Chapter 10

TW: Gore. 

As Lenore’s shoes crunched against the asphalt of the car park, the glare of the sun met her eyes, and the cacophony of sound hit her—a wave of nauseating anxiety dropped in her stomach; she gripped her bag tighter, and walked forward, despite her unsteady legs. Her fatigue had been ripped away, leaving her soberingly awake, senses sharpened to a blades edge; it made everything feel excruciatingly strong.

“Fuck,” Lenore muttered, and she immediately slipped her sunglasses back on, and grabbed her phone to turn up the noise cancelling of her headphones. She jolted and spun around when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

“You should go and set up your tent, take a few minutes to yourself inside.” Ms Capri suggested, and Lenore nodded—flashing half a smile before making herself scarce; she crossed the car park and lingered by Wednesday when her sharp hearing picked up sounds of struggle from a coffin Pugsley dragged.

She side-eyed him, he sent her a nervous smile.

Lenore tilted her head, and cocked an eyebrow in disbelief as a dark limousine drove through the car park, playing Chopin’s funeral march. She looked down at Wednesday, whose expression held a certain tension, and Lenore noticed the subtle flickers of her muscles tensing.

“Should I ask why your brother has a coffin?” Lenore asked, fiddling with the suitcase she held, and the duffle bag strung over her shoulder.

Wednesday stayed quiet, which from her, was answer enough.

Lenore watched from behind Wednesday as the limo slowed to a halt, and a door opened; Gomez stepped out, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, and circular sunglasses.

“Hello, my pernicious prodigy.” He greeted warmly. “Don’t you find the smell of fresh air positively nauseating?”

“To what do we owe this ghastly apparition?” A chill practically dripped off Wednesday tongue.

“The call went out for parent chaperones, and I’ve spent my fair share of time under natures canopy.” He answered.

Lenore suddenly felt a rush of gratefulness that her parents didn’t decide to chaperone this trip; now, that would’ve been a true nightmare.

“You know the concrete jungle doesn’t count.” Wednesday bit; her expression grew further solemn as Morticia approached them, wearing her typical dark colour scheme, a wide brimmed hat to keep away the sun, matching glasses with Gomez, and she held a comically small parasol. “What is she doing here? Her idea of “communing with nature” is deadheading roses in the greenhouse.”

Lenore shifted between her feet awkwardly and decided to leave before she could impose on their family business; she leaned down, and her voice came as a whisper, “see you later, pup.” She walked off, towards the campsite.

—————

Lenore’s ribs ached as she kneeled down by her tent, protesting as she twisted her waist; she gritted her teeth together, and tightened her hand around the mallet she held. She measuredly hit the peg into the ground—it was the final one. The entire time she had been working to put their tent up, the hairs on her neck had been bristling.

It was the uncanny, and ever so familiar feeling of being watched, like eyes boring into her from the forest, and their tent was only a few metres away from the edge of the trees. She tried to keep going and ignore the feeling of it growing closer. She couldn’t. Against her own judgement, she looked up and stared into the still forest.

Beams of light shined through the canopy, laying on the leaf litter covered forest floor; she heard a twig snap—nothing was there to snap them. The muscles in her legs tensed, against her own will, and she fought the urge to run. It would only follow her. It loved the hunt. Her stomach fell, and her claws snapped out against the dirt. She shook her head, but the nagging—the feeling of something sneaking up on her, something she couldn’t see no matter how alert she was, no matter how sharp her senses were, didn’t fade.

She stilled, then—

—”Lenore.”

Her entire body rippled with a flinch.

“Lorelai.” She breathed out, heart racing. She stood up and wiped the nervous sweats from her hands. “The tent’s done, you can put your stuff inside.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, back into the forest.

“Thank you,” Lorelai said slowly, narrowing her eyes at Lenore, looking her from head to toe, suspicion written over her face. “Are you okay? You look shifty… and tired.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Lenore rocked between her feet restlessly, and after Lorelai sent her one last long look, she dragged her suitcase into the spacious tent.

“Everyone’s meeting in the field, apparently Dort’s doing some speech. You might want to head over.” Lorelai called out.

Lenore threw her head back and groaned—more like a self-piteous whine. She stomped off, over crackling branches, and crunching leaves, with Lorelai hot on her heel. They walked together, a metre or so between them, silence hanging in the chasm—Lorelai kept tossing lingering glances over at Lenore, who eventually, as they were pushing into the crowd, caught her eye, and raised a brow.

