A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

A little city werewolf fun | May 30, 2010

The Appalachian at night, is peaceful.

The stir of wind brushes trees and that seems like a lullaby to a werewolf padding around the ground. I put my nose to the ground and sniffed. Dirt, mountain air and leaves. I lifted my head and looked at the large grey wolf staring back at me with dark eyes.

Paris, with a “Well are you coming or not?” kind of look.

Running outdoors was something Paris told me he hadn’t done for years. Not like this, in the sanctity of a forest or mountain range. Anything with a natural sense of space and ever changing landscape to it. He’d only started indulging in this type of night time excursion when I’d come along and started whining about wanting to do it every now and then. Just for a break in routine.

It’s a way to keep the wolf at bay when you felt your sense of control slipping easily. Stress, makes me my control, too easy, to mess up. All the recent run-ins with my ex boyfriend have been clearly, subconsciously weighing me down and carrying it all around inside of me, is like extra baggage, that having a duel identity does not need. Along with the rest of the drama of my life.

This little excursion into the shrubbery and undergrowth was meant to help burden me of that load. Regain focus on being able to keep the control on my werewolf self that I’d been taught all my life.

For if you are to survive in today’s world, you need to have control. Werewolf rampages, randomly attacking people, and maiming or possibly killing them, or even infecting them with lycanthropy, is not acceptable. For starters, werewolves do not kill for pleasure or fun. That is not the werewolf way. That is however, the lycan way. No werewolf in their right mind would want to lower themselves to lycan standards. Werewolves are predators, we kill because we hunt or have to. That’s about it.

I padded over to Paris’s side and snorted at him. Telling him I’m good to go.

His mouth opened and his tongue lolled out the side, a wolf grin that said “well alright.”

I’m beginning to think Paris wants this run more than he’s been letting on. All along he’d been saying it would be a good thing for me to do. How beneficial it would be in the long term, sating my wolf. Keeping that sense of control that we werewolves always need.

Control and blood lines, some would say that’s all that sets us apart from the lycans.

Without any further warning, Paris sprints off quickly through the bushes ahead of us. Cheat!

As a beta wolf I might be many things that an Alpha like Paris wasn’t, but running over long distances, this Breukelen werewolf can handle. Especially since I’d done it more by the sound of things, in my lifetime, than Paris had ever allowed himself to.

As a beta wolf, I don’t often remember my time spent in werewolf form. That was I didn’t, past tense. Until I meet Paris. I guess I’d never really tried to remember it, afterwards. I’d just accepted that I didn’t remember it, like it was a dream I knew I’d had but couldn’t remember the details of.

Only around Paris it’s different, now.

Being around an Alpha on lunar weeks, shape shifting with one, is having beneficial side affects for me. I can remember some things.

Paris is always helping me to gleam parts of my time spent in werewolf form. He was actually encourages it. Doing these little memory mind tests with me. Trying to get me to be more conscious of what I do when in wolf form, when I’m with him.

The sense of running, of my padded feet hitting the ground and flying up again as I duck and weave through shrubbery, underground, and over indentations of dirt mounds and rocks, is something I remember the feeling of well. It’s not the imagery that comes to mind when I recall this, it’s a sensation, feeling.

It courses through me, like blood and life and freedom and excitement and makes my body hum. It’s like the ultimate sensation for a werewolf to have, leave the humanity of yourself behind and be in a place with no restrictions, no limits and a place that you’re truly a part of, that’s the kind of feeling you get from a proper run in an open space.

The sound of crunching leaves off to the right off me stops my senses. My ears twitch. I skidded to a halt, kicking up dirt and slowly back tracking towards the area I think the sound has come from.

It was probably a rabbit, maybe a dear and I’m really hoping it isn’t a black bear. I’m not looking for that kind of run in.

Still werewolves have a curious nature. I sniff around the ground, towards the area I thought I’d heard the sound come from. Of course, I’d given the creature whatever it was, precious seconds to flee. Or go to ground, because I’d been so slow to stop. Hadn’t been expecting to, after all, I was on a chase. Chasing Paris. I was out for a run, just a little city werewolf out having fun. But even the werewolf can’t resist hunting when in a natural setting like the Appalachians. It’s our version of being in a candy store.

Besides, it was more like I was trying to keep up. Paris’s head start on our run had put him well in the lead of me, and out of my night vision range for seeing him. As far as I knew, I was only heading in what was probably, the most logical direction he’d started out in.

As I looked up at the trees, bushes and saplings in front of me, I saw it. Two eyes shining like headlights at me. A large dark figure loomed and came crashing over the top of the undergrowth and down on top of me.

Toppling me over with the force of a small cyclone made of fur and fangs. Well not so small.

The ambush was a blur and I sniffed and scrambled at the same time. The scent of Paris filled my mind and I looked up at the male wolf on top of me. I shucked him off me and his mouth opened again, tongue out as he nuzzled my neck and started to lick it.

I think he was having more fun than he thought he’d have.

Okay, so it wasn’t going to be so much as a run, as it was hide and seek.
Still fun.

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