The boy was lost.
Gasping, panicking, crying, he ran through the forest, calling out for someone, anyone, to help guide him home and away from the wild pulling at his consciousness. He had nearly made it out and away from the woods, but then the gripping came, and he had become hopeless. The moon loomed omnisciently above; the trees stretched their fingers out to cover the expanse of clouded sky. His sleeve caught on a gnarled tree branch and he stumbled into the dirt. All around him, the mist was thick and shrouded any hope of escape. My moon. This was his fate. This was what Grandmother had warned him about. Stay out of the woods on the full moon, Conan, dear. Don't even think about visiting me those days. You know what will happen . . .
If only he could hold on a while longer; if only he had not entered the woods hours ago. But no, the power was overwhelming and it ripped through his body that sent shivers up his spine. He howled with pain at the transformation. "I don't want to kill anyone!" he screamed. He should have been home chained up in the basement as always on full moon nights. Conan, the boy, the werewolf, knew who was also in this wood. He could hear her even now, though she was miles away at Grandmother's house, the single safe haven in the forest.
The spirit of the wolf melded with his body. Fur rolled over his shoulders, his bare stomach. His maw split with fangs yellow and dripping saliva. In his dark eyes, a distant look passed over and clouded his vision. Conan was an animal; he was savage.
And he had a single pulsing, thudding, repetitive thought in his mind: prey.
He ran through the forest, his paws barely touching the forest floor, where only hours earlier he had walked with his friend Ember, the girl with the ruby red cloak always on her shoulders, the girl that had been his truest friend from his first memories. The girl who loved Grandma and often went to see her, even on this dangerous full moon night. Ember trusted Conan with her life despite the irrepressible evidence that he was unable to control himself when the moon took its toll on the boy. That would be the last mistake that she had ever made.
In his sentient state, the boy knew that he was the danger of these woods. But now, all that flashed through him was the flooding of his senses. Human. Rush of the wind and adrenaline. A girl singing far, far away. Cold. Squawk of a bird. No, not that. The girl. Go for the girl. Devour and tear apart the flesh of the prey.
Conan splashed through a brook, wetting his thick paws. He was getting closer to Grandma's house. To Ember. To prey.