“Um, who did you ride here with?” She asked, playing with the edge of her shirt.

“That’s what you want to know?” It had more bite than Lenore intended.

“Yeah.” Lorelai’s jaw tightened subtly.

“Ms Capri.”

Lorelai’s eyes widened and let out a surprised breath. “Oh, sorry.” She muttered.

Lenore let out a wry chuckle, “sure, you are.” She said, and the siren’s head snapped to face her, and she opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t; the werewolf had already gotten lost in the crowd, making her way towards Wednesday.

“Hey, pup.” Lenore stopped beside Wednesday, who looked up at her expressionlessly, and nodded her head in greeting. It didn’t unsettle the werewolf; she hadn’t gotten used to ignoring her unsettling side. She turned her attention to Dort, who stood in the centre of the students, on a wooden platform.

“For the next two days, Camp Jericho is now known as Camp Outcast. This is a new annual tradition at Nevermore. A wilderness retreat that promotes community building, team spirit, and most importantly Outcast Pride.” He said.

Lenore rolled her eyes so hard she was sure she had pulled a muscle, and beyond her why, students cheered for him—loud and shrill enough to pierce through her headphones, even with the noise cancelling on. “This is a joke.” She muttered.

“It isn’t a good one.”

“At Camp Outcast, there are no cell phones,”—the group fell silent—”and no Normies for miles.” He announced. As clapping and cheering roared once again, a shrill whistle broke through, and caught everyone’s attention, including the Principal’s, and he clearly didn’t know what was going on.

“Incorrect.” A gravelly voice said—an older man, balding, and wearing a brimmed hat walked through the crowd, followed by a group of teenage boys, wearing the same ridiculous uniform. Lenore bit her tongue to hold back her laughter.

“What the fuck?” She said, a disbelieving breath fell past her lips.

The cadets, and their leader stopped cold before the wooden stump the Nevermore Principal stood on. “I beg to differ with your last point.” He stepped up and stared down at Dort through his sunglasses. “Ron Kruger, Phoenix Cadet Master. I reserved this campground six months ago for my annual Camp C.L.A.W.” He turned to his cadets, ignoring the judgemental and seething stares of the students around him. “Cadets, what does C.L.A.W mean?”

“Camping, learning, adventure, wilderness.” They shouted, and if it weren’t for their strained voices scratching at Lenore’s composure, she could have felt sorry for them, considering the dirty looks being passed between the Nevermore student body.

Lenore glanced down at Wednesday, and she recognised her expression; she was in the midst of plotting something, a sense of mischief on her features. “What are you planning?” Lenore asked, earning a subtle, almost non-existent smirk. “It won’t end up in anyone getting maimed, will it?”

“If it all goes to plan…” Wednesday replied.

Before Lenore could react, or stop her, Wednesday had clasped her wrist, and began dragging her forward, through the crowd of students, and towards the centre; she pulled something out of her pocket, which Lenore quickly recognised as an air horn.

“Where did you…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Wednesday squeezed down, and the shrill, alarming sound of the air horn shot through the air, making the Cadet Master flinch, and sharply turn towards them. Lenore felt his gaze fix on her, and she offered him an expressionless stare; he quickly looked away, back towards Wednesday. She grew closer to the younger girl and loomed over her shoulder; a protective force—she looked between the cadets, who shifted under her stare.

“If you and your dead-eyed drones want this campground so badly, then fight us for it.” Wednesday said.

“Excuse me?” The Cadet Master sputtered.

“Winner takes all. Loser goes home.”

Lenore looked around, ears twitching as whispers spread over the Nevermore students. “I like sound of that. Unless you and your boys aren’t up for the challenge.” Dort announced. Lenore frowned, crossing her arms over her chest; disapproval was written over her face, but she knew she couldn’t talk Wednesday out of it.

“Okay, Pigtails. We speak the same language. What are you proposing?” Kruger asked.

—————

“No. I’m not doing this, Wednesday. Get someone else.” Lenore insisted, hands tightening at her sides; her face grew warm, and Wednesday clearly wouldn’t take her answer. She simply stared at her, expression blank, expectant—eyes burning into Lenore in her usual way, where she waited for someone to bend to her will.

“You’re a werewolf, and more capable than most people here.” She argued.

