Werewolf story -WIP

Within 1

Darkness. All consuming darkness. Devoid of all visual sensation. A slight tingling courses along the outer extremities, as all the hairs along neck, legs, arms, spine, and body rise up almost as if alive in their own right. From the smallest of them to the longest of them, they reach out as the sensations of touch and feeling slowly awaken. Almost akin to feline whiskers, they deliver strange messages to the mind's inner eye. Gently at first then more quickly, the sense of touch heightens with an extended awareness.

Wet. Sticky. Dampness. Some of the hair is matted down, stuck to the skin by a sticky, wet, dampness. Cool breeze teasing the ends of the hairs on the body. A few along the upper, outside of the body are lifted by the soft air current.

Smell kicks in, tickling the sinuses and causing an explosive exhale. It is salty, yet sweet and cloying. There is an iron tang to it, and a heaviness in the air very nearby.

Blood.

There was so much blood. The salty, iron smell of it hung thick in the air like some invisible mist. The scent of it left a slight taste on the tongue, as if it filled the mouth, nose, and lungs. Its heady aroma nearly suffocating with its thick, slightly sweet, and tangy flavor that spoke of new death.

Death.

Yes this was the blood of death not life. Life's blood had a much different scent about it. A scent that spoke of new life, heavy woth promise and possibilities. Mother's Blood. Yes Mother's Blood is the blood of Life. Blood in a festering wound had a sickly smell to it. It spoke of a wound gone bad, foul, infected, full of pain and sadness. Hunter's Blood had a diffeent scent then any other. It spoke of life mixed with death, promise of food and full bellies. But not, this scent spoke of the passing of life, of struggle, pain, hurt.., fear.

Yes, even fear. Blood scent carries more then simple messages of life or death. The messages it carries are as numerous as the stars. A well trained sense of smell is capable of picking up the most subtle messages.

Fear. Mind killing fear surfaces from the other potent, overlaying scents. This fear-smell itself overlaps the scent of prey-blood. Prey-blood is sweeter, with a heady aroma that triggers hunger when one's stomach is empty. It speaks of life renewed, as one life ends so that another may live. It is very different from predator's blood, unless one is a scavenger. Creatures that feed on death and the dead only seem to scent Death's Blood. The longer some creatures lay un-living, rotting, moldering, often attracts different sorts of scavengers. The dirty beasts.

Fear, death's blood, too much blood, and darkness..., slowly other scents sift through. Others are nearby. The sound of their movement among the trees is muffled and yet still very distinct.

The eyes open to take in the surroundings. The dark roughness of a blindfold blocks the view. Suddenly the mind fully awakens, self-awareness and realization overwhelm the incoming message from his senses.



Frightful images swept through his mind as Jayce knelt on the cold, damp earth, blind-folded, bound and gagged. The crisp Autumn breeze chilled his mostly naked flesh. He could hear the soft rustle, and occasional breath of others nearby. Three of these were unique to Jayce. Memories faded into the forefront of his mind. These unique sounds issued from those who bound him. Their scents were crisp and close by, thick with anticipation. Other sounds alerted him to a slowly growing crowd, yet their scents were muted by the damp earth and moist pine needles.

Jayce kept his breath steady and even, internalizing as much of his own anticipation as possible. At this very moment the predicament in which he sat made him seem as much prey as the deer of the wood. Any excitement, fear, or any reactionary response that issues from him might set off the deeper instincts of those surrounding the clearing. His own instincts were sharpened, thus he knew better then antagonize those nearby.

His mind dug through the layers of fog caused by the minor concussion in an attempt to remember why he was here, restrained and completely helpless. Images of faces, emotions, and confrontations welled up, clarified, and left him both stimulated and chilled to the bone. The odd juxtaposition of emotions left him feeling out of sorts, confused. A soft chuckle from the gathered others whom he could not see, but only sense, reminded him to control his emotions more tightly. Someone had smelled his confused fear/excitement response. He needed to be much more careful if he were going to survive the waiting period before the Rite itself.

