BAM

The noise of his door slamming shut was far louder than it should be. Just another sign that he was running out of time. The crisp night air sent a tingle through his skin that set all his hairs standing, and brought on another wave of sudden need. Rowan forced the feeling out of his thoughts as best he could, then marched on into the dark streets.

The streets of Harwall lay empty and abandoned at this time of night, but despite this, every little sign of life bore down on Rowan like a physical thing. He could feel the air brush against him, hear every shift and movement in his surroundings, be it rats or the wind playing tricks. The sky lay open and the night brought on a sort of vastness and emptiness that made him want to break into a run just to feel his blood rush faster than his legs could pump.

Such tempting thoughts. He forced them down all the same. It was such a intoxicating feeling. Like he could slip into the night and roam alone, far from prying eyes and minds that care. The night spoke to him in a way he did not wish it to, and as he made his way through the small settlement he couldn’t help but regret how long he’d avoided this. To go outside at night was a dangerous thing for most, and in a way, even more so for Rowan. This is why he strapped a sword to his hip before he left, making sure he looked as prepared as a man could when wandering out into the night. He wondered if it would be as convincing as he hoped. He would soon find out.

The gates of Harwall were unimpressive things. A simple wall of raised logs surrounds the settlement, the tops sharpened into points to deter even the most determined of intruders. The gate house wasn’t much more than a hut built against said wall, next to a opening with two heavy doors, just barely large enough for two wagons to go through at once. In time walls of stone would replace them, along with actual buildings on each side with stairs leading to the top of the wall. Piles of bricks had already made it to this gate it seemed. Harwall grew fast.

The two guards at the gate perked up as they spotted Rowan. They went from drowsy and bored to alert and ready in a timespan that suggests they hoped he thought they had been that way from the start. He might have fallen for it were it not for how painfully bright the night was to him now. The moon illuminated all, and the knowledge that only he could see through that shroud of darkness that blinded the others was making it hard not to act on it in some way. He could so easily hide in those shadows. Watch and listen and stalk the unaware. A tempting thought. A unwelcome thought. The guards could probably see the strain to his smile as he tried to focus on other things while walking up to them. Hopefully they wouldn’t pay that much attention.

“Odd time for a stroll.”

The one who spoke was a stout man. Rowan couldn’t help but notice the way he put some accusation into his words. This one would struggle. It would be a fight. He would delight in it, the test of strength and the fear of the man once he realised he was beat and what that meant and-

“It is.”

Rowan spoke quickly to stop that train of thought. He could feel his lips drawing back a bit too much, showing far too much teeth for a friendly grin. He ignored it, cleared his throat, then continued.

“The moon is so beautiful tonight. I figured I should draw some inspiration from it for my next art piece. Pine illuminated by the moon is a beautiful thing to see.”

The guard offers his buddy a look that probably says something about Rowan. Rowan would have offered further explanation if he wasn’t so focused on not visibly inhaling deeply. The scent of sweat, leather, and dried blood coming from the guards did little to take his mind off what he could be doing instead of pretending to be a artist without fear for his life. He was, in fact, a artist, a fact that made it a little easier to pretend, since he didn’t have to make up lies from scratch. There was a bit of truth to his words after all. The moon was beautiful tonight, and he did wish to go out among the pine trees while it shone down on him. Not for the reasons the guards believed though.

“You’d be out there til sunrise bud. We don’t open the gates for people outside after dark for risk of changelings. We don’t let people out during dark either for this very reason.”

Rowan kept his smile up. He’d been expecting this. People going with the settlers were among the most paranoid of people. For good reason. The northern wilds are untamed places full of old, vicious, things. Only the most desperate or adventurous dared brave such conditions in the hope of a new life. Thankfully this also means a whole lot of men of lesser morals fill up these sprouting communities.

“Changelings fear iron and silver right?”

Rowan stuffed a ungloved hand into a bag at his belt and pulled up a handful of gleaming silver coins, mixed with a few iron ones. He offered the bribe to the stout guard with a knowing grin, unaware that his expression had turned even more wolfish and mischievous at this act of trickery.