“Oh, and you assume I care?” Lenore remarked in a tired mutter—pinching the bridge of her nose; she slid her sunglasses off and wiped the sweat between the grooves of her face.

“Why are you refusing to join?” Wednesday asked, and they glared at each other—neither willing to compromise; the group looked between them, and none had stepped in defend either one. It didn’t last long, though, as when Lenore pulled off her sunglasses, it revealed her darkened eyes.

“Addams.” Lorelai said sharply; she silently shook her head. “It isn’t a good idea.” Bruno nodded in agreement and looked at his sister with a solemn expression; she didn’t hold his eye.

Wednesday didn’t seem affected—she seemed interested more than anything else, looking around expectantly for an explanation. “Alright, if you need any help, just get Bruno to text me. Only if you really need it.” Lenore said.

Wednesday smirked, a look of victory settled on her face; Lenore sneered in response, and began to walk off, but before she did—she decided to share something she had heard the cadets say, “oh, and do be careful, they’ve hidden unsanctioned military supplies.” Wednesday’s cocky expression fell slightly.

Lenore wandered away, weaving thoughtlessly through the crowd; she didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to get away before Wednesday could come up with anymore smart ideas. She brushed her hand through her sideswept fringe, pulling her curls straight, before releasing them again.

“Lenore.” A familiar smooth voice said—she spun around—it was Morticia, who sat in a black willow chair, alongside her husband.

“Mrs Addams,” Lenore dipped her head in greeting, and offered them a tight smile.

“Please call me Morticia.” She said. “You aren’t taking part?”

“Only if I must; your daughter managed to peer pressure me into it.” Lenore said.

Gomez laughed warmly, pride swelling on his face.

“No one can say no to her.” He shook his head fondly.

“When I did, she didn’t take it for an answer.”

“She doesn’t accept opinions that differ from hers.” Morticia said, stretching over to take Gomez’s hand, a subtle heaviness laid on her features. He squeezed her hand softly—Lenore took notice and tilted her head thoughtfully.

“You’ve dealt with that, I assume?” She asked, and they both agreed, letting out a weary sigh.

“Yes, especially with that book of hers.” Gomez muttered, and Morticia looked over at him sharply, like he wasn’t supposed to have mentioned it.

“Oh, Goody’s book?” Lenore assumed.

“Yes, she’s…” Morticia trailed off hesitantly, then looked up at her, “how do you know about it?”

“She told me about it, and I was there when she found the fake.” She shrugged, “but what about the book?”

Morticia seemed conflicted; her mouth lay subtly agape, and she looked down at her blood red nails, picking at them. “I took it.” She laughed bitterly. “She isn’t happy about it. I did it for the best.”

“And she thinks she knows better?” Lenore asked.

“Of course she does; she’s a teenager. She’ll only hurt herself. I won’t fail her like my-” she breathed in deeply and squeezed her jaw tight. Lenore hesitated, but stepped forward, and laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Morticia looked up at her—surprised. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” Lenore said—and a shot fired through the air, making her flinch back. It had begun.

“Thank you.” Morticia muttered.

Lenore grew restless, shifting her weight between her legs as she tried to ignore the bone deep ache playing about her. She checked her watch intermittently, watching as the minutes ticked by without a word from either team. She stared up at the sky, eyes darting through the air as she waited for a signal.

It came moments later—a bright green flare shot up, rising over the trees, hanging for a moment before bursting into fragments which rained down on the woods—it shined green. It wasn’t Nevermore, instead the cadets; she cursed under her breath.

“Seriously, the boy scouts?” Lenore muttered.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and when she pulled it out, a message glowed on her screen. ‘Meet us at the ridge. Bring your bow.’ She let out a resigned breath, and turned to Gomez and Morticia, throwing them a tired look. “I’m needed it seems.”

—————

Minutes later, after hiking through the thick underbrush, she emerged from the treeline, and a bright, autumn light shined onto her skin. Her eyes stung, and she came to wipe away stray tears. She brought her bow to hang in her hand, away from its previous position perched on her shoulder.

Her footsteps fell cautiously, narrowing her eyes mistrustingly at Wednesday’s head as she walked down the dirt path; she paused behind the students, and Bruno noticed her first, turning around and he slapped her shoulder. Her gaze shifted, and she watched as the cadets grew closer to victory.

“What can I do for you all?” Lenore asked.

Bianca turned to her quickly, jaw tight, and eyes sharpened in a familiar manner; it was the expression she held during the Poe Cup—every time.

