There is a magic in the world, it is not the magic of spells and witches, nor anything that comes from humans or the other creatures that roam the earth. It is inherent in the land, in the sky, in the water. It is always present, yet never the same. It has tides and currents and turns just as the wind and the waves. Sometimes, a tide once again gains its turn in the forefront of this great magic.
The moon's sway is one such persistent force. It comes and it goes, and with it, it brings not only the tide that pulls the waves, but an air of change. When the moon comes to make itself known in the sky, displaying itself as a giant silver augury for all to see, the world changes. A swirling feeling stirs in those whose afferent sensitivity calls them to the pull the moon brings. Senses are heightened, feelings are acted upon in earnest and haste. Even the paltry human senses knew that a change had come. Creatures of all sorts respond to the moon, whether with an awestruck wonder, a firm admiration, or, as some, a gossamer excuse for an ill intent.
The deer feel safe in the moonlight; as the bright sphere lights the way for them, allowing all animals to see for miles. It brings a security that, in the long night of the moon, may be a downfall as much as it seemed a haven. As long as an animal feels safe, it becomes complacent; it looks around less and less until a patient wolf finally takes its chance. Knowledge provides safety only as the insight remains true. The moment the unexpected happens, that cold, cruel, sealing of fate and the dread that one should have known better settles in; it takes hold and overwhelms the soul, dragging one further towards the appetites of those who would devour them.
The magic of the moon drives such small, kind souls to extreme caution should they choose to heed the prickling nagging in their heads; while their adversaries lurk in the night, waiting for one to slip, to fall into the moon's promise of a calm, cool, bright night and be taken into their world. A darker world, a world that sets free the fear of the night, but likewise, slowly renders uninhabitable the view of day. The call cannot be resisted. Some are fated to remain in the light, and others to remain in the dark.
On rare occasions, the line from light to dark is blurred and a soul crosses over from the safety in the light of day to the nebulous, unforgiving dark; not, this time, to be devoured, but to thrive. For these few souls, it only takes a moment of hesitation to send them plummeting into the world of dark; from where there is no escape.
They will accept their fate, or the night will extinguish them.
Calling
It took Fenrir the whole of two days to catch the scent of the girl again; wandering through the forested campsites was not a particularly effective way to find anyone, let alone a small human girl with her parents. His keen senses served him well, however. This close to the full moon, even the smallest scent was enough. Once he had just a hint of her trail, he hounded after her scent as though the world had fallen away; his mind screaming at him to find her. She was his, even if he did not understand why.
The werewolf knew he had to protect her; the stronger her scent grew, the faster he was spurned on by his own unexplained desire to shield her. He had never been so focused on a single individual in his entire life; never had he been so concerned with the well-being of anyone he had met, let alone a small, human child. Perhaps, had his family lived, he may have felt something similar, but it was far too late to tell for them. He wanted to protect this human as part of his pack, she smelled like part of the pack. That was a new one for the werewolf to puzzle through as he made his way through the forest. She was human, there was no way she should smell like she did. He had no explanation for it. In fact, the mystery frustrated the werewolf; perhaps once he found the answer, he could go and leave the child sitting, alive and well, in the human world she belonged in.
The girl's scent was strong now, Fenrir could smell it mingled with others, the humans he assumed were her parents, and many others. He had reached their campground. Glancing around, he knew he could not just barge in, that would likely lead to all kinds of trouble. Picking out the direction the girl had gone, the determined werewolf snuck back into the forest, only slightly more relaxed now that he knew he was close. He made a quiet rounding of the campsite, unable to hear as much as he would have liked to, due to the babbling of a small stream out toward the edge of the campground. No more than two paces across, the shallow water flowed just quickly enough to create a noise that, while assumingly pleasant to human senses, was quite loud to the werewolf as he strained his ears for signs of the girl.
