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Woodland Wanderers By Lykanos Wulfheart

The chill of the evening wind was lessened by the tall trees that surrounded the little dirt trail on either side. Green leaves fought to hold their color as the seasons shifted into the coolness of early autumn. In the distance loomed the snow topped peaks of the local mountain range, the white clashing against the colors of the woodlands in a scenic display of natural beauty. It was this serenity that lured Michael out for his weekly walks into the wilderness. The thrill of discovery called to him, every trek another chance to meet new wildlife, see new formations, and enjoy new experiences.

He had been walking for almost an hour, the darkness creeping in as the sun set behind the trees, but he pushed on despite the growing shadows. Michael was a fan of the twilight, purposely walking in the early hours of the night, a perfect time to meet the animals as they moved about the forest. Though he kept a flashlight in his pocket, he didn't need it. The sky was clear and the full moon was on the rise, his eyes trained to handle the faint light. He also knew the trail inside and out, every bend and every root. Though not a heavily used path, it was his. His boots had helped trample out the grass and leave behind the subtle welt in the earth.

Another gust made him rub at his exposed arms, the chill of the late hour finally starting to invade. All he could do to fight the shiver was zip up the green vest that hung over his light grey t-shirt. Despite being used to the cold, he was more than happy that he chose to wear jeans, though his short cropped brown hair let his body heat escape all the same. To help warm up, he tucked his hands in his vest pockets, balling his fingers into fists.

Reluctantly, he was starting to consider turning back when something rustled in the brush to his left, a distant noise that pierced the unusual silence. Had it not caught him off guard, he'd have cautiously waited in the stillness to see who his guest was. However, the snap of a twig, closer now than the previous noise, made him uneasy. Whatever was out there sounded larger than a fox, the largest predator he'd seen roaming his area. While his brown eyes scanned the foliage as the light faded into darkness, his voice was edged with hesitation. "Hello? Is someone out there?"

He was sure there wasn't another person out hiking that late, but he figured the words would scare off most animals, especially if it was a curious deer on the other side of the trees. Holding his ground, the man waited patiently, his average size and build more than enough to scare away the tiny predators of the region.

Something moved behind the nearby tree, no more than fifteen feet away from him. Whatever it was, it had a looming and imposing silhouette, something similar to a bear, but the proportions were off. The figure's mass was more in the torso, not around its hindquarters. Michael could hear the creature's breathing, a steady pace with a hint of savagery. He knew that bears were not native to this region, yet he couldn't quite place the animal that was still hiding itself just out of view.

When the clawed hand crept around the trunk, the low light making the digits barely perceptible, it dawned on the man. Werewolf. The word invaded his mind as he considered the possibility. As a child, he'd heard stories of them walking the woods and hunting both beast and man who had been foolish enough to linger after dark. Those tales were part of the reason he kept coming out late in the day. His dream, though he was certain it was fantasy until now, was to meet such a being. Hope mixed with fear as his body took on a nonthreatening posture, his hands pulling free in a slow slide out of his pockets. Rolling his shoulders forward, he let his arms dangle, palms down with his fingers spread. While he made sure to keep his gaze on the monster, his head tilted down, eyes staying below the possible stare of his stalker. Remaining silent, Michael waited for the other presence to react to his display.

A guttural growl arose from behind the tree trunk as the figure moved out and took shape in the filtering moonlight. His deep, throaty vocalization turned into terrifying words that cut through the quiet. "Human. Are you not afraid?" The imposing question belonged to an equally imposing form, the head, feet and tail all that of a wolf, yet the frame, while furred in deep greys that blended into hazy whites, was more that of a human male. The beast's teeth gleamed in the low light, a feral glee present as if still on the hunt, while his muzzle was stained with dried blood.

Maintaining his composure in spite of the looming lycanthrope, Michael spoke in a soft yet quaky tone that the other seemed to enjoy. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

Taking a few steps forward, the werewolf started to circle with a gruelingly slow pace. Michael followed with his eyes, but never turned his head, losing the wolf man as he disappeared behind his potential victim. The man's heart raced as he waited for the brute to appear on the other side, his frantic breath a telling sign of his relief as the monster did just that. Again the gruff words left the savage maw, a curiosity clinging to them. "Why didn't you run? Your kind are usually so meek and... skittish." He ended with a worrisome grin, the fangs devious and eager.

Looking down to the massive, clawed feet, Michael replied as the fear slowly left his voice. "Predatory instinct. I'd have only given you reason to chase and kill me." With a heavy breath and a pause to think, he continued, "Also... I've always dreamed of meeting a werewolf out here. I never thought I would, but I still always hoped."

Moving in close, the werewolf sniffed at the human's face as the scared eyes closed with a flinch. An intimidating finger raised Michael's jaw as his focus blinked open with a start, locked to the golden gaze of the wolf. Forcing his glance to the ridges of the smirking muzzle, a deep grey that softened as it moved closer to the mouth, the human remained timidly speechless as the rumbling vocalizations turned back into a language he could understand. "And?"

Stuttering with hesitation, Michael whispered with a breath, "A-and?"