“Can you shoot that?” Bianca asked.

“What?”

“The roof,” she replied.

“And what would that accomplish?” Lenore raised a brow doubtfully.

Wednesday finally turned around, a thick, black climbing rope clutched in her hand; she silently offered her it. Lenore only tilted her head, looking between each person, who looked at her with the same blank, expectant look.

“What are you planning to do with that rope?”

Wednesday briefly explained her plan—what she wanted Lenore to do, shoot the roof, and then sail down onto the watchtower, winning the game. Lenore’s expression shifted, like she was going through all the stages of grief, changing from a deep concern, to disbelief, and finally to humorous. Wednesday looked bemused.

“None of you understand the aerodynamics of arrows, clearly,” Lenore’s fingers brushed against the multicoloured fletches of her arrows, “for a compound bow, messing with the weight of arrows will damage them, stop from flying straight; I mean, it could even be dangerous. I won’t damage it for a childish competition.”

Wednesday’s expectant, impatient stare returned, and she waited for Lenore to break; she wouldn’t, not this time. She had no intention of allowing her priced possessions to get broken, or damaged.

“Yeah, I’m afraid, your blank stare won’t change anything.”

It didn’t falter though, utterly expressionless and expectant all the same, like she thought Lenore could change physics, or wanted her too.

“Lee, please. Come on, I’ll pay for new arrows. They can’t be that expensive.” Bruno bargained.

“They’re forty-two pounds apiece.”

Bruno’s eyes widened, and he coughed, choking on his saliva in his surprise.

“Money’s no issue; I’ll pay.” Wednesday said.

Lenore’s resolve faltered, skin crawling under the stares of them all, and she felt a digging itch at her head, the longer they looked, the worse the maddening sensation grew. “I’ll do it.” She snapped. “Just stop looking at me.” She cursed herself for being so soft.

She quickly tied the thick rope around her arrow’s shaft and then tugged it; it pulled against the fletches but didn’t slip off. She neared the cliff’s edge. Her hand loosely held the bow, and she brought it up; she steadily pulled back, the muscles on her toned arms growing taut, and anchored the string against her jaw.

Lenore aimed, holding her breath, and then, after getting confident enough, she let the string roll off her fingertips.

It shot through the air, easily closing the distance—it began to drop, though, quicker than usual, which she had expected, and taken into account. She winced when it embedded itself into the roof, sending cracks throughout the wood.

She wrapped the rope around her hand and pulled it slack.

“Are you sure you can hold Wednesday’s weight?”

“Yeah,” Lenore responded.

“She can.” Bruno agreed.

Wednesday wrapped a spare shirt around the zipline and then stepped off the cliff; she sailed through the air, over the hundreds of feet fall below her. Lenore’s teeth gritted, and she slipped forward, but quickly dug her heels into the dirt; her muscles pulled tight, tensing noticeably beneath her skin—she grunted in effort.

Once, Wednesday dropped, the weight lessened, and they watched as the purple Zephyr burst into purple dye, which hovered in the air momentarily.

“We should get down from here, shouldn’t we?” Lenore said.

“We should.” Bianca agreed.

—————

Lenore lingered behind, allowing people to flow past her, staying at the edge of the crowd, freezing before she could any closer to the dancing fire; it caught her eye, and she watched as her brother laughed with Enid, Lorelai and Bianca snuck glances, and students, she had never acquainted herself with gather around the fire. She cast her eyes down and kicked at the ground absentmindedly.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the loneliness sitting on her chest; it made her breathing slow, and a burning to spark behind her eyes. She rolled her shoulders back and held her head up proudly. Her breathing shook through her teeth.

“Aren’t you going to join the festivities?” Ms Capri asked, and Lenore jolted, she was surprised she hadn’t heard her approach.

“Probably not.” She replied.

“That’s a shame. I wanted to duet with you.” She teased.

Lenore narrowed her eyes subtly, letting a small, amused smile twitch at her lips. “Oh, really?”

“Well, you play guitar, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know Bad Moon Rising?”

Lenore nodded.

“Then why don’t you join me for a duet?”

Lenore laughed wryly, and it quickly turned bitter as she cast her eyes back the students, “I don’t think I’m welcome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I want you there.”

“Why?”