“I’ll offer you a few more once I return, to prove my humanity that is. Sounds like a good deal?”

If the guard sensed something off, he didn’t show it. He simply eyed Rowan for another moment while rubbing his stubble, then took the coins and grunted his approval. The other guard nodded without comment then slid over to push the lever until the gate rose up just enough for a man to slip under it. Rowan offered his thanks, then hunched down and disappeared outside as promised. Once outside he couldn’t help but shudder. His heartbeat was thunder in his ears and the thrill of the night had him almost feeling giddy. He should hurry.

A somewhat new, but well used path leads out of the settlement and off into the distance. A less traveled path breaks off from it a few paces from the gates and trails down into the pine forest surrounding Harwall. Most of the nearby forest had been cut down and pushed back to make room for the settlement merely a few months back, so the ground between town and forest still looked unnaturally bare and torn up. Rowan took one deep breath, steeled himself, then started the trek towards the forest at a slow but steady pace. This pace lasted for all of 5 steps before his racing mind got the best of him and he broke into a run. The run was exhilarating in a way only dreamers feel when crossing vast distances without much effort. Ground flying past and breathing loud like thunder but without strain. If he lost his footing even once he would be down on all fours, still going forwards with the sheer need to let loose and run.

The treeline soon greeted him like a old lover, fiercely embracing him as soon as he got within range with all the roughness of reaching branches against skin and tangling grass snaring his feet. He didn’t let it stop him from stumbling further into its depth, far away from the eyes of civilization. Only once he was so far into the the forest that he could no longer see the distant light of the town did he stop. He was on the ground within seconds, tearing at his clothes as if they would burn him if he let them stay on any longer. He had a frenzied look on his face, the kind only men long past sanity wear. Eyes wide open and unseeing, his surroundings was a blur now that he no longer held himself back. He kicked his clothes and the sword to the side, not caring where they land, then tore the hairband keeping his long dreadlocks in place.

He could already feel his skin burning despite the cold air. For a moment he just stood there, panting as the world spun around him. Then, without warning, the earlier rush of energy all left him at once, making his tense body go slack like a puppet getting its strings cut. Rowan fell to his back, dizzy and nauseous and fully aware of what was coming next. He savored the moment of calm he was given, laid limp against the ground and facing the sky. High above the almost full moon stared back down at him, almost mocking. So intense was the light to his changing eyes that he didn’t notice the moment ending at first. Only once that tenseness he knew was coming had spread from his neck and all the way along his spine did he notice how he had his back arched and was no longer staring up.

The world pulsed for a moment. Once. As if the entire forest had a heartbeat that he only now could see. Then it pulsed again and he knew that it was his eyes playing tricks on him. The third time his entire body convulsed and folded in on itself, making him cry out as he flung himself to the side, hands grasping at the air like claws to no avail. The forth pulse had his eyes welling up as every muscle in his body tensed up to the point it hurt, then further. He could feel bones snapping and tendons stretching as muscles writhed and twisted like snakes under his skin. His head was so clouded that he could only laugh at the sensation. He felt so alive! He could barely tell if it was pain or pleasure anymore, only that his entire body was awake and moving and changing no matter what he had to say about it. It didn’t matter! Blood filled his mouth and he delighted at the taste. Warm iron staining his teeth like a instruction of what he’s was made to do. The world kept pulsing as fast as his racing heart, and each powerful thrum of it sent his body jerking and convulsing. Bones broke free and slid around like something not part of the rest, same as the muscles that so ruthlessly changed shape and mass and intention. The entire process had Rowan howling with glee and pain equally, the surge of joy at letting his body break free of its meek little human form at sharp contrast with the feeling of being torn apart and rebuilt.

