A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The Hunter | May 1, 2010

Motherfucker.
Talk about a bad day.
Remember how I mentioned werewolves scent things?

Once we have a scent it’s like a play back movie in our memory banks, whether you want it to be or not. I can automatically recall, everything about that person, time, place, thing, all because of a scent.

There is a particularly strong difference between humans and werewolves.

If a human experiences trauma, they can blank it out and eventually forget it all together, if need be. The human mind is designed to be, kind like that. The memory gets harder to keep over time and doubt can set in, things become vague. Where as on the other hand, if a werewolf experiences trauma, it’s more often than not, going to be locked in our minds, because of scent.

See, when our hides are under attack or in a bad situation, the wolf takes over the thinking for us. The survival instincts kick in and all our senses become our weapons. So even if we’re not deliberately trying to scent, more likely than not, we’re doing it unconsciously. Like recording the details of the event, so we will know what to do or how to get out of it.

I fucked up once upon a long ago, in my life, big time. Well, we now know it’s more than once. But before the whole Vargr incident.

When I was fourteen, something happened.
Something bad.
I was nearly killed.

Needless to say, I clearly got through it, because here I am. But that was because my father, the Alpha of the Breukelen rescued me. I’m under no illusions that’s why I survived being hunted. Problem is, we thought we’d dealt with those responsible for trying to hunt me.

Even though, years have passed since then, I can still be transported right back to the day, all because I got the scent of those responsible, locked into my animal side. It’s like keeping the post traumatic stress of the event. One moment I am normal, the next I am thrust back into the trauma of the moment, the assault, the terror.

So imagine my shock, when I’m the subway and a group of people get up to exit at the next stop and I smell, ash, hay and wet fur tinged with copper.

The scent of the hunter who took great fun in turning me, into summer time sport.

Now it’s my turn to go hunting.

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