Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!

Title: Chicken Blood

Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.

Author's Note: First Werewolf AU!

(story title subject to change)

...

One did not simply break into Rolf's backyard and expect to leave with all of their limbs intact. He knew that, knew it well, even, but desperate times called for even more desperate measures.

He'd tried the neighboring farms, but had been shooed away by terrified horses and old men with rifles filled with granite shots. The same with the odd farm truck that had happened to stop by, only with a dog involved. Ow. He was exhausted and out of options and had nothing really left to loose.

Unless, of course, you counted his tail, but he didn't give it much thought. One of the perks of having animal blood running through your veins was that you thought of the gain more than the loss, just like most animals.

In the daylight hours he knew he would regret not coming up with a plan and endangering both life and limb, not to mention his friendship with the foreign boy, but right now that didn't matter. What mattered right then was the smell wafting up into his nostrils.

Chickens. He grinned ferally.

Perfect.

Hopping the fence, he landed on the ground and crouched, ears tilting to and fro to detect any movement from the house. His scent was masked, he'd made sure of that, but Rolf would wake up from a dead sleep from noise, not from smell. One could never to be to careful.

Nothing. Good. If he were careful, it might stay that way for awhile yet.

The cow munching grass regarded him with a familiar air as he crept across the lawn on all fours, not the least bit intimidated. He knew the cow had a name, it was on the tip of his tongue, even, but he never could quite remember names when he was in this state. Not that he could say them even if he did remember.

But that was okay. Lord only knew what kind of strange things he'd be grumbling under his breath if it all came out in English.

He'd been in Rolf's yard plenty of times of the years. He knew that. Vague images of unnatural pale and fur-less hands and feet and a quivering human voice that seemed so natural when the sun was up but so wrong when he was like this assaulted his mind. Kind of like how his fur and claws seemed wrong during the day. The only reason he knew it was Rolf's yard was because of the ingrained images from years of going through the fence gate and chattering on with the young farmer. Even in his distorted state, the place held a certain scent that was so Rolf that it was impossible for him not to recognize it.

He snorted irritably and wildly shook his head. Focus. He needed to focus. It was merely a battle of wills. He could do this.

The moon was mostly full. That was why everything felt so fuzzy, why he wanted to let everything go and act like a wild animal. He was longing for his pack. The smell of wolf in them was getting stronger by the day.

Pack. Pack was good. But they weren't a pack. Not yet. Soon.

Even after all the warnings he'd given him over the years, Rolf still kept the cages shut with a simple catch mechanism; a small metal hook welded into the side with a wood block shaped like a nail pushed as far into the hole as possible. A relatively simple system; something a desperate creature like himself could easily open.

He oughta build Rolf a lock after this was all finished. A show of gratitude, per say, masked as a show of friendship.

The poultry remained fast asleep as he crept closer. As a child he'd only had one or two chickens, but now Rolf kept them in groups of five or six.

Perfect.

The top of the cage fell open the moment he tugged the wood free, halted in it's owner-awakening noise by a set of hand-like paws easing it open and setting it on the ground. Then he ducked under the cage and waited.

It was only a few minutes before the first chicken woke and hopped to the ground with a flutter, startled awake by the sudden movement of its door. It glanced around, not catching sight of him just a few feet away in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to pounce.

The feeling was... exhilarating.

He waited until a couple more started absentmindedly trailing around the yard before slipping out of his hiding place and re-latching the cage without a sound.

A single bird dared turn around and catch sight of him. He smiled and fell to his fours.

The bird alerted its comrades to his presence, skittering across the lawn. He patiently followed, herding them, first into a group, then out under the wooden fence. He hopped the fence and chased after them.

He was gone mere moments before the lights in Rolf's house flickered on.

Herding chickens is a lot like herding cats when you've got no real experience, which he didn't. It took him hours of scrambling and hiding and nipping (never touching a singe feather on their heads, of course. It wouldn't do to hurt of kill them here.) to get them outside the Cul-De-Sac, and even longer to send them all scrambling into the forest. But he was patient, and it was more than worth it to have the ceremony go as planned.

The last bird disappeared out of sight just as the sky began to brighten. He muttered a low curse, which came out as a snarl, and skittered away.

Fine, then. There was always tomorrow night.

Author's Note: The theft has occurred, and Rolf has been notified. So, who do you think is the culprit?

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