"Is anyone out there!? Please!"
I can't be alone anymore, I don't want this life, I refuse this. All of it.
Ever since my change, I've wanted nothing but to slaughter the young, old, innocent. Who would want this? I grow more and more scared of the voice behind my eyes that whispers "Us."
I am changed, a sheep in wolf's skin. Brother to the ones who bit, an innocent left to change and hunt, probably as some sick joke to the pack of them. They would laugh and whistle at me, were I some piece of mea —
I guess that's exactly what I was.
I try and try to remember the last time I saw my family, saw a friend, saw anyone who wasn't just a blurred sizzle of flavourful lines crossing my smelling sense. You wouldn't think it's just like a cartoon, but I guarantee you it is. It's funny to the old me.
"LET ME OUT!"
I refuse, I refuse, I refuse! Don't make me, don't push me, don't let me...
A roving family hikes my mountain?
My mountain? Since when did I start to speak that way. I asked not to be alone, but I don't want them here. I am burdened with anxious hunger. So so hungry.
"Hear me! Hear the howls of hunger and hunting!"
Return, leave, turn around...escape.
I am a weakling in a strong and powerful form, respect this warning and free yourself from inquiry and wonder. It is a wolf, it is a hunter, I am death waiting.
They made it so. For now, this is the Omega's Mountain, but please fear the return of Alpha's family. I am alone and that is your luck, but time wavers and escapes the dice you roll as you step further up my hill.
If they return, I fear the skeletons they'll leave you as or worse... they will be left to join the joke that is my Omega pack. The "left as a sick joke" crew they disgustingly and morbidly may leave you to be.
What is this insight I give? Why am I thinking this way? Why do I know them? Why do I presume as such?
I am turned.
Hear my cry, my prayer for you to be and stay human. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I could not imagine hell before but an anxious and fearful hunger like this is clearing me to the idea.
Wait....stop. Feet...paws stop moving, enough stepping towards them. Don't.
Decrease, lessen, stop. STOP.
...Feast, hunt, rip, tear, bite, juicy, thick, sink, chew, gulp.
A haze of cries? Northward, south, east now west. All around me I hear them now, clear as night skies. My brothers.
Howl. Howl. Howl.
Howls on our Mountain.
The newest pup turns fully on this test of a mountain, joining his family and howling his first of many nights. These are the last memories of the Omega before being fully transfigured into the pack, the last humane words he manages before letting his thoughts turn to animal growls and howls.
This a truly fascinating discovery I made about these creatures in my hunt for my Bestiary completion exam.
I am a hunter, I find rare species, kill them if need be, help them if I care to, record, chase, track, feast, and capture them for the gain of human knowledge.
This has been a recording in the Diary of Beasts. My log entry of "Werewolf — Beta Series"
The type that only turn into the wolves you know, and believe me, you only want to know the howls of the wolves you know...
But for those of you that don't? Keep reading.