Miss Capri only smiled, and held out her hand—Lenore hesitated, but softly grabbed her hand, allowed herself to be led over to the students. She sat down between Ms Capri and Bruno, who bumped her shoulder, and flashed her smile.

Lenore shifted around, trying to get comfortable, once she did, she rested the guitar on lap, and looked down at it. It had been a while since she played acoustic. She picked at the strings, refreshing her ability to play, and then she strummed them carefully. She relaxed upon getting a few good notes out. She shifted her fingers.

She looked at Ms Capri, “you’re good?” Her teacher asked.

Lenore hummed in affirmation.

Her fingers moved skilfully across the guitar’s neck, like she had never struggled to play, and the smooth notes rippled through the silence, further complimented when Miss Capri began to sing. It was smooth, deep, and honestly, Lenore found it beautiful. She was awestruck.

Goosebumps raised across her skin, and her eyes were focused on Ms Capri, and she strangely found herself able to forget the presence weighing down on her; she focused on the flickering flames, and how they cast a warm glow across the teachers face, and brightened the colour of her hair.

Lenore found herself fully absorbed by the music, nodding along to the beat, earning a soft smile from her teacher.

Morticia joined in, her velvety voice harmonising with the tune, sweeping through the air; then, she looked over at her husband, offering him a smile. Lenore felt someone tap her foot, and sent her teacher a bemused smile, tilting her head; it took moment to understand what Miss Capri was asking of her—she wanted Lenore to sing. She had asked for a duet earlier.

Lenore straightened her posture, and after a second of hesitation, pulled in a deep breath, and began to sing softly; it was soulful, and held a subtle rasp—it perfectly intermixed with Ms Capri’s voice, who looked satisfied, if not a little surprised at Lenore’s voice.

She kept her eyes on the fire, watching the gentle flicker of flames, dancing in the cold breeze; she focused on her breathing, and keeping her nerves under control.

Her nose scrunched up when a strand of her curly hair fell into her face, resting on her nose; she shook her head, but couldn’t get it out of her face. She couldn’t help how her eyes widened when a soft hand brushed against her skin, tucking the stray strand behind her ear. She flushed brightly.

As her hand lowered, Miss Capri squeezed her knee, making Lenore shift subtly in her seat. She forced herself to focus, an attempt to not stutter her way through the lyrics.

Once the song finished, they were applauded by the students, and Bruno clapped his sister around the shoulder. She placed the guitar by her feet. She couldn’t revel long as she felt the full weight of the moon baring down on her, and she rose from her seat.

“It’s time for me to go.”

—————

Twinkling lights, strung around the camp, glittered in Lenore’s eyes, shining warmly on her skin; she looked peaceful, if you weren’t looking closely, like she was just looking up at the lights. She wasn’t. Her eyes were caught elsewhere, swelled with dark, reflecting the moon—it prickled at her skin, burning, and writhing.

She couldn’t breathe deeply—it came in shallow breaths, wheezes that clawed up her throat.

In the darkness, shrouding the trees, right on the forest line, which she neared, something watched, like it always did at this time; she had felt it coming for days. Its gaze rolled over her, a predatory interest gleaming where she wouldn’t dare look, watching every rise of her chest, twitch of her muscles and darting blink.

Lenore jolted, a flinch rippling up through her taut muscles when a hand touched her arm.

“Lenore.” Ms Capri said.

“Hey,” Lenore responded shortly.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, brows pinched together.

“Don’t you feel it?”

“Of course I do.” She said. She clutched Lenore’s arm tighter, and turned her, meeting her eye. “What’s this…” she grasped Lenore’s chin, and forced her to look up at her, “how often does this happen?”

Lenore’s movements were rough, shaking her head free, and stumbling back, putting several feet between them; her feet slipped back thoughtlessly, into a defensive stance—her eyes were wild, like she wasn’t quite there. Her claws snapped out. She twitched wildly.

“Lenore?” Miss Capri questioned slowly—gently, like she was trying to calm a wild animal; she cast a glance over to the students, then back to Lenore, who was watching the treeline intently. She drew near to the werewolf, “what are you looking at?” She muttered to herself.

Lenore stood, eyes locked on the forest edge, back ramrod straight; her jaw tightened, just slightly as whispers began to mutter, biting at her ears in raspy voices—they were familiar, but had been warped into something wrong.

It grew closer, and while nothing moved in the forest line, she could feel it, and the whispers grew louder.

