There are a lot of preconceived notions people have about
werewolves thanks to popular media. Fact: werewolves are not in fact dreamy
bronzed teen idols who never wear shirts. Fact: werewolves walk upright most of the time, except when they’re
running. Fact: Werewolves don’t look much like people or wolves. The werewolves
before me stood about eight feet tall on average, with uniformly black fur that
was grouped in greasy, matted clumps, distributed unevenly over their bodies.
Where there was not fur, a leathery black hide presented itself, covered in a
slimy sheen. Their arms were malformed, unevenly shaped and of unequal length
but both were heavily muscled, ending in claws the size of kitchen knives. If
the body was hideous, the head was no improvement. Their ears stood tall and
gnarled atop their heads, below which uneven eyes, milky white without irises,
stared blankly. Their snubbed snouts ended in dripping broad noses, and a mouth
filled with teeth, rows upon rows of them. That was a little known detail:
Werewolves have dental profiles much more similar to sharks than wolves.
The biggest wolf was twice as wide the others and about a foot
taller, with boney spines protruding from its back and arms. I took that to be
the alpha, given that it was the largest, though there might be a bigger wolf
that hadn’t presented itself. Werewolves, being aberrations of nature, had no
genders, and so the human gender of the wolf had no bearing on which the alpha
was. A person whose been a werewolf
for longer tends to grow larger over time when transformed, so typically the
alpha was the oldest wolf in the pack.
I watched the wolves feeding for another moment waiting to be sure
there were no stragglers. There were only four wolves in the clearing and the
severity of the attacks in the past month suggested there were more wolves than
that, but they would be finished with
that cow pretty quick. Still, I wasn’t
going to waste this chance. I pressed the kill switch.
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