Lupus Mutatio
Chapter 2 :Wolf
The wolf laughed silently when he felt the kid hide himself. The kid never did like him, but why should he care?
He jumped off the bed and looked around. Nothing but flimsy wood.
There is a window. That may be his way out. This room is too far from the ground though. He didn't want to risk hurting himself on his first trip for blood in a new place.
He pushed on the door with one paw and it came open easily. Sauntering out, the wolf felt like a pup exploring a new den. He glanced into the only other room in this section of the house. Nothing. Just walls. Not even another window.
Growling lowly at his lack of luck, he wandered over to the steep stairs and eased his way down them. It wouldn't do to fall down them on his first night here.
Another door immediately caught his attention. He galloped to it and pushed at it like he had the other one. It didn't budge. He prodded it with his shoulder, then stepped back a few feet and rammed it. It still didn't move.
After glaring at it, he turned away to examine the rest of the house. There was only one other room, which contained many metal objects. He searched the kid's memory and discovered the word to describe the room, kitchen. Another door. Again, failure.
Suddenly, at the possibility of no escape, the wolf's blood-ridden thoughts took over, and he panicked. He stepped back to the threshold between the stair room and the kitchen and ran at the door at full speed, turning at the last minute so that the side of his body hit the door instead.
It didn't work.
He turned and ran straight at the other door, repeating the process.
No, this couldn't be happening!
The wolf needed blood. His thoughts were frantic as he smashed into every single window on the bottom floor.
Nothing happened! Why weren't the windows breaking? Windows use glass. Glass breaks. Why wasn't it breaking?
He bolted up the stairs in a final endeavor to get out. The wolf propelled himself at the last window. He fell to the ground, his side bleeding from repeated blows. His chest was moving up and down rapidly.
Damn this house! Why couldn't he get out?
He arose from the prone position on the ground and growled, running at the walls in vain attempts to break out, each time howling in pain and frustration.
The walls that did not lead to the outside were easily destroyed. It's a wonder the ceiling didn't collapse on the raving wolf. He ran from room to room, tearing down walls and bloodying himself till he was nothing but one large bruise underneath the fur.
He took one final leap from the top of the stairs and shot himself at the door at the bottom. After slamming into it with no damage but to himself, he dropped to the wooden floor.
Many moments passed, and the smell of blood enticed his senses. He gazed at his sore legs. His breath quickened and he couldn't resist it anymore. The temptation was far too great. The sound of adrenaline-increased blood flow was too much for his instincts to handle. He tore into his own leg, nearly severing it completely.
The blood: delightful, delicious. He couldn't get enough of it. He needed more.
The wolf collapsed and immediately began biting himself, over and over. The places he couldn't bite, he clawed. Blood ran in thick rivulets over his eyes, and met with his already crimson snout. He breathed in the alluring metallic scent of the life-giving liquid, which was now taking his own.
The wolf felt weak.
The scent of blood was strong and he desired more of the savory nectar. He used the last of his strength to place his leg, the one that first tantalized his senses, upon his snout to allow the little remaining blood to trickle onto his tongue.
The wolf didn't know how long he lay in that position, nor did he care. The only thing that held his attention was the delectable flavor upon his taste buds.