“Lenore, this- please, don’t do this. It’s me, L-”

“Lenore!” Ms Capri’s shout finally broke through—Lenore spun around, her arm swung down, claws glinting in the light. Miss Capri’s arm shook as she caught Lenore’s arm, shaking against the wolf’s raw strength—her eyes widened in surprise, like she wasn’t used to struggling.

Lenore breathed in roughly, and she blinked, coming back to reality and dropping her arm; a sound rose up her throat, strangled with panic. It was unlike her. “You’re okay, Lenore. You’re okay.” Ms Capri assured.

“Did I hurt you?” It sounded so small, like a child’s guilt.

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” She said. “What was that?”

“Why are you following me?” Lenore bristled.

Miss Capri pursed her lips and searched the werewolf’s face for the raw emotion that, moments ago, had been plastered across her features. “Your brother told me it’s best for someone to accompany you.” She said.

“Of course he did.”

Lenore folded her arms over her chest and returned to gaze at the forest’s edge. She wanted anything but to venture past the trees, away from the warm twinkling of the lights. She fiddled with the strap of her duffle bag. She swallowed her fear, and it squirmed low in her stomach.

“Lead the way.” Lenore said.

Ms Capri didn’t linger long and walked down the dirt path woven through the grass, leading into the darkened, whispering forest. It pulsed with life, squirrels jumping from branches, crickets chirping, and predators slinking through the underbrush.

Lenore hovered at her teachers back, goosebumps raised across her skin, and eyes swollen, so she could peer through the dark cloaking the forest; her sharpened vision allowed her to see the twisted figures of the trees, surrounding, and creeping over the path.

“You’re on edge.” Miss Capri observed.

“You’re observant.” Lenore bit.

Ms Capri didn’t shrink away or put distance between them; she looked over her shoulder at Lenore, and her expression softened—she smiled at her, and her fingers brushed along the back of Lenore’s hand, then hooked around her fingers.

She didn’t speak throughout their walk, simply held Lenore’s hand, who didn’t pull away.

Upon arriving at the cages, which glinted under the moonlight that shined into the clearing, Miss Capri dropped Lenore’s hand; she opened the cage, and gestured for Lenore to enter, who did, even as her legs tensed, and wished her to run away.

She looped the strap of her bag around the metal, and stood in the cage, staring straight up at the swollen shape of the moon, which glowed silver, and burned shadows away from her face.

“See you in the morning, Lenore.” Ms Capri said, and she walked off, into the forest.

“Yeah, the morning,” she murmured.

It felt too far away.

Whispers came from between the towering shadows of oaks, taunting flickers of her past bleeding through the fog of her mind. They shifted, swirling like smoke, and spoke in low, gravelly voices, right by her ears—when she gained the nerve to turn around, nothing dwelled by her.

“Lenore? Why would you do that?”

She stepped back.

“Lenore, you need to control yourself.”

She clamped her hands over her ears.

“Lenore-”

“Shut up!” She yelled. Her chest heaved, and silence fell on the forest—it hung heavily, more choking than the darkness, but noise stung more. She hugged herself, trying to control her subtle shaking. Her saliva grew thick. She stopped cold, and her heart leapt in her chest when she heard a growl from the trees.

It crept forward; its gaze scolded her skin, growing stronger than ever, and it pressed down on her. It shifted like smoke, darker than the shadows shrouding the trees, and drew nearer. Lenore let out a strangled, meek sound, like she was choking.

She steadied herself on the interlocking metal of the cage.

The chirping of crickets, sounds of owls, howling of wolves, and call of the wind all fell away, and she could only hear the blood pumping through her ears. It rang loudly, and she could feel the pulse of her neck slamming, like it was trying to rip through her skin.

She couldn’t control or stifle her shaking now; it ripped through every fibre of her body, coming once, twice, thrice, and then came without pause. Her jaw shook in her mouth.

She stepped back on shaking legs, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it; the blood running through her ears turned to a pitchless screaming. It approached still.

It slunk through the steel cage, moving smoothly through th gaps, and prowled closer. Her knees buckled. Her head slammed against the metal grate.

She tried to push herself up, but her arms only shook, and couldn’t hold her weight, nor could her legs, which dragged like lead. Her eyes were captured by the wolf drifting towards her; darkness grew on her edges of her vision, only leaving the pulsing smoke, and her mind grew blank.