The throaty chuckle sounded more like a half-hearted growl as the beast looked over his prey. "And is it everything you hoped it'd be?"

The human's body trembled as he tried to remain calm, the scent of his fear a pleasure to the canine before him. Michael did his best to steady himself while keeping his body language submissive to the carnivore that controlled his fate. "Y-yes. Your kind are truly impressive. And that you can talk and didn't kill me at first sight... well, that's even better."

The monster's growling voice turned to hearty laughter as he circled behind, inches from the man. "I like you, boy. I think you'd make a good fit."

Keeping his focus forward, the prey stammered out, "Fit for what?"

The hair on the back of Michael's neck pricked as the wolf whispered into his ear, the thick, growly tone sending a shiver down his spine. "Have you ever considered..." The man's eyes went wide as the muzzle snuck beside his face, the creature's jaw resting on the human's shoulder. "Becoming a lycanthrope?"

As the nose snuck back out of view, Michael flinched as a powerfully thick hand landed on his left shoulder. His words were edged with nervousness, but they held a genuine sincerity as he replied, "I-I have... and I would."

"Good," stated the werewolf as he patted at the vest. "This is my gift to you." Before Michael could turn his head to see, thick fangs dug into his right shoulder. They buried themselves deep into the muscle, holding tight as the human winced, though he forced himself not to cry out from the pain. Sluggishly, the teeth retreated, blood pushing into the cool air and staining the green and grey fabrics as it ran down his arm and dripped to the dirt below.

As soon as he was free of the vicious bite, his left hand darted up to stop the bleeding as he spun to face his attacker. The sight was not entirely what he expected, the beast taking a couple steps back with his thick palms held up in a calming manner. Crimson liquid dripped down his chin as he admired his handiwork, the gift bestowed already working to invade the new host. Stepping back, Michael put his back to the tree his afflicter had used to hide, his wound still seeping and staining the grass.

Maintaining pressure, he wheezed with agony. "What was that for? It's so deep. You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"Calm down, little one," came the same gruff voice, though now it held a soothing tranquility. "It had to be deep. Helps quicken the change. You'll heal soon enough, I assure you."

As the blood pumped through his veins, Michael could feel something else within, a heat that spread through his body like an infection that radiated from his injury. Groaning in anguish, he exclaimed, "It burns! Why does it burn like this?"

Trying to remain helpful to his new companion, the werewolf advised, "You may want to remove your clothes while you can. That warmth is my gift moving through you. The changes, while slow, will start soon after your body accepts my venom."

"Gah-HA," cringed the bite-in as he felt the tainted saliva work through his heart and move to all parts of his being, invading every fiber of his anatomy as his flesh turned hot against the cold wind. Though it ached to move, he pulled his zipped vest and shirt off in one movement, the cloth of his t-shirt irritating his injury as he slipped out and tossed the mass to the earthen floor. With his chest heaving, his legs felt like they, too, were on fire. His shoes were quickly ripped off as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled free, the only shred of decency left being a pair of underwear that he refused to give up.

While Michael dealt with his discomfort, his superior walked past and into the thickening foliage. "Come. You will need food if you are to survive your change. I have a recent kill not far off." Turning back, he gave a menacing grin. "You're lucky I wasn't hungry just now."

Doing as he was told, Michael pushed off the rough bark as he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed at his ribs, his whole body a throbbing warmth that showed no sign of stopping. His feet ached enough that he barely cared about the pricks of the debris underfoot, though it did slow his progress. His leader seemed to know about his discomfort, the pace a comfortably slow walk as they weaved around the rocks and roots.

A few minutes into their walk and Michael's eyes were adjusting. At first he'd assumed that he was just getting used to the dark, but soon he could tell that some colors were changing and the general brightness of the world had increased. "Woah," mumbled the man as he took in the woodlands with his new sight.

Looking back, his mentor huffed with satisfaction. "Your eyes have shifted, haven't they? They're orange like mine. Soon your nose will start picking up more scents, too."

As he tried out his nose, at first he didn't notice anything but the trees and the wind, odors he was used to. As the hike went on, he started picking up unfamiliar fragrances. The first was the intimidating aroma of the werewolf before him, a canine smell that had a sharp power to it that demanded respect. Next he noticed the other animals, scents that lingered from where they had been. It seemed awkward at first, but Michael couldn't help but keep sniffing, the desire of new stimuli begging him to continue.

The next thing he smelled was blood. It was weird, like he recognized it. The iron-tainted odor invaded his sinuses as an ache grew in his gums, the source of the scent apparent as he tasted it. His teeth had grown loose, drips of crimson escaping as they fell out. Initially he was terrified as they dropped to the ground, but quickly relief took over as sharp points poked free, his jaw stretching to give room as his tongue lengthened and flattened. When the muzzle had grown long enough to see, he couldn't help but poke at it, the sensitive flesh still warm and sore from the transformation. At the end of his face was a darkening bit of skin that was his nose, a dampness overtaking it as his tongue lapped over the end. While his face neared its final push, the crunch of bone almost deafening, his ears pulled and contorted up the side of his head. While still only bare skin, he could feel the warmth shift as they did, wide flaps that continued until they were up high, his skull already conformed to his new canine anatomy.

