What a glorious time to be alive thought the werewolf. Fine gravel and patches of cobbled road flew beneath his paws as he bounded down the empty streets of Harwal. Such a glorious time indeed. Above him the sky was dark, not because there was no moon to be seen, but because cloud and sky tore and clung to the branches of the gigantic pines moving past the settlement.

Rain wept down from time to time, coming down in patches, uncertain if it should let go or not. In the distance wood creaked and broke. The crashing of water and the rustle of frenzied maple leaves lent a sense of chaos to the night.

Rowan loved it.

Such was the commotion that had the citizens of Harwall hiding in the town hall, the church, and in the few homes built sturdy enough to withstand the anger of the ground.

Lan and Telrin were waging war upon each other, and Esbi was none too happy about it. Maybe the rå of the Pines would break up the fight. Maybe Harwall would be leveled with the ground before the three calmed down. Who was to say?

Rowan couldn’t care less.

His was the night, in a very different sense. Here lay the usual target of his desire whenever he wore wolf’s clothing. Harwall, in all its unfinished glory. Houses made of stone, wood, brick, and mud. Some looking ready to last for generations, while others were mere placeholders to keep the busy people of the settlement safe from nature’s wear and tear.

And nature tore.

A pine tree the size of the smallest of Harwall’s buildings came flying through the air, branches snapping and raining down fine green needles upon the empty streets as the lake man threw it. Water followed, a distant patter as if emptying a bucket onto cobbled ground. Rowan delighted in the way the sound roared. The only thing that could have made the werewolf happier was if any of the settlers had actually been out on the street while it happened.

The flying tree crashed into a building two streets away from where Rowan was. He heard wood and rock break with a hair raising crash. But no screams. Oh how he wanted there to be screams.

He debated seeking out the heart of the fight for a moment, curiosity over what a fight between the lands would look like tempting his heart. He decided against it, but only just barely.

A scent clung to the ground, slowly losing its hold as more smells crowded the place from far and wide. The wind was howling hysteria, a constant reminder of the potential destruction, that tore at one’s ears. Rowan would have felt for it, had it not been muffled by the near constant ringing he’d been left with since he’d abandoned his fight against Margret’s door.

The memory of what happened was unclear to him still. He remembered a scream, the panic of things going wrong, Margret reeking of fear. Something had come apart, and with it came enough confusion and stimuli to have the werewolf tear himself free of his weaker form.

What happened next had been a blur. He remembered the roster, vile and hated as it was in his eyes, stare at him. He still felt the weight it had put on his limbs, freezing him in place until he’d managed to shake himself out of the daze. How he hated that bird.

One moment he’d been staring the thing down, the next instinct had kept him blind and enraged. The next thing he knew he’d been bounding down a street, claws clicking against the packed ground with each leap.

Freedom.

And within Harwall no less. Never had he run freely within its walls while wearing fur. It had always been a distant wish of his, to see it with his yellow eyes. The golden ones were too dull. They thought too much about what they saw. Too many worries and fears to truly enjoy what the world was showing him. Yes, his wild self was what needed this.

The scent caught his nose again, this time with enough of a presence for him to follow it. Rowan slowed his pace into a trott, then into a quick walk. With his nose to the ground he soon picked up a trail. Many in fact. The fleeing citizens only had a few places to go, and as such, their scents became one winding trail, all flooding towards nearly the same destinations.

The church met him first, tall and proud. Many of his statues lined its sides and front, blank eyes of clay staring at him daringly. He could sense a great amount of people within its doors, but the ground burned his paws when he tried to draw closer. Another time then. He had better trails to follow.

The second place the fleeing people had gone to lay at the other end of the settlement, closer to the Maple gate. A tiny voice at the back of his mind told him where it was. It also told him not to go there, but Rowan saw no reason to obey it. All of Harwall’s citizens were told to go to the town hall or church when a catastrophe arrived. That included him too didn’t it? The voice disagreed, but Rowan felt too clever to deign it with a reply.

The empty plaza welcomed Rowan like it always had, streets on either side giving way to let him step into the open space. Harwall always felt a bit flatter when standing in the plaza. Shops and buildings of importance were closed and boarded up, their occupants having fled to safer places already.

Rowan prowled along one side of the plaza, keeping close to the buildings lining it rather than stroll into the open. Another airborne tree came crashing down. It hit the roof just above the prowling predator this time, and Rowan barely managed to scramble out of the way before it came crashing towards the ground, tearing half the building’s front with it as it went.

The wind picked up again as the falling rubble pelted the ground. A rumbling growl bubbled up in Rowan’s throat as the sound grated at his now even more ringing ears. Anger slowly filled his vision, but thankfully he would soon have something to take it out on.