Bones lengthen and shorten at a pace that made him itch. He pushed himself up on all fours, toes and fingers digging deep as he hunched his shoulders forward and bent his back as far as it went. He could feel the crunch of bones giving way in his hands and feet, and soon after he felt himself sink down on his palms as his fingers bent back at the base. For a moment he managed to focus his eyes enough to watch his hands, a feeling of nausea and awe filling him as he watched the broken off fingers darken and shrivel, then reattach to the knuckles in the form of black, wicked, claws. He felt the same happening to his feet, then the final shift as the bones of his ankles sink back into the right sockets with a wet snap. The feeling of stable and strong legs has him uncurling his back, then arching it as he bends his head back into a back breaking stretch. He’s rewarded with the satisfying feeling of stretching out a stiff limb, but increased tenfold as the pop of joints is replaced by the crunch of his spine breaking.

Rowan is locked in that position as his spine tears free from the rest of his bones, the few segments lying over his ribs being the only support keeping him standing still. A series of snaps and pops follow as the segments lengthen and pushes each other backwards, the end of his spine splitting skin and emerging bare and bloody at his backside. Muscle surge after the escaping spine segments, coiling around it like snakes as his spine grows and divides and reforms into a tail. Skin follows once its stopped growing, coating the reeking mess of muscle and blood until it looks natural again. His spine reattaches itself to the rest of his bones and Rowan is finally able to unarch his back as it settles down into a stable shape.

His head is the next to change, jaws suddenly feeling painfully narrow. He opened his maw wide, then wider, feeling skin give way as his jaws unhinge and a tenseness spreads into his teeth as he flexes every muscle in his face. A wet crackling drowns out all other noises as his skull caves in on itself, then reforms into a more canine shape. His laws lengthen and grow, blunt human teeth splitting down the middle and peeling back, then nearly turning inside out as they reform into serrated tips, far too sharp and needle like to belong to any human or dog. The crackling fades as his head finished changing the quickest.

He could feel his tongue twist and grow then flatten at the same time as his ears were pulled back and reshaped. Rowan can’t do much else than focus on breathing as the world spins and swims back into focus. Once he comes to fully he can already feel his ribs and hips settling back down from their own shifting. A intense itch spreads over his body as his still human hair fell out and withered away on the ground. A thick coat of fur replaced it, then spread down his spin, across his back, down his side, then over his limbs and face.

Feeling his body go through the final stages of the change, Rowan shifted his stance and stretched again. He felt the newly grown fur stand on end as he did, before stiffening and growing coarse. With the final changes ending, the now no longer human Rowan shook himself. A wave of restless energy surged through his body, making him all the more aware of how powerful he felt. A mind numbing giddiness overcame him as he took his first few steps, feeling his heavy paws sink into the torn ground with a satisfying thump.

Why did he wait this long to transform? It didn’t make sense anymore. Why would he deny himself this feeling of power when all he had to do was let the change take him. The foolishness of it made him want to laugh, so he did. A raspy and deep sound echoed forth from his new lungs, shaking the leaves of the nearby bushes. The sound reassured him. He was himself again. Nothing could stop him.

Rowan felt the pride welling up in his chest like a physical thing. Like laughter bubbling forth at something funny. The next moment he has his maw wide open towards the sky, mocking the moon back for her earlier taunts. A deep, distorted, cackle fills the air, so loud and booming that the trees shake and the air hums. His sharp ears stands up straight as he hears something far away react to the roar of mirth he just let out. The werewolf hunches back down to sniff at his surroundings while his ears swivel back and forth, trying to pinpoint the sound.

The town. Of course. A whole gathering of people! They must have heard him. A wolfish grins spreads over Rowan’s face as he lurches forward towards the noise. Effortlessly he walks through the underbrush, then at a trot, then at a run. Black fur keeps him hard to spot as he emerges from the forest, crossing the distance that took him minutes before in a matter of seconds. The speed his true form moves at is enough to make him feel another surge of glee bubble up. He keeps the laughter back this time though. He has prey to stalk. They’re alert now, as he want them to be, but he doesn’t want them to see him until he’s right upon them. Nothing beats the smell of shock and alarm.

