The clear water was churning quietly in the nearby stream, occasionally sending the slightest of droplets of water upon the rocks on the shore. The wind whistled quietly through the pine needles, erring them ever so slightly before they gracefully righted themselves. In the far off distance, perhaps over the mountain, an eagle screeched mournfully. Downwind the smells of a roasting and crackling skeever corpse from the giant's camp wafted to where Farkas stood.

A dew had settled in over the forest, misting his fur with water. His quarry was letting out strangled breaths, blood gurgling up the doomed elk's throat before steam erupted from its massive nostrils one last time.

Farkas never ate his kills, the spilling of blood was enough to sate the beast. Aella and Skjor were much different he knew. They savored every aspect of the hunt, even the feast. Farkas never relished the beast blood inside him as they did, but he could not deny the power it gave him. While Farkas was not the brightest of the companions, no one would ever deny that he was a savant in his own right in battle. Even then, one such as Farkas still found use for the beast.

Farkas could hear the howls of his lesser brethren carry on through the darkness, their cries not quite reaching the moon's ears. He recalled a tale he was told he was but a child by one of the many temporary wards following the death of his parents. The somewhat disdainful khajit woman had a way with her stories, her words carefully chosen, weaving colorful tales that seemed all the more exotic with her gravelly purring twang. She spoke of the tale with a certain sort of disdain, as one might expect from the feline race. He wished he remembered the tale, but his memory was not the best.

Whatever the story entailed, the almost human-like cries of the wolves was an eerie reminder of the tale. If he listened hard enough the howls started to sound like words. His brothers in the night asking the moon 'why?'. It was a question with many meaning and implications, too many for simple wolves to dwell on. Too many for someone as simple as he to dwell on.

The wolves howled again in unison, their questions left unanswered.

Though for some reason, they sounded farther in the distance than they should have been and what faint smell there was of the queer sort. When he was outside in his wolf form every sound was amplified beyond belief. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but he learned quickly enough how to hone in on the sounds he needed to hear. He could hear the beat of a butterfly's wings if he so wished. But these howls were different. They didn't reverberate correctly, they sounded as if they were somehow muffled. He perked his ears to and closed his eyes to try to concentrate on the howls. When he next opened his eyes instead of forest he saw the dusty wooden beams of the ceiling of his room.

He often had wolf dreams when he hadn't indulged the beast in some time, at least he hoped they were dreams. It was known that Farkas was a bit simple, but his mind was always clear- not plagued by the fault of complex thoughts. As a result his mental fortitude was unmatched by any of his companions, a mental fortitude that was essential in reigning in the beast.

Despite this, it wasn't completely unheard of for the beast to overcome the sleeping form; both Skjor and his brother had reported these 'night occurrences' at some point. If them, why couldn't it not happen to him? His dreams felt like cloudy memories, but he always awoke in the same state he had laid to rest in. This reassured him in his belief, but doubt still plagued him in the back of his mind. If the beast was not sated there came a point where the instinct was impossible to reign in. The beast would do anything to quench it's thirst for the thrill of the hunt. Normally one would have a certain degree of control over their actions, but once at this point, the mind became so clouded with lust that anything and everything with a blood flowing freely in their veins was in danger.

Farkas forced himself out of bed; he needed to speak to Vilkas about this, about his dreams. Vilkas would know what this meant. If need be he would go hunting with him, Farkas knew Vilkas was reaching this point as much as he was if his unshielding was any indication.

Stepping out into the hall, Farkas slowly creaked the door open, careful as to how much light he let into the room. Vilkas could sleep through a siege, but the slightest amount of light would disturb his sleep.

"Brother, are you awake?"

Immediately as he stepped into the room Farkas could detect the undeniable sense of bloodlust in the air. It wasn't something he could see, smell or hear, but it manifested itself as a deep settled feeling of dread in his gut. It hit him hard and fast, so sudden that he could feel himself starting to transform. He swiped at the air and gnashed his teeth fiercely to let out aggression as he did most time he transformed. This transformation was unwilling however, and the motions were nothing but pure habit. He had to reign himself back in.

