Fenrir thinks you're pretty when you cry. (unmuzzled) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-07-27 22:00:00 |
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The moon, as always, had a significant pull on Fenrir. It was down to mere minutes now and he stripped his shirt off as he sat just on the edge of the woods. What was left of the sunlight was filtered through the trees and Fenrir could feel the pull of the wolf. He breathed deep and let his eyes close. Acceptance. They were all so foolish, the other wolves that thought they could escape this. It was just acceptance. You had to embrace the wolf. You could retain some of yourself, your intentions, if you spent long enough with the wolf. If you let him run and accepted his existence as fact and a part of yourself that needed care. It was work and it took time. But Fenrir had been doing this for a decade and a half and he'd never really fought the wolf. And so, as the moon replaced the sun, he focused on his task tonight. Percy. The little pup. It was time to turn him properly. Not to kill him. Not now, anyway. The little boy was about to taste a whole new world. It would hurt at first - it always did. But they would take care of him. That was their job as a pack. As a family. The fur first. It itched as it sprouted and Fenrir had to force himself not to scratch. And then came the painful snap of bones and muscles contorting, his face elongating into the snout of the canine, the reshaping of his body. He had done this a lot. But it was still dark magic and it still hurt, to some degree. It sapped energy like a sponge. You just had to have faith that the wolf would remain strong. And it always did. He as a huge wolf, even by werewolf standards and with a deep-chested growl, Fenrir shook himself off, ridding himself of the ridiculous human clothing and padding toward his tent. One of the vampires was there. Sworn to keeping the boy safe, away from the other wolves for the night. And to take him away as soon as the deed was done. Fenrir nudged the flap aside, his nose invaded with the fear radiating off the child. And the odd, dead scent of the vampire. Fenrir's tongue lolled out in a canine grin and he approached the boy. Percy withdrew, tears in his eyes as he shrank away from the giant of wolf. Fenrir was taller than him, even in this form. He sniffed at the child, barely quelling the wolf's natural bloodlust. And then he bowed his head and set his teeth on the cloth of Percy's thigh. It was almost friendly. Almost. A second later, he bit down, deaf to the cry of pain and screams of fear that came from the boy. It was all temporary. He would be okay. Blood flowed into his mouth, unabated. Warm and coppery over his tongue and again, it was a struggle not to get carried away. It only took one bite. Percy was, in the mean time, kicking and screaming, struggling to get away from the iron jaws that would change him forever. Fenrir pulled, effectively throwing the boy onto his back. And then he let go, licking idly at the bite on the boy's leg for a moment and then over his own bloodied muzzle. Enough then. There were still plans for tonight. Still an entire wilderness to run. Fenrir grinned his canine grin and left with hardly more than a flick of his tail. Barely a taste of flesh. He wanted more. Triumphantly, he raised his eyes to the moon and howled, a call to arms. A hunt. |