The reinforced door of the town hall glared defiantly at him, which intimidated the werewolf as much as a toddler with a battlehorn. Cackling with glee and anticipation, Rowan crept forth. He put two heavy paws against the rough surface of the door, and immediately felt a faint tingling from the metals put into it to ward of changelings. It was nowhere as strong as the church, but the defense was there nonetheless. Perhaps it would spook some lesser creatures, presuming they didn’t have enough of a mind to ignore the unpleasant feeling. Against Rowan it was about as effective as a squirt of water.

Goaded by the heavy scent of humans he caught on the door, the werewolf rose up onto his hind legs and put his weight onto the front paws on the door. The wood groaned beneath him as he leaned further against it, willing the door to break against his paws. His efforts were rewarded with creaking protests from the wood, but whatever held it barricaded from the inside resisted the werewolf’s attempt at slowly breaking the door down.

Impatience slowly won over his desire to savor the moment. Rowan shifted his hind legs back a step, putting himself at more of a diagonal angle against the door, then pushed. For a moment his body went upright, stiff as a board, then gravity pulled him back down against the door like a falling pillar. Just before hitting back against the door, there werewolf thrust his paws forwards, adding further force to the blow. The wood complained with more creaks and groans, but held. Annoyed, Rowan repeated his actions for a few more attempts. No change.

Enraged, the werewolf gave up on any sort of tactic and started clawing at the door instead. Shuffling sounds started ringing out from behind the door, quickly followed by muffled voices full of alarm. Feeling his urges to break into the building nearly double, the werewolf cried out, voice raw with anger. He thought he felt the unnaturally sturdy wood give beneath his claws when something hard hit the back of his head.

A sharp flash of pain that rattled his skull. Rowan spun with a yowl, only to find that what had hit him was a small rock. The thrower stood frozen just a few steps away from his hulking form.

There it stood, trembling and trying to stay rock still at the same time. That same accursed lump of a root that had torn him out of his human mind earlier. Luhnan fought the urge to scream as the werewolf slowly turned to face him fully. Yellow eyes locked onto hollow sockets, the werewolf’s ones burning with rage whereas Luhnan’s could have rolled back into his head at any second from pure fright.

They held like that, staring each other down, neither daring to move lest the other one lash out. Then a root split the plaza like a surfacing worm bursting through the earth, and the startled Luhnan took off at a mad sprint. Rowan was on his heels near instantly.

If Luhnan had a heart it would surely have been beating overtime. The fact that he didn’t, which meant there was no sound of it to follow threw the chasing beast off somewhat, but not enough to make it lose track of its quarry. There was still the scent and sight after all. Of a fearful little thing fleeing for its life. And flee he did.

Although most of the buildings stood sturdy, dust and debris still hailed down onto the streets, a constant shower of possible death should it hit something vital at that speed. Luhnan dodged death and crushed limbs with a show of surprising agility. Rowan charged through the obstacles like a rabid bulldozer.

Streets flew by at breakneck speed, and each turn the mandragora could feel the hungering beast closing in on him. He had no doubt what would become of him if the werewolf caught him. In fact, he was trying his best not to imagine it, lest nausea slow him down further. Survival was the only option he could allow himself, but that path would require more and more dire actions it seemed. He was at the end of his rope. Exhaustion had his body aching and slowing. He could hear the frenzied panting of the beast as it followed him around another corner in the street. Luhnan was starting to lose hope. He pumped his limbs with all he got, urging himself to keep going as fast as possible. Another crossroads opened up before him, and Luhnan was about to turn right when-

Go to the left.

The system’s voice rung out in his head for the first time since he got out of that witch’s house. Willing to trust any advice that might lead to his salvation, even if that trust was blind, Luhnan dove to the right as the crossing streets approached. He dove, feeling something in his body snap at the extortion, then felt the ground disappear beneath his feet.

As the ground crumbled ad gave way, a sound to match it followed. Packed dirt crunched as it was ripped open by a tremor, and with it came the base of the building nearest the hole. Vaguely behind him Luhnan could hear the werewolf scream as rocks and timber started raining down over it. The house was coming down, tipping over like a felled tree of the giant kind, and the werewolf had followed Luhnan right into its path.

The world lost coherence during that moment, as what later turned out to be a newly dug tunnel beneath the street fell in on itself, and pulled the building it was connected to with it. Only the keenest of eyes would realize this however. To the uneducated it mostly looked like a building had come down, and dug deep into the ground as it hit it. The fact that seemingly no one knew about the tunnel beforehand only added to the dismissal of that vital piece of information.

Luhnan and Rowan would not, since that glaring truth had them both stuck in its maw now, buried beneath the rubble six feet under.