If I had known this day would turn me into a monster, I wouldn't have stepped into the woods as I usually did. But I did. And now, nothing will ever be the same.
Just like every other day, I sprinted through the forest, my paws sinking into the soft earth, still damp from last night's rain. In my shifted form, the forest felt more alive around me—scents swirling, wildflowers, damp leaves, the faint musk of animals hiding in the shadows. The wind roared past, sharp and cool, tugging at my fur as if it wanted to carry me with it. I ran faster. I always ran faster.
And the sun—it spilled through the trees, golden and warm, painting patterns on my fur as I moved. I could feel it, like a whisper against my skin, reminding me this place was mine. The forest didn't ask questions or demand explanations. It just let me be.
Here, I wasn't a secret or a threat. I was just... free.
A few minutes later, I was standing at the river's edge, watching the water ripple and shimmer under the sun. I wasn't raised to rely only on animal blood for sustenance. Fish were fair game too.
I'd heard stories of wolves who fed on human flesh and blood, though the thought made my stomach churn. I couldn't understand why Father was so adamant about steering clear of humans if they were the threat he always warned me about. If they're so dangerous, why not deal with them and have a meal while you're at it? Killing two birds with one stone, as Grandpa would say.
Grandfather had a knack for questioning Father's approach to life. "Being a wolf isn't about hiding—it's about living," he once told me, his voice heavy with disdain. He'd visit occasionally, each time finding subtle ways to criticize Father, calling him soft for trying to coexist with humans.
Their last fight, though, wasn't subtle. It was loud, sharp, and full of words I couldn't quite piece together at the time. Something about a human—a threat—and what should have been done to handle it.
"Mercy is just another name for weakness," Grandfather had growled. "You can't call yourself a good person if you're afraid to do what must be done, even when it's unpleasant."
That line stuck with me, though I didn't know if I agreed. Father believed differently, and I couldn't help but think he was right. Still, I'd crouched behind the door that day, ignoring their orders to play outside with Mother. I wanted to hear them argue. I wanted to understand why they seemed to live by different rules.
Father always said there were others like us. Like me. And then there were others who only looked like us when we weren't shifted—humans. But we were nothing alike. They were clever, yes, but not fast. Not instinctual. Not...wolves.
I often wondered what it would be like to meet them. Not as prey or predator, but just to see.
The river shimmered under the sunlight, its surface reflecting the sky like a sheet of glass. I crouched near the edge, water rippling around my paws. In one swift motion, I plunged into the current, claws catching a wriggling fish. Its slick body glinted like a polished stone as I tossed it onto the soft grass.
We didn't just live off fish, though. Rabbits, squirrels—sometimes even the occasional deer. Anything that kept us from hunger, Father said. But fish were my favorite. They didn't scream.
I stared at the fish flopping wildly, its tail slapping the ground in protest. "Alright, alright, you win," I muttered, as if it could understand me. I leaned in and bit down, tearing a chunk. The taste was earthy, fresh, and metallic all at once. Not the worst thing I'd ever had.
Grandfather's voice echoed in my head, as it often did. "Eat what you can. Hunt what you must. But never waste an opportunity." He always had a quote for everything, though Father liked to say he had more quotes than sense.
I swallowed another bite and glanced at the forest around me. The quiet felt normal, yet something pricked at my instincts. The wind shifted, bringing a swirl of scents—pine, damp moss, the faint musk of a deer further upstream. Nothing unusual. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled.
"Relax, Kyle," I mumbled to myself, letting out a huff. Talking to myself wasn't exactly a habit I was proud of, but who else was there? The fish?
A sharp sound cut through the air, stopping me mid-chew.
It wasn't an animal's cry or the rustle of leaves. It was louder, sharper—an echoing blast that rolled through the trees like thunder. The sound vibrated in my chest, unfamiliar and wrong.
I dropped the fish, ears twitching as I scanned the forest. My heart thudded against my ribs. Whatever that was, it came from higher up—from the direction of home.
Without thinking, I bolted.
The forest blurred around me as I raced up the mountain, my paws pounding the ground in rapid strides. Twigs snapped underfoot, and branches whipped against my fur. The wind roared past, carrying with it faint hints of something acrid and metallic, like burned wood and... something else I couldn't name.
I didn't stop, didn't hesitate, even as the incline grew steeper and the ground turned rocky beneath my paws. My lungs burned, but the urgency clawing at me was stronger.
The trees thinned as I reached the ridge, the clearing opening before me. The air felt heavier here, charged with something dark and wrong. My heart pounded as I slowed, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
The house came into view, and my world stopped.
I saw them.
Father was slumped against the base of a tree, his silver coat streaked with dark, sticky red. Mother lay sprawled just a few feet away, her fur matted with blood.
For a moment, everything stopped. The wind, the forest, my own thoughts—it all went quiet. My legs wobbled, and I stumbled forward, my paws dragging across the ground as I neared them.
"Dad?" The word came out as a broken whimper, more a thought than a sound.
My nose caught the bitter tang of iron mixed with their scent—familiar and comforting, but wrong now, tainted. My eyes locked on the arrows sticking out of their chests, silver and cruel, gleaming faintly in the fading sunlight.
"No," I whispered, my voice shaking as I shifted back into my human form. My knees hit the dirt, and I crawled the last few feet to Father. "No, no, no."
I pressed my hands against his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Dad, wake up. Please."
He didn't move.
My breath hitched, and tears blurred my vision as I turned to Mother. Her body was so still, so quiet. I reached out to her, my fingers trembling as I brushed against her fur. She felt cold.
My chest heaved, and a sob tore from my throat, raw and loud in the silence. I sank back onto the ground, my knees drawing up to my chest as my hands covered my face.
They were gone.
All the lessons, the rules, the promises they'd made to keep us safe—it had all meant nothing. My world had ended right here, in this clearing.
I didn't even notice the tears streaking down my face until they dripped onto the bloodstained dirt. I sat there, my mind blank, my body frozen, staring at the two people who had been my entire world.
The faint scent lingered, sharp and bitter, but I couldn't think straight enough to follow it. I only knew one thing: someone had done this. Someone had come into our home, into my forest, and taken everything from me.
But that didn't matter now. Nothing mattered.
I sat there, hopeless, as the sun dipped lower behind the trees.