My name was Marissa. I lived in Mickwitt County. I... WE are exactly what we look like. Werewolves. The tales are wrong, though. You can't change back. Or, if you can, I don't know how. But I've been like this for so long, if there was a way, I would think I'd have found it by now. Maybe it will be different for you. My family was cursed, but you weren't. You were turned. Maybe that will make you different?” “How long have you been like this?” “Months... it might be years. I lost count so many full moons ago... I'm sorry. You were so close. I couldn't help myself when you were in here. I tried to bandage you up, and I hoped the curse hadn't seized you, but after I had cut you, I don't think there was anything I could do.” Mitri was silent. “I have some of the meat from the cattle in the cave. Has the change made you as hungry as I was?” Mitri felt like he hadn't eaten for a full week. He nodded. She lead him back in to the mouth of the cave. Mitri was surprised at how he could follow her just by her smell. As he rounded the bend he had hidden in, he smelled ash from the torch he used. He picked up many smells the closer he got to her part of the cave. She heaved asunder a boulder that blocked the entrance to another cavern. An olfactory feast presented itself to him. He sniffed around, pick up aromas of pork and chicken, beef, venison, even goat and fish. The most prominent scent was hers though. It was powerful, and rousing to him. He could hardly see, which was a definite improvement from his earlier state of totally blind in the same cave. He saw her pulling some meat off a cow. She handed it to him. While his rational side was aghast at the proposition of eating raw beef, it was easily overridden by the host of other new traits within him. He tore it apart, savoring the new flavors. He growled contentedly. She snacked as well. Like when she had first sensed him in the cave, she was taking deep breaths of his scent. This time, she was not trying to locate him, but something about his scent made her keep doing it. “Will you tell me your name?” she asked. “Dimitri. My name is Dimitri.” “I like it.”

After some time, she spoke up again. “Dimitri, I should tell you, I... have never met another werewolf.” “But didn't you say your whole family was cursed?” “In a way, yes. But it was only my brothers and me — the seventh generation since the curse was laid upon us.” “What about your brothers?” “They were killed before they could change. It would have happened on their eighteenth birthdays. I—I ran away weeks before mine so they wouldn't have a chance to kill me. I thought they were making the curse up. That is beside the point. Dimitri, there are so many urges within me... they scare me. Some are horrible. The ones that made me hurt your father. The hunger...” She took another deep whiff of the air around them. “Some are powerful, but not like those. They.... we... need...” In the darkness, he could see her prowling toward him again. He growled, but she continued. She came up behind him and took in his scent at point-blank range. She nipped at his shoulder, just enough to grab him. He growled explosively at him, and she returned it. She nipped closer to his immense neck. He flung himself around and pinned her to the cave floor. She growled in contentment. He growled back.

It appeared some of his new changes were due for a test-run.

Epilogue

Joshua sat by the grave. He came here every day after the schoolmarm let them out for the day. He would sometimes sit for hours, talking to his brother as if he were really there. He had stopped crying for him months ago, but it was still so hard to walk by without stopping. He missed Mitri as only a brother could. Today he talked about the beasts' attacks. First there was just the black wolf, the one Mitri went to find. But then there was the white wolf. Someone said they saw a pair of small grey ones with each after the last attack. The attacks weren't as frequent. Maybe Mitri had managed to scare them from coming so frequently. The council was concerned, because even though the attacks were rarer, they were more costly. Both wolves would attack on the same night, and take twice as much, but then they'd stay away for weeks.

A hand patted Joshua's shoulder. “Hello Father.” The old man leaned on his cane, but bent down next to the grave with Joshua. “He was a good boy, Joshua.” Joshua nodded. “Where are you going, father?” “Councilman Rellay's offered to have your mother and myself for Sunday dinner. We're due to talk about the corn crop. She left you of the venison pie. I have to say, boy, your brother would be proud of your last hunt. Two bucks and a doe.” “Thank you, father.” “Your mother cooked another pie with some of the meat for you to have tonight. It's cooling in the kitchen.”

After some time, he returned to his family's home. He was glad to have time where his parents wouldn't be around. He hopped outside and pulled the canvas sack out from behind the broken slats under the chicken coop. The bag was heavy for him, but it was worth missing the last buck for after finding it at Blacksmith's Cavern. He unwrapped it on the butcher's block in the kitchen. Caked in dirt and rust, laid Mitri's hammer. As he stared at the worn-down inscriptions and engraving, he felt tears running down his cheeks again.

He would find them. Whatever those things are, they killed Mitri, and he would find them.