Light breaks the night as he slows down next to the wall. The werewolf leans a almost hand shaped paw against the rough wall then angles his face next to it to peer through a gap. Within Harwall the guard force has rung the alarm. Doors and shutters have been closed shut and in some places even barricaded. Armed men patrol the streets while shouting urgent words at each other. They’re checking if something got in. The sound came from outside but you never know. Those damned changelings don’t follow the rules of the Above like they do after all. A few guards hold buckets full of scrap metal and salt. Rowan lets out a muffled hum as he tries to force down the laughter this futile act brings out of him.

He has no fear of metal. He was born this way. Cursed from birth to let Ilo guide his mind whenever they saw fit. Restless god of the Underground. Mother of monsters and father of fiends. Rowan held no love for such a god, but neither did he scorn it. He had at first, when the first change took him and he ran wild within his old home. What a night it had been. He had been devastated, but not truly. How could he be? While his human mind regretted and feared what his true mind could and would do, the pure bliss of it all made such feelings fade. How could he resist the allure of his furred form when it held something so amazing. It was easy to forget sometimes. That’s why Ilo had to remind him so often. That was fair. Once a month was his limit. After that the urge to let loose would be so strong that it could take him by force. At times like this when he was in fur he had a hard time seeing just why he would try and avoid it. He truly turned dull as a human.

Movement at the far end of the street he was watching snapped him back to reality. So easy to get distracted. The same pair of guards he met before were moving back towards the gate. Rowan’s lips drew back into a wolfish grin. Silently he moved away from his peeping hole and off along the wall. The distance towards the gate the guards were heading for didn’t take him long to cross, even while creeping as quietly as his hulking form could manage.

Once close enough to the gate that he could hear the muted voices within he paused and hunched down in the grass. The gruff voice of the guard he’d bribed met his ears as he waited. He was keeping his voice as hushed as his fear would let him. That sent another rumble of mirth through Rowan. The tough one was playing brave!

“Any sign of it yet? We checked the Maple gate. No sign of it.” The stout guard was still breathing heavily. They must have moved too fast in their hurry.

“Nothing more from the pines. We have nearly everyone up and running checking the streets. Damned thing sounded big.” The guard that met them by the gate reeked of fear. Rowan could smell it even from outside the wall. Knowing he was the source of it and that they had yet to notice him sent a shiver through his skin. How he would enjoy this. Quietly he moved away from the wall, slowly leaving a fair distance between it and himself. Then he waited.

“Did the art guy return?” The stout guard’s voice was fainter from a distance, but still perfectly audible as long as Rowan held his breath and strained his ears.

“Who?” The fearful one lost a bit of his squeak at the unexpected question.

“Some guy wanted to go out and watch the moon.”

“Lunatic.” The stout guard interrupted his companion and spat. Rowan waited for him to continue again before he opened his maw and inhaled.

“The moon. Said it was for some art piece when-”

“HELP ME! OPEN THE GATE!”

All three startled and went quiet as Rowan emptied his lungs into a panicked yell. The voice that left his wide open jaws was shrill, but very human. The guards kept quiet for a moment in shock, then hissed at each other in quiet voices to keep the gate closed. The stout one’s meek companion seemed to want to open it to let him through, but both the fearful one and the stout guard both held enough experience to ignore the cry. Plenty of changelings could mimic voices, and pleas for help in the middle of the night was not a uncommon lure used by those wicked creatures.

Rowan let out another cry as the three bickered, this time sounding more desperate by adding a higher pitch. He let the cry fade a bit, just enough for the guards to let their guards down. Then he drew his lips back and threw the last of the air n his lungs into the yell, making it rise into a ear splitting scream of pain. He could feel the fear oozing out of his prey as he let out that haunting sound. Doubt and uncertainty mixed with the fear keeping them from acting. Rowan let the cry cut off with a strangled gurgle, but he didn’t let it end there. He inhaled another lungful of air, then let out a much more distorted cry, no longer a plea of words as much as a primal sound of pain and terror. He had heard plenty of those before.