Wiping the trickle of red from his lip and nostrils, he licked it up, the taste nothing special, though strangely compelling. A bit further and he was assailed by a new pain and a new fragrance. His digits swelled as he picked up on the fresh kill. Wincing as he looked at the fingertips, nails flaking away as wicked claws escaped, he cried out, "Rrut's going orrn? Grrrr, rut's that smell? Rry can't I speak rrrright?"

Glancing back, the werewolf was happy with the progress, his own demeanor carrying a proudness about it. "That's your dinner. I left over half a deer this way and you can smell it. I bet you're starving right about now."

Michael's own words came as a labored whine as he tried to talk. "And my mouth? Rry can't I," with a whimper, he forced the word, "speak?"

As both the werewolf and his new subordinate entered the small clearing, Michael was overwhelmed with hunger when he saw the carcass, the scent of its flesh all too compelling. He barely heard his ally's response as he moved closer. "It takes practice. Our canine mouths were not meant for human speech and yours is almost finished with the change."

Straining at the growing stiffness in his fingers and toes, Michael walked up, stopping within yards of the kill. While his human mind fought the urges of his primal nature, his pads thickened into existence, the tips of his digits growing dark grey as the balls of his feet and palms swelled. "I grrrrr won't do it," he stammered as he stood before the tasty sight, every whiff compelling him closer.

The other beast growled with displeasure, Michael's body turning, naked ears sagging as he knew he was the source of the other's irritation. "You will eat or you will die. The change takes a great deal of energy. Now eat."

Looking back to the gore of the deer, the man was still unwilling to satisfy his nagging hunger. His stomach begged for the feast as his feet stretched, the muscles of his legs pulling tight as they reformed into something far more canine. Caught off-balance by the lengthening of his foot bottoms, Michael spilled to the ground, his face almost within reach of a severed limb. Cautiously, his hand reached out, his appendage looking like a naked werewolf arm. His muscles rippled with the effort as he fought the need, his paws finishing their bulge. His desperate advance was halted as his legs continued to reshape, the agony forcing him to writhe in the twigs and grass. His toes crinkled in as they took on the shape of a proper wolf's while his heels narrowed and pulled back.

Rolling to his chest, the growing emptiness in his gut couldn't be denied. He was becoming desperate, the changes running his body out of fuel. Clawing at the ground, he crawled to the savory morsel, his mind overcome with the need to feed. Pulling the leg close, he bit into the tissue, the taste of meat, blood, and dirt filling his mouth as he continued savagely. When the bulk of flesh was gone, he couldn't stop himself. He wanted more, needed more. He tried to walk to the disemboweled body, but his feet didn't move right. A couple failed attempts and he crawled over, his fingers digging deep into the gory carnage and pulling out leftover organs. Greedily, he crammed them into his muzzle, coagulating crimson seeping down his chin as fur started to prickle over his body, the meat in his belly spurring his final mutations.

While he munched, a twinge sent him off balance, his elbow falling into the open ribcage of his dinner. Hungrily, he remained on his knees as a strand of muscle pulled from his spine. The raw torment did nothing to slow his appetite, though it did pull a harsh growl from his blackened lips as white fur carpeted his muzzle, stained instantly by the blood that clung to his skin. His ears and digits quickly fuzzed as his tail pushed out, snagged by the underwear he refused to abandon. As the new growth pushed against the fabric, his irritation grew. While still chewing a mouthful of intestine, he reached back, gooey claws ripping through the last of his humanity as he tore the cloth free, his tail pulling into the chill of the night air. His muscles continued to soften with white as his whole body grew thicker with fluff, his own form now matching that of his companion, two werewolves under the light of the full moon.

The heat had faded into a comforting stillness, his transformation complete as his tail wagged. Still, he was starved, his shift demanding him to refuel. There wasn't much meat left, but Michael was desperate, flipping the ribcage to expose the other side of the dead deer. Pulling with his fingers, he tried to cut through the stained fur, though his annoyance rose with each failed attempt. Leaning in, he used his teeth, sharp fangs cutting the flesh and exposing a bit of muscle. Tearing the skin free with one hand, his nose smeared in as his teeth scraped for every scrap he could find. When the effort was no longer worth the reward, the snowy white werewolf whined pathetically. Behind, the grey furred beast closed in, his gait confident as he motioned for the other to stand. Watching his young wolf struggle, he offered a pawed hand, helping Michael to his feet. It took a few moments, but gradually he figured out his new balance, the powerful body heavy from the effort and exhaustion of his change.

Licking his lips, the new canine was still hungry and his superior knew it. Sniffing around the clearing, the more skilled of the two caught the scent of something tasty and motioned for the trainee to take a sniff. Pleased with his famished companion's willingness to go on the hunt, the leader took charge and let out a dominatingly passionate howl. Michael reeled back, wolven face in the air as he followed suit, his own a burst of youthful eagerness, a long, drawn out harmony that blended with his alpha's. With a satisfied nod, the grey werewolf took flight, his form ready for the kill. The bloodstained white wolf followed close behind, instinct pulling him toward their prey.