Rebecca sat at the edge of camp. Her hands busy with carving a piece of maple into a stallion for Cane and Walda’s new cubs. She flicked away the woodchips on to the grass. The evening light drawing closer to darkness. Oranges and violets of the most exquisite shades dancing through the pine trees.
Her slightly-pointed ears twitched at the nearing footsteps. The particular vintage of musk told her it was Cartur, the pack’s leader.
She glanced back, hopeful. “And?”
Cartus was huge, with long bristling hair along his cheeks and arms. He shrugged. “Too early to tell. Walda is strong, but it’s been a hard winter.”
Rebecca nodded, the anxiety refusing to let up.
The springtime birds and insects buzzed throughout the forest. The night drawing near.
“Moon’s Night. You ready?”
Rebecca put down the toy. “Depends. Will we be monsters or not?”
“You know we can’t just keep living off sheep and deer. We need man-flesh in order to sustain ourselves.” Cartus paused. “Walda needs it. It will help the cubs.”
Rebecca sneered, “If the humans find out what we really are, then every hunter for a hundred miles will be gunning for us.”
“I understand that. We have a plan.”
Rebecca looked out through the forest. On the other side of the mountain was a town. A tourist town, full of fat aristocrats and their families. Land developers, oil tycoons and the rural peasants who bend over for them. Rebecca had every reason to want to strip them down to nothing.
“We will have to be careful.”
“Yes, we will.” Cartus looked up. “It’s time.”
Back at the camp, the pack had gathered. Thirteen members, soon to be fifteen, if they were lucky. They had all stripped themselves of their day-walker clothes. Leaving nothing but bone necklaces, ill-fitting belts and scraps armor.
Cartus dropped his vest just as his eyes turned yellow and the hair criss-crossed on his back. He laughed, letting out a howl announcing the Moon’s Night. The pack responded in kind with their murderous chorus.