Farkas didn't know how long he stood panting against the wall, but more than a few moments passed before he could compose himself enough to proceed further. It was undeniable proof that his beast would need to be sated. And if the sheer bloodlust in Vilkas' room indicated anything, then Vilkas was in the same situation.

As soon as Farkas regained his composure he flung the door open and woke his brother.

"Vilkas…"

His twin groaned before squinting up at him "Brother…?" He sat up and groggily rubbed his eyes "What is it?"

The color drained from Farkas' face when he saw the blood soaked into the sheets. Vilkas seemed to notice too, a rather confused look on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vilkas got out of the bed, examining the full extent.

Farkas furrowed his brows with concern "When was the last time you fed brother?"

Vilkas seemed a bit puzzled before finally figuring out what he meant. "You don't think…"

"Have you been having wolf dreams?"

Vilkas' silence indicated his answer "I shouldn't have let it go on this long." He stared hard at the ground "You don't think she's hurt, do you?"

Confused at first, Farkas sniffed the air; her scent lingered around them. He had been so overcome by the bloodlust he hadn't noticed the scent that just a day prior had overwhelmed him with the same intensity. The scent was faint however, nowhere near what it had been just that morning. The she-wolf had been his victim. This was bad- an initiate knew their secret, and worse- suffered its consequences first hand. "Is she still here?"

Vilkas pushed his way past him out of the room trying to track the scent. It was not needed, as an evident trail of blood led them to the washrooms.

At their entrance she jumped around, holding her bloody shoulder. Looking more than a little worse for wear, the she-wolf had blood staining all the way down her shift. Claw marks raked across her bare shoulder, extending up to her face where it gnashed across her cheek and through her lips. "I'm sorry." She quickly blurted out.

"I…." Vilkas was at a loss for words. She was apologizing for his actions. Such selflessness was uncalled for. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." A couple of tears leaked from her eyes. She winced as the salty droplets ran through her wounds, winding down her chin a red color. "I'll leave. You'll never see me again." She quickly wiped her face with her sleeve, revealing long angry cuts. From the looknd depth of the cuts, there was no doubt that she'd carry these scars the rest of her life, Farkas realized.

The brothers were taken aback, but it was Vilkas who regained his composure to ensure what had to be done was done. "I'm afraid we can't let you do that."

She looked at both of them with frightened eyes.

"You know our secret. You have to stay."

Fright turned to confusion to relief of all things. She nodded wordlessly before she was suddenly reminded of her wounds, clutching at her shredded shoulder.

"I'll dress your wounds." Vilkas offered, his eagerness to make up for his mistake blatant.

Farkas grabbed his shoulder, "You need to hunt."

Vilkas sank visibly, it was evident this guilt would plague him a while.

Farkas approached the waif, more lamb than wolf at the moment. Water still dripped from her hair, her shift clinging to her from a morbid combination of blood and bathwater. Farkas avoided looking at her to maintain her dignity. It was enough she had been attacked, he need not stare through her shift in her moment of vulnerability. "Tilda will dress your wounds." He quickly glanced at her to make eye contact to reinforce his message, but his eyes inevitably drifted downward to the smooth curve of her shoulder, further still to supple flesh that stood out plainly underneath the wet shift.

Realizing what he was doing, she blushed furiously and covered herself before shooting him an almost shy glare. "I can take care of myself lecher." She spat as the brothers rushed out the door.

Farkas avoided further eye contact, embarrassed with himself.

A she-wolf was never defenseless, he concluded.

The hunt was simple and swift; both brothers knew what had to be done.

Vilkas lost himself in the hunt, his guilt dissipating at the scent of their quarry. Farkas took no joy in the act, but nonetheless felt relieved to have it over with. A mournful howl echoed far off in the distance, asking the moon 'why?'.

Farkas awoke like none of the night's events had ever transpired. Vilkas would be the one who would have to confess to Kodlak about his accident, and for that Farkas did not envy him.

Seeing Tilda preparing the table at the end of the hall, Farkas approached the hardy woman , an air of worry about him. "Tilda?"

She turned and squinted up at him before realizing who he was "Yes dearie?"

"The she-wolf, you dressed her wounds?"

