Copyright © 2006 M.E Ellis
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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He must kill—before it was too late.
His heart leapt at the thought of an attack, and the excitement made his head buzz. He must find something tonight; otherwise, he knew he’d be forced into the town. Knowing most of the folk there, he didn’t relish the idea of attacking one of them, but his primal urges couldn’t be ignored for much longer. Instinct would take over, and be it animal or human, his choice of prey would soon be out of his control.
Breaking into a run, his feet sunk into the ground with each step. He longed for some prey to present itself. Once he reached the other side of the field, he entered another copse of trees, his head darting this way and that, ears tuned to any sounds in the undergrowth.
A sudden movement caught his eye and he swiftly turned his head. By a tall tree stood the shape of an animal. He lowered his head, keeping his body close to the ground, and padded on silent feet towards the image. Heart hammering, but at the same time telling himself to keep calm, he made his way further into the forest, towards the tree.
An innocent fawn grazed quietly. So far, he had been able to creep up on it without detection. He stood still, waiting for his chance to strike. He could almost taste the blood. With the fawn still engrossed in its feeding, he stepped forward, inches at a time; his foot found a hidden twig, which cracked loudly in the silent woods. The fawn jumped and snapped its head up. Exceptional eyesight lent him the ability to see in the darkness. He cursed himself and stood unmoving once more, but his cloudy breath gave him away. The fawn emitted a strangled noise and scampered off further into the woods. Taking up the challenge, he pursued, branches and leaves snatching at his fur and whipping against his body. He followed the fawn’s scent, instinct showing him the way.
He ploughed on, crashing through the undergrowth, the thrill of the catch infecting his blood. He kept steady breaths and focussed his mind. He ran, ducking under branches and leaping over exposed roots. Leaves littered the ground and made his passage easy. He caught a glimpse of the fawn’s rump and pushed himself harder, lungs straining as air pumped in and out. His throat felt dry, but the kill was imminent, and the blood he would drink would ease the aridity.
The fawn darted left, but changed direction with a quick right, where it disappeared into a dense thicket. His gaze on the place of entry, he sped through the copse. Once there, he sniffed the bushes and detected the fawn’s musky scent. He forced himself through leaves and pushed himself out of the foliage only to find a wide stream on the other side.
He whipped his head toward the sound of frantic splashing and saw the young deer emerge from the water onto the far bank. The fawn scampered off into the other side of the forest.
Irked, he snapped his teeth together. He snorted, his anger growing. In a blind fury, he turned from the stream and crashed through the bushes, retracing his swift journey through the woods. Over the open field he raced. As the mist cleared, the crescent moon provided a brief illumination. He made his way to the trees and lowered his head onto his chest. Disgusted with himself for not catching the fawn, his raw, bestial urges bloomed inside his gut. He padded through the copse at a steady pace until he found himself at a main road on the outskirts of the town.
Cars passed while he made up his mind whether or not it was safe for him to emerge. He had to kill; he couldn’t hold it off any longer. As a human, he hoped he appeared like anyone else, but when the animal in him emerged, it was hard to fight the change from one being into another. Other times, he transformed because he wanted to. He killed because it was who and what he was—he’d accepted that long ago. He waited for a space in traffic and darted across the road. A steep bank led down to more fields and he leaped down it with ease.
Running once more across the grass, his need growing sharper by the second, he kept going until his feet hit the tarmac of the road into town. With a steadier pace, he jogged until he saw the lights of a small farmstead. He liked the farmer well enough, but his own needs came first.
He made his way—to the blood and the meat—and the thrill of the kill.