Within a deeper part of his mind, Jayce argued with himself. Yes, he made the choice that placed him in such a dire situation. Yes, he stood before the Elders, full of himself and the knowledge that when he offered himself, it was for the tribe. Jayce indeed enjoyed the attentions given to him the night before, as his body and soul were prepared for this momentous occasion. Never a second thought crossed his mind. He was warrior caste. Bred, born, and trained by his natal pack. No warrior feared such an ultimate sacrifice. It was an Honor. Even so the lingering fear-thrill of knowing the end of his life as one of the tribe's best warriors was near at hand. It left him flushed and cold at the same time.


This was a special circumstance. The Spring Moon, this year, filled the sky in Her fullness only to be covered by the Shadow. The priestess called it a 'Penumbrae Eclipse'. Jayce's sacrifice was to ensure that She returned to Her full Glory. At least this is what the Ancient Ones believed, and it was one of their most sacred Rites.

He knew it was only in mimicry of the event, and that many of the 'Ancient Mysteries' were based on old ghost stories and legends. It hailed from a time when his ancestors, the Ancient Ones, knew only the darkness of their dens, and ran purely on instinct. Jayce understood that his blood, shed for this faith, was merely a ceremony handed down from hundreds of generations before. Even so, it was a dangerous Rite. Powerful, life-altering for those who survived it. Not many were know to survive it, and the very real possibility of his death sat in his mind.

But, it was something he cherished as much as the others simply because it was such an ancient Rite. The age of it set this specific Rite as one of the Six. They were the last remnants of their ancient heritage and culture. Descended from a time long before the first true Tribe, in such an age before the Great Resurgence, and even longer ago then the time when human wars devastated this very planet.


These thoughts kept Jayce from succumbing to his sudden urge to flee, even as his sensitive nose picked up on the soft scent of the High Priestess. The muted Power she carried within her tingled his nose almost like the scent of Ozone after a lightening strike. The hairs along his neck stood on end. As she stepped closer, he picked up on her personal scent. The subtle warmth of her scent made him very aware of his own near nakedness. There was a heat behind her scent, twisted by a predatory hunger, and enhanced by her dominance among all other of the Moon's Chosen.

He involuntarily shivered.

He could feel her toothy smile. He could feel her eyes tracing over every inch of his body. Jayce felt too, now, the press of the crowd around him. All the Tribal Priestesses had made the long journey to this most sacred of places. A site where only the female of the species dared tread. This old taboo wasn't so much as a social division of the sexes, unlike the typical social stigmas placed upon them. Males were hunter-killers, their very souls were bound into a body that knew only death. Females carried the living essence of Life itself, even though some choose the path of the Hunter. No male gave birth. No male suffered the pain of bearing new life. So no male dared serve in such a place as this most Holy of grounds. For this was a Living reminder of the Mother's own Womb.., where the first of the Ancestors were born, raised and taught the Laws of the Hunter.

Save, that is, those who were given to the Goddess as the Blood-Moon Sacrifice. Those rare few males were then blessed to carry on a special 'curse'. No longer were their claws or teeth permitted to slay. No Life taken. They became both lesser and greater in the eyes of the People. Both a burden and a savior to the Tribes. No longer allowed to hunt and feed themselves, they became as much of a burden as the Elders who relied on the tribe to care, feed, and protect them. Nor, those so chosen to serve the Mother in this new way, were they allowed to take a mate and breed. For the 'curse' lent detrimental effects upon the children of such unions.

They carried the rare and subtle ability to pass on the greatest of the Moon's Blessings. Those rare few males went on to become legends.., if they survived the Trials of the Rite.

Most, his thoughts reminded him, did not survive.


Jayce shuddered again as doubt crept up along his spine. It intensified as he felt the Moon's presence. The surge in his blood that sung through his form triggered the urge to change shape. This was muted only slightly by the leather-bond silver collar he wore around his neck. The priestess's scent shifted as her forms changed. All those around him, he could sense, also took on the blessed forms.

A single, lonely howl issued from deep within the Forest. Just before it echoed into nothingness, other voices lifted their song to the skies. It was the Tribe, he knew each voice and each individual song. Memories flooded through his mind, both joyous and terrible. They sang of his life, his accomplishments, and of his Natal pack. It was a dirge, a final farewell sung when one of their own died.