Her body fell limp. The scratched metal of the cage laid achingly cold against her flushed face. Her breathing paused, then came sharply, twitching at her shoulders and chest. The moon reflected in her eclipsed eyes when they flickered open. It shined silver against the darkness. They had hardened, all mortal softness slinking away elsewhere.

The weakness burdening her limbs had fallen away, and she raised to rest on her hands and knees. Then, with a sickening crack, her back arched, pulled taut, and her spine bent unnaturally. Her fingers tensed, digging into the steel floor. Her mouth fell open, and she grew in choking breaths, a gagging sound rose up from her throat as it spasmed.

Her muscles sparked alight with a searing pain, slinking down her body as they pulled tight, shards of her splintering bones digging into her like knives; they rippled beneath her skin, crackling, before tearing through her moonlit skin like paper. Blood dripped from the rough cuts, and bruises pooled beneath her skin, staining her blue and black.

Her muscles bulged, forming rapidly, forming around her bones, and thinning her skin. Her newly formed flesh twisted around the muscle, and formed tree-trunk, sinewy limbs; they were dark with bruising, which quickly dissipated under her rapid healing.

Her back arched, and her spine slithered beneath her skin, and muscles exploded from under her skin, and she grew hulkingly large. Her fingers curled into the floor, and she breathed through the pain, through her teeth as streams of blood ran down her face, dripping from her nose, chin, and pooled on the metal beneath her.

Her clothes ripped at the seams, from bone shards, muscles, and the flex of her newly formed body. It left shreds of cloth strangled around her.

Her jaw clicked, and shifted forward as it dislocated, then crunched as the bones formed into a snout. Teeth burst forth, shining white, and long enough to stick out under her lips. Steam curled from her mouth, into the night air.

The bandages wrapped around her hands broke, tearing as her hands widened. Her fingers cracked, joints bulging, growing knobbly as claws snapped forth, inches long, scratching against the floor.

Clumps of fur grew from her skin, thick, shaggy, black like coal dust, forming a spiked hackle down her back; her underside, however, shone white as freshly fallen snow, speckling up her sides, like stars in the night sky, before washing into her darkness.

Her eyes shot open, adorned by long lashes; they were golden, and shined with sunlight—and wild beyond sanity, filled with an intoxicatingly primal rage. They squinted, and peered into the darkness, flickering to every movement beyond her cage.

Her eyes weren’t shining with fear, not like earlier.

She shifted her arms, legs, stretching them until they met the cage, pushing away in the growing pains which ached through them. Her back met the cage’s roof.

In the darkness, she could see the faint silhouette of cages, metal glinting in the nights light. She could feel the weight of life which pulsed behind the steel. A growl tore from her throat, a symphony of voices overlapping in a sickening combination, and it rippled through the darkness.

She watched the forest, shoulders shifting, chest heaving as she breathed, steam curling from her lips, carrying a hot, bloody scent. Her eyes flickered at every movement, and her ears twitched upon hearing the forest play out before her. Her neck craned up, and she raised her head, moonlight glistening in her eyes, and she called out a deep, keening howl which shook the night air.

A dozen howls, singing in different pitches, tones, cries, but all the same moon drunk song pierced through the air, calling to the moon in all her eternal elegance. It made her prickle. Her fur bristled.

Her attention shifted, toward the treeline; she heard cracking of twigs, crunching of leaves, and her eyes narrowed, she watched, breath paused as an imposing, but lithe figure, smaller than herself, though not by much, appeared from between the darkened trees. Her fur shined a golden orange, like dusk light.

Her shoulders rolled, muscles covered by a brush of thick, silky fur. Her eyes, glowing like moonlight—silver—remained fixed on Lenore.

Lenore’s lips peeled up to reveal her gums.

In a blur, she rushed forward. Her head cracked against the cage. It didn’t daze her. It didn’t stop her. When she caught her fellow wolf’s scent, which sent a tingle down her spine, she rushed forth again. Her head dented the metal. She did it once more. Then, again, again, and again, until blood streamed between her eyes, and fell from her snout onto the floor. It curved the cage out.

They watched her, but didn’t close the distance, instead pacing the length of her cage, teetering on the forests edge. A soft curiosity glimmered in her eyes—caution, however, kept her body tight, and movements controlled, as her silent footfalls were careful and thought through. Lenore’s claws caught the cage, sending sparks through the air. The wolf jolted and quickly disappeared into the underbrush.

She longed to follow.