Leofric would only remember that night in snatches centuries later. He would seek to forget about it, and speak little of it during the long years of his life. For to him, that night was the point at which the life he knew was gone forever.
He opened his eyes to see the still night sky. His vision blurred with tears and the melting falling snow, yet he could see clearer than he ever had. Every pain in his body was gone, leaving behind a light-headed feeling. Without thought, the young man stood, not cognizant of where he was or how he got there. He was only faintly aware of the cold, mind still far away.
Acting on instinct, the young man put one foot ahead of the other, and began his journey. The snow crunches underneath his feet as he walked in silence through the darkness.
He had dreamt of singing - his late mother's singing intermingled with his beloved Freya's voice. They both sang to him, the two most important women in his life. He dreamt of being a small child again, and of fingers delicately running through his hair, making him dizzy with bliss. Leofric dreamt of warmth and being able to play in the snow. His mother, Duchess Anne of Hertfordshire, had never neglected his upbringing. Unlike many other ladies of court who were fond of handing the children off to nannies and going their merry ways, she was always there and present in his life. Always there, up until the moment she passed.
Leofric the now young man walked on unsteady legs through paths of snow. His mind was still clouded with thoughts of the fading dream he had, and he wished for a moment that he could stay in that world of dreams for a little while longer. For he dreamt of Freya too, sitting at a picnic with his mother present. Her laughter as mother and son argued was a sound that he could never wish to forget. The sense of longing he felt for his maiden was intensified. He longed to run his fingers through her raven black locks, watching her dance as he had times before. He longed to take her in his arms, and damn the high society forbid cared little for it. He thought of his father, strict and actual, acting only as a Duke should, and never 'stopping low in disgrace for the sake of the commoners'. Leofric never wanted to be like his father. He kept walking, mind blissfully recalling moments of the dream, paying no mind to the direction he walked in.
Soon the dream was painfully forgotten, as moments later, Leofric felt his chest seize, almost like a hand had a vice grip on it. He gasped, leaning against a tree and fog cleared instantly from his mind. Through the pain, the memories came rushing back. His attack. The monstrous wolf that looked to be enjoying his pain. Leofric looked around him, eyes clearer now, seeing the trees and melting snow. The sound of blood rushing through his ears and his heart beat faster.
Where was he? As he made to move past the spot he was in, he felt himself drawn to the sky. Like a voice calling him. He looked up, eyes caught by the glow of the full moon. He saw it now, clearer than ever before. He could feel the glow enveloping him, like it could burn him.
He jolted suddenly, wrenching his eyes from the sight. What was happening to him? Why was he so drawn to it? It had held no meaning for him before now. And his body...
Leofric touched his back, right where he had felt the pain. He felt his shirt, torn where the jaws had gripped him, but no wound to speak of. His breaths quickened, mind now in disarray. What monster caused this? What was wrong with his mind? He remembered being attacked! But now...
Now he felt no pain, no chill from the snow. Like he was sat in front of a warm fire, not outside in the dead of winter on a December night.
Leofric felt alive, so alive it scared him.
Suddenly he screamed in pain, for he felt his heart being squeezed. Leofric grabbed his chest, falling to his knees as he gasped for breath. Soon, the pain intensified. He felt it all over his body, pressing him from all angles.
The young man screamed even louder until his voice was hoarse. Soon, his bones cracked, and he cried for the agony was too much.
The first transformation was always like this, he later learned. One had to learn not to fight it. It would only make things worse, and he would later find out how he was damn lucky. Many others would lose limbs, become disfigured, and even irreversibly bend their wolf form to be so twisted and incomplete.
But here, Leofric did fight for he was afraid. He had no strength in his body left for it was being ripped from him as his muscles shifted and twisted. His bones growing and resetting itself. He could scream no more. His mouth was open, unable to move and unable to utter a sound from his lips. His eyes found the full moon again, reaching through him from the inside out. Commanding his body to become something else. He felt like an animal, as all logic fled his brain. Yet in his torture, he managed to mouth out the name of the one person that came to mind - Freya.
Freya.
The final change came with a twist of his neck, and a hidden monster inside him came out to play. He screamed then, yet it came out as a howl. One so deep it would send chills down the spines of everyone that heard it. A monster was born that night.
Leofric was now a werewolf.
The light of the moon shine down on the creature who slowly got up on all four paws. Unsteady at first, the wolf stilled as if to strengthen its limbs. It breathed slowly, senses in high alert. Soon a low growl could be heard, as it began to move.
It trotted, then breaking into a full run, past the trees and faster than any other being in its path.
The wolf howled once more, free at last.