Tears welled up under his blindfold. The finality of this finally hit him, and it hit him hard. No matter what happened this evening, he no longer existed as he once did. His name was sung to the Moon, taken by Her into the heavens for the Great Hunting Grounds. Jayce was no more.

As the voices crescendo'd and lingered in a wavering cry of mourning, he felt a single claw trace along his cheek. Stifling his instinct to jump back and away from the touch, he instead forced himself to lean into it. The claw moved just under his blindfold, gently. He felt the tears being lifted away from his skin. After a few, short, terrified heartbeats, the claw lifted away and left his face slightly tacky from the salt of his tears. There was a sound of a mouth opening. Warm breath caressed his face, chilling him to the bone.


At the Edge of the Deep Forrest
2

Daven's voice was the last to echo through the woods. His status among the pack changed tonight. Jayce was his full brother, and both were born to the Alpha pair of the Tribe. Twins.

Rare enough did a single cub survive their first three years. More rare when multiple births occurred that any of the cubs survived the first few hours. Twins were healthier then triplets or full litter-births. Even so with a low birth weight and a weaker immune system most multiples died early. If one seemed stronger then the other, often the parents would offer better care to the stronger one to ensure their bloodline survived.

Cruel? Daven always thought so. Thankfully he and his brother were whelped during a long Season of Plenty. Warm weather, healthy herds, and very successful hunts almost everyday had kept the Tribe exceedingly healthy and strong. Several cubs were whelped that year.

The others of the pack looked at Daven, a near replica of his brother. There was a watchful wariness in their eyes. He no longer held a solid placement in the pack. Not until Daven was assessed by the priestesses, and then re-integrated back into the tribe. It was not something Daven looked forward to at all. Already he could feel the defensiveness of his pack-mates, as they now registered him as an "Outsider".

Daven locked eyes with his pack alpha who instantly bristled and growled. Looking away, dropping his tail, while offering both belly and throat in a submissive posture, he waited for the alpha to drive him off. Instead the alpha dominated Daven, forcing him to the ground and embracing his throat with sharp fangs. The force of the bite was enough to nearly break the soft skin beneath the heavy coat of fur. The intent was not to kill, but to assert rank and solidify status within the pack.

Once the alpha let him go, Daven lay there motionless. He peeked through half-closed lids to watch the body language of his pack alpha. He was being ignored. Daven sighed in relief.

Just as he moved to stand again, another set of teeth closed around his throat. Daven whined and struggled in shock and fear. The teeth clamped down, cutting off his breath. Rolling his eyes wildly, he tried to see who was attacking him. The alpha's mate.., and just behind her stood the rest of the pack. Waiting, it seemed, for their turn at him, they watched as the alpha's mate dominated Daven.

Fear surged through his body, causing him to shift instinctively. The alpha's mate growled a warning. Daven closed his eyes and focused on his body, knowing that she'd rip out his throat if he dared to loose control. Right now, with as close of a blood tie relation to the Sacrifice he knew existed, Daven was a threat to the pack. He reminded himself that she was only defending the pack, and that any loss of control might be seen as a weakness.

Slowly the fear faded. He regained his composure and relaxed his body. It responded naturally to the more clam state of mind and ceased the instinctual form-shift. Once he stopped shifting and struggling, she simply held him for a moment longer before walking away. Then member by member, the pack also asserted their dominance in order of their rank and status.

Omega.

Until the Priestesses assessed both him and the Sacrifice, he was no longer an esteemed member of the most capable Hunting Pack in the Tribe. No. Now he was Omega of the most capable Hunting Pack in the Tribe.

After what seemed to be nearly an hour, Daven watched the last of the pack walk away from him. Alone. He remained on his side on the ground fully prone, as he watched his pack fade into the Forest. The Moon watched him from behind her dark shadow.

Daven thought of his brother.

Jayce no longer existed. Daven could feel it in his bones. Now he was merely the Sacrifice. There was a sense of terror.., and joy.., and passion..., and pain. Daven closed his eyes, panting heavily, as a part of him some where deep inside his soul.., screamed.3