The chilling screams continued on and on, until there was no doubt that every other guard and whoever else was out on the streets had heard it. Something was dying outside the walls they thought. It sounded human. The changeling got someone.

Maybe it would leave them be then.

Rowan had no such intentions. As the three guards just within the Pine gate listened the last of the shrieks ended, then silence filled the night. The tension was thick enough that he could taste it in the air. After a painfully long time he heard the guards breath again, then hushed but urgent demands.

“Open the gate.”

“Are you mad-”

“Open the fucking gate I said.”

Their voices mixed together as one scrambled to heave the lever around, slowly but surely pulling the gate up. The simple mechanism was heavy to handle and had no way to lock it part way, so one guard had to hold the lever in place to keep the gate from falling back down again.

“Is it still out there?”

Rowan held his breath. A few hissed words went by without him catching them, then… The meek guard laid down flat on the ground to peer outside the half meter high gap between the gate and the ground. Rowan bounded forwards.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I-”

Rowan slammed into the raised gate with enough weight to shake the entire wall. The slam and impact made the fearful one lost his grip on the lever, and pushed the gate itself back like a thin plank bending back. The entire structure shook and wavered, and before the man on the ground could crawl back the heavy bottom of the gate fell down on his shoulders with a crunch. A short scream escaped the man before his ribs were crushed like frail twigs and blood sprayed the rough logs making up the gate. Rowan pulled out his claws from the wall so that he was no longer lodged in place halfway up it. He heard panic and yells on the other side and confused gurgles escaping the trapped man as blood gushed out of him like a squeezed bug. A tug on him told Rowan that at least one of the other two was trying to pull the man back in, not fully realizing that he was far too gone to save. Rowan wouldn’t let that put an early end to it all though.

With a heavy swing he dug his claws into the broken man’s shoulder, feeling bone splinters and torn leather armor push back around his claws as he grasped the mushy flesh. It took him two tries before he got a hold of the man’s spine, then he ripped. Flesh and cloth tore with a sickening sound, and the bones still not completely broken snapped as Rowan pulled the man’s upper body free from beneath the gate, leaving the other half trapped under, and behind the gate. He heard one of the guards on the other side throw up as the gate sank down on the now torsoless body with a splat.

His vision swam with red as he snapped his jaws around the bloody mess he tore free, then nearly faded to black in pure bliss as he felt a skull crack beneath his teeth, blood and gore flooding his mouth like the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. The wet sogginess of it all splattered his limbs, chest, and muzzle, giving his fingers a delightful sticky feeling as he moved his hands. Before he knew it he’d torn what he held into shreds and swallowed what he could. Desperate for more he leapt at the bits and pieces sticking up from the gate gap, jaws snapping madly at the just out of reach shreds trapped beneath the wood. He tasted wood and dirt and blood as he chewed at it, frustrated at how little he could get, but far too eager to taste what he could to give up. It was like gnawing on a core of a fruit, the fruit gone in a moment, but the sweet remains on it making it impossible to toss away the core without gnawing it clean.

A sudden shot of pain in his back broke his trance in a second. Confused, he reeled back to peer at what hurt him. The shaft of an arrow stuck up from his back. As he stood up on his hind legs to look, a second one hit him in the chest. Dazed, Rowan looked up towards the wall and spotted a man with a bow nocking a third arrow while kneeling on the roof of a tall building. A crazed grin split the werewolf’s bloodied muzzle at the sight. As the third arrow left the bow he leapt to the side, then took off back towards the forest as the arrow hit the ground where he just stood. He couldn’t help but howl with laughter as the adrenaline and pain mixed together into a maddening buzz.

He kept running the rest of the night, delighted at the taste of iron in his mouth and the searing pain of the two arrows digging into him as he moved. So many sensations! He flew forwards on all fours, the fastest and deadliest for miles, and the night loved him for it.