He could smell her everywhere; she was close, he knew it. His head continued to rage at him to find her. She was his; his to protect, and— His thoughts died as he caught sight of her sitting on the far side of the stream bank. He stood, a great distance away, the urge to go to her overwhelming him. His thoughts had calmed, she was alright. His whole body felt lighter now that he could see her. He took several deep, calming breaths as he crept toward her. Watching her simply read, with not even a clue he was merely yards away was soothing and concerning to him all at once.
Fenrir watched the girl from afar as the day passed, pursing his lips at the conundrum before him. He did not like mystery in his life, especially when his senses drove him toward something so vehemently. Why did this girl affect him so? He felt protective, possessive, yet strangely wary. He felt as though he could not bear the thought of anything happening to this— this human. It irked him that such nonsensical feelings coursed through him. To the werewolf's further annoyance, he realized he was so very content just being near her that he had been ignoring his stomach for the better part of the afternoon. He dragged himself off his feet and into the forest to find some unaware animal that he might snatch up. He had been calm when she was within sight; when he could have very easily struck out at anything that should try to interrupt her peaceful reading. He almost wanted something to try. If he saved her, it would give him an excuse to get closer; to figure out why she smelled the way she did. To find out what was so different about her. He grew increasingly irritated the longer he was away from the spot the girl sat; eventually he gave up on the larger game and quickly subdued a squirrel to tide him over. He sated himself on the way back to observing the girl. He wanted to be irritated, but he could not ignore the wave of calm that washed over him when he could see her once more. He felt so calm watching her that he could not bring himself to be angry. Picking some stray squirrel out of his teeth, the werewolf sighed and slowly accepted that whatever this was, he would only figure it out if he allowed himself to feel what his senses were telling him.
After reading for longer than Fenrir thought was possible in one sitting, the girl stood and began to walk back toward her campsite; it was getting dark, and it must have been her dinner time. The werewolf watched her go with a peculiar sense of alarm. He ignored it as it tried to bubble up. A new sensation rose in him as she continued to get further away. If he bit her, these feelings would stop; he would be able to concentrate on other things. He could not explain how he knew it, but he did. This confounded the werewolf further. He had never chosen a member of his pack because they already smelled like part of the pack. Perhaps it was a trick; a trap to ensnare him? No. No one knew where he was, he had been extremely careful. This was no human trick; if anything, it seemed a trick of nature. A trick of fate.
Fenrir had never particularly believed in fate; she was an unreliable, finicky mistress who only ever got those who depended on her into trouble. He growled quietly in his throat; not wanting to believe that everything that had happened over his long life had been meant to happen, all compounding to this one moment, where he would meet this chit of a girl who he was then supposed to bite. It was all too absurd for what little of his mind was separate from his werewolf nature; but the rest of him believed it. He had to bite her; that would solve everything. Perhaps it was time to begin believing in fate once more.
The next day was much the same for the werewolf. During the night he had hunted something a bit more substantial than the meager squirrel he had managed the day before. He carried the carcass back to his hiding spot across the stream and satisfied his hunger before falling into a restless sleep.
He awoke as the grey twilight broke into dawn; and there she was once more, sitting at the stream, reading what was most certainly a different book than the day before. Her bushy hair obscured her face, as it had the day before. If the werewolf was to accept that fate was the reason he had wasted two days watching a child read, his next question was why. Why this girl? Why now? What was so important about her that made even destiny intervene? He sighed, wondering if the girl were feeling anything similar at all. He doubted it. Humans were never as in-tuned with the world's magic as those who depended on it directly. Whether she was a witch or not, he couldn't tell, but it hardly mattered, she was a child, and would not understand the sensations any more than he did. Still, the werewolf did not have an answer; and so he stayed.
