In the eerie glow of the waning moonlight, a pack of mutts shuffled forward, their fur matted and grimy, eyes glazed over with a haunting emptiness. Jessamyn stood alone in the darkness, her heart pounding.
The wolves moved in a disjointed manner, limbs jerking awkwardly as if controlled by some unseen force. They bared their dull and stained fangs, and a low, guttural growl emanated from their throats, as their mouth lathered with slobber.
As they drew nearer, Jessamyn couldn't see the remnants of their former human selves in the twisted forms before her. They had lost the life they once knew. Touched by the shapeshifter, now, they were nothing more than mindless husks, driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh, stinking like rotten flesh.
They approached her steadily and Jessamyn realized one another thing. The poison in her body was flushed out as she was kept away from them. Having monkshood poison in her body would have served as a deterrent.
