(AN: Note: This is a gory chapter. Well, I wouldn’t call it gory, but I can be pretty evil at times. I’ve seen photos of severed limbs, and thought it was cool, while my friends have nearly barfed, so my sense of gore is broken. Be warned. And sorry for the wait!)

16th of Mid Year, Tirdas, 197 4E

A strange urge had just come over me.

The urge to learn.

The urge to know more about how sticks wound their foes.

The urge to be able to do it.

Just swinging them at each other isn’t enough, I need to know how to shoot more sticks using a large bendy stick.

Frey had protested after I stole his book, but then quickly went quiet. A short bit later, he exited the room, and I haven’t seen him since.

The book is actually pretty useful, even though the first portion of it is footwork and things you shouldn’t do.

After memorizing a few techniques, I was ready to try out a hunting bow.

Me, being the sibling I am, looked around Frey’s belongings.

And of course, I took one of his bows.

Mother came back a while ago, and gave me a strange look, due to me messing around with a reinforced stick with a string. I went outside to practice on a tree, and heard a strange rumor flying around.

A werewolf had been spotted recently.

Of course, my thoughts flitted to Frey, and I didn’t think much of it.

Now though, I’m regretting my decision of just ignoring the Elves, because Frey is sitting here, and there are several Bosmer rushing outside the gates wielding pitchforks and . . . small torches. There’s still a werewolf on the loose.

I feel surprised, because Bosmer despise anything and everything that is a humanoid version of an animal. I’ve always thought Wood Elves are weird that way, because some of them have antlers.

“Frey, what happened?” Mother asks him, looking worried.

“I-I don’t know. It just happened last night, so I wandered the forest a bit. Obviously, I’m back here, but I’m not sure whether they saw me, or someone else.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and finally tell Frey to go outside again, and get some more information as to what in the eight Divines is going on.

Frey silently leaves the room, looking confused. Me and Mother watch him leave, and I yawn. I barely got any sleep last night, yet again, due to a strange dream. Mother looks over at me worriedly.

“Why are you always so tired?” she asked me. I shrug, and look outside a small window. Instead of seeing a peacefully deserted forest though, I spot a small Thalmor group, watching a strange movement in the undergrowth.

A large black wolf-like creature pops its head out of thick bushes, and looks around warily.

Deep green eyes meet mine, before it finally disappears in the undergrowth.

The Altmer started shouting, and pointing at where it disappeared. One of them started running down, wielding a sword.

Mother comes over to the window. She narrows her eyes at the High Elves, and I see her fist clench.

What grudges could she have against the Thalmor? I sit there confused, until suddenly, the black thing leaps out of the undergrowth again.

The soldier screams, and gets slashed across the chest. He instantly falls down, clearly dead, and bleeding horribly from five long scratches. The werewolf then lopes over to the rest of the Thalmor.

One soldier has fainted, the other two are cowering, and the wizard is trying to summon something.

I look away from the now grotesque scene, and Frey comes back into the room.

“They can’t fi-” he starts to tell us, not finishing his sentence. He pushes me away from the window, and watches in horrified fascination. Mother looks sad, while I’m trying not to be sick.

Currently, the werewolf is devouring the corpses of the Altmer.

“Frey, go out and chase it away from here,” Mother tells him, looking worried. “The whole town is freaking out about this, and it might hinder future traveling for us.”

He nods, and exits the room without a word. I start to follow him, but then backtrack, and rethink my own stupidity.

I eventually leave the room, and go outside to pulverize a tree, and vent some stress.

A random Elf yells at me for doing target practice on a plant, and I sigh in frustration once he leaves. These Bosmer really are touchy about nature.

–

A few hours later

Frey pov

I feel only exhilaration, as I chase the beast through the woods.

He looks back fearfully, due to me being larger than him.

I wish I could hunt like this all day.

But then . . . I’d have to leave Freyja behind. And that’s not worth it. We need each other.

I really need to find a way to make her change. Unluckily for me though, I can’t find anything useful on lycanthropy. At least not here.

Maybe Cyrrodiil or Skyrim would have something useful on this matter.

I nearly faceplant in a tree, as the werewolf takes a sharp turn unexpectedly.

‘Enough thinking about this, I’ve got to get rid of this monster.’

I put on a burst of speed, and leap onto my foe.

He howls, and rolls over onto his back, trying to shake me off.

I bite his neck, and hold firmly while he struggles, and begins bleeding.

More screeching comes from the creature, and I finally slash at his throat, killing him.

I sit there for a moment, licking my chops and relishing the kill.

‘Ugh,’ I think, hating what’s about to come. ‘This is gonna hurt.’