He stayed until his blood ran hot, roiling in anticipation of the moon. It was mere hours away, and yet he could not bring himself to leave her. If he stayed, he would bite her, which was what he wanted; but watching her with her book and her innocence and her parents, he had no reason to tear her from that. Fate was a fool's runaround; a poor excuse for turning her life upside-down. Fenrir growled at his own thoughts, since when had that ever stopped him from going after something he wanted? He realized as he looked toward her camp that his urge to protect her encompassed even his own actions. He snorted and turned away; moving away from the humans. As he walked, every step filled him with a strange sense of anxiety. He needed to get away from her, he needed to clear his head. The werewolf began to run, anywhere to get away from her toxic scent; the urge to run straight back growing stronger even as her scent faded into nothing. He snarled at himself and growled at her as he forced himself to run. He could not protect her if she made the wrong move tonight; all logic told him that he should not worry about the girl, he was the only danger in these woods tonight.
She was a child, she was unprotected; she was packless. She was unclaimed. The werewolf's thoughts became more convoluted as the moon began to rise. He had to go back to her, to bring her into his pack, to protect her from everyone else. He ran, fighting his thoughts until he collapsed. Then the moon took hold and the change began.
Minutes later, the large grey werewolf shook himself, scratching the back of his scruff with a hind claw. Now that the moon was full and the change was complete, he had one thought on his mind: her. He knew what he had to do, he was not going to leave part of his pack alone. He could almost feel her; her presence called to him as surely as the moon. He felt the call and rose to meet it. She was his, and he was hers.
It was dark; trees cast sharp shadows on the ground, something that had never been an impediment to the large werewolf. As it turned out, it had not bothered the girl either. Despite being human and stumbling through low light as he knew she would, there she was, sitting on the bank of the stream, staring up at the bright, full moon. Her parents were once again, nowhere to be seen. She was vulnerable, she was alone, and she stared at the moon with such fervor that the werewolf could not help but look up at the great orb that changed him so. He longed to howl, for he knew she would join in, but she was not yet bitten, she would be afraid.
Curiosity getting the better of him, the werewolf crept toward her, hoping she would spot him amongst the trees. She did.
He watched from the dark as the girl looked down from the moon, startled. She was staring straight at him, her brown eyes shining blue in the moonlight.
The werewolf froze, whining softly at the girl. To his surprise, she looked more concerned than scared. She immediately rose and hopped across the creek, completely unafraid. She was part of the pack.
"Here puppy, are you hurt?" she called quietly. "Come here," her soft voice rang out like a bell in the quiet woods.
Fenrir backed away; some small part of him wanted to turn and run. She wasn't part of the pack yet. There was something off about the way she looked at him. He whined softly at her once more, unable to leave the spell she had him under. The girl turned on a small light to shine into the trees. Fenrir avoided it, afraid she would run if she saw him. If she ran, he would chase her, there was nothing he could do, or would do, to stop himself. The small light was bright and powerful, it hurt his eyes.
The girl continued to follow him into the forest, calling softly to him. Her voice was so gentle, he wanted to run up to her when she called.
The two walked until Fenrir could no longer bear the distance between them. He could not stand being so far from his pack. He stopped and turned to face her, taking in her glorious scent. Mine. He growled possessively at the air, but quieted when the girl hesitated. He could smell her sudden fear. Suddenly trembling, the girl lifted her light to reveal the werewolf's form. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and she let out a quiet breath of surprise. Fenrir watched as she began to back away slowly.
His eyes trained on her, he followed. He could hear her mumbling to herself, but could not entirely comprehend the words, all his focus was on her posture, not what human words she spoke. She was afraid, but he couldn't let her go. He could sense her fear rising as he kept pace with her. Suddenly, she panicked and began to pick up speed, quickly darting into a run. Fenrir did not think before he darted after her. She was running from him. She shouldn't; she was his. He couldn't let her get away; he wasn't going to let her go. She was part of the pack.
The girl tripped over a tree root, screaming as she stumbled to the ground. The werewolf lunged for her without missing a step; he small body cowering beneath him.
Mine.
A/N: Hello to all my new followers! I really hope you like what I have in store for this story. It's going to be quite different than Instincts, though, I hope, just as good. I will try to update every two weeks or so until the end of April, when my summer begins and I have more time to devote to making my scrawling rough drafts more presentable.
Cheers~