Memories of a Werewolf

Izar looks back. The plains are clear. We are free. He releases me. His hand would not have restrained me but I would never throw him aside.
“Be careful, Glade.” he whispers, “Come to no harm.”
I look up at him and search his grey eyes and for a moment I remember a time that is best forgotten.

Darkness. And then light. Darkness. Flames in the distance and flames all around. I sense the fear I felt then. The panic. I feel the hate of a lifetime. Soft claws smother me. Wet noses caress my neck. Sharp pain. Aching pain as fangs pierce my skin. The knowledge that I am contaminated. That I have become what I hate. Green eyes mocking me and then nothing. Darkness.

“Glade!” Izar’s voice is sharp and pleading and I search for him. I find him beneath me. His blood is hot and streaming and issues from a wound under my claws. My teeth are still bare. I still want his blood. “It’s not your fault.”

I leap away from him, tears obscurring my vision. No! No! Not Izar, never Izar. I raise my head and howl to the moon.

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