She gave a puzzled look at the name, but answered nonetheless. "I went to the washroom, but she was nowhere to be found." She stared absently at the living quarters. "I hope she wasn't hurt badly."

"This is bad…" He said to no one in particular.

Paying no more mind to the aging woman, Farkas sniffed at the air, trying to catch scent. In stark contrast to the overpowering pervasive scent that existed before, this scent was almost familiar.

It didn't take long to find her however- she had never left.

"The sword isn't a tool! It's part of you, an extension of your arm!" Athis barked out, holding the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Hold it like this!"

She bent over and picked the wooden training sword from the dirt. "Like this?" Her grip was more relaxed, he noticed. This was not the only thing that had changed though.

What had been a bloody mess of shredded flesh just the night before had scarred over into two neat scars along her face. The scars on her shoulder were covered by her armor, but from her relaxed demeanor he guessed the situation was much the same for her other injuries.

It was inconceivable; there was no possible way she could have healed that quickly, at least not naturally.

He recalled her words the night prior "I can take care of myself!" She had to be hiding something. Had to. There was something very peculiar about her, something that became very apparent to him before he even met her. But from just the few mere hours he'd known her, he found every action raised more questions than they answered.

"Better." He huffed, "But nowhere near where it needs to be."

"I'm trying, okay? Just remember who's paying you." A smirk seemed to creep onto her face under her scars.

"For all the good it does me…" Athis muttered "Can't even find the blasted coin."

She relaxed into her sword-fighting posture, pointing her sword menacingly in Athis' direction. "I paid you, it's not my fault you can't keep track of a little coin."

He growled at that. "Ready!" He assumed his position, wooden sword at the ready.

She didn't wait for his go ahead, simply charging headlong- a foolish thing to do, especially against an expert on the art like Athis.

Rearing her sword back, she swung her sword in a wide-arc at Athis' head, a bold move-especially for the first. The move, while potentially overwhelming, had a downside that almost always outweighed its benefits- it left her wide open for attack.

Athis blocked this strike with little effort however, the only indication of the power of her swing being the resounding 'crack' of the wooden swords colliding.

"Bad move." Athis chuckled out before spinning wide to strike her vulnerable midsection. Her strike had failed, and she would lose for it Farkas knew.

"TOO SLOW!"

Faster than Farkas knew she could move, she sidestepped Athis' attack. He could see as Athis was still following the momentum of his missed attack the slight turn of his head as he began to take in the predicament he got himself into. Almost as if in slow-motion, Athis' eyes grew wide with terror as he saw the training sword of his opponent rip through the air towards his neck. He would lose before he even regained his balance.

An unsettling crack seemed to silence even the ambient noise around the training yard. Athis crashed to the dirt, a string of foreign curses pouring from his mouth as he held his neck that seemed to have an unnatural bend to it.

Farkas cringed a bit at the injury, but nonetheless approached the injured Dunmer to examine the extent of his injury before he took any brash action. The she-wolf did much the same, immediately dropping her training sword and dropping down to Athis' side.

"I….I'm so sorry!" She managed to blurt out, as she turned Athis onto his back.

"You bitch!" He spat out, rounding out his string of curses as he rocked himself back and forth.

She withered at his words before pushing off her gautlets. "I can fix this…" She whispered meekly, so quiet Farkas almost missed it.

"I can't feel my…I can't-" Athis blathered out in panic, attempting to move every part of his body to reassure himself it was still working. "I can't feel…my feel… legs…" He breathed out, his face visibly strained.

She eyed Farkas with panicked eyes, indicating to get help. Farkas took to the message and ran for the door back into Jorrvaskr to fetch Tilda.

The faintest of whispers echoed and resounded in Farkas' ears "I can fix this…"

A/N: Whoah! Look who's decided to update! I apoligize for the delay in the release of this chapter. I had about half this chapter written before I unwittingly put it on the back burner. This is my first ongoing story, so I'm still trying to find my feet and get into a rhythm.

Thanks Moojuice Nne of the Mayonnaise and Anon for reviewing, you guys keep my chugging on forward :D

As always, it'd be super awesome if you decide to review. I'm always on the lookout for advice, criticism and compliments... I'd love to know how I'm doing and how you think the story is going.

THANKS and Gig'em.