When you hunt the predator you are bound to eventually become the prey.
The night was one of a rare few completely moonless. It was the perfect night for the hunt. The perfect night to hide hunter from prey. The thick blanket of clouds not only obscured the guiding beams of the moon but smother completely the stars. It would have been so easy to oneself amongst the murmuring trees, never to be seen again. Swallowed by the wilderness or perhaps taken by her children.
The leafs seemed to shiver, whispering amongst one another their fears as a low guttural growl floated into the crisp night air to be carried off by a gentle breeze. The animalistic noise was unquestionably predatory, the huntress was quite lucky that her prey was no beast of the wild with senses fine-tuned to survive the hunt. However it was certainly not fortune that had brought these men to her attention, nor was it by their own fortune that they stayed that way. Being stalked by a beast.
The growl came in a constant stream from between jagged pearl like teeth, showcased perfectly by the ferocious, continuous snarl that contorted her maw. The rumble was soon cut off by the seemingly loud noise of the she wolf sniffing the air, her muzzle rising and falling dramatically each time she inhaled through her nose. It seemed she could see the whole world in terms of smell. This alternate view of her surroundings told her more than the eyes of any ever could. It confirmed what her other senses had already determined, they were alone. With that final bit of information the creature slowly backed away, into the darkness of the trees. Her glowing blue eyes the last thing to fade from view.
1
The smell of the crackling fire mingled wonderfully with the smell of the inn. The Nordic woman did not often enjoy being confined within four walls, this was especially true when the building had been filled to the brim with unruly and often drunk characters yet as she leaned back in her rickety wooden chair with the fire licking her boots she couldn’t help but to let out a content sigh. Wrapped in furs and a warm cloak the woman was the perfect representation of pure unadulterated comfort. Rolling her shoulders she sunk even further into her cozy swaddles and in that moment all was good, however Brynn was to be reminded in due haste that all good things must come to an end.
From places beyond Brynn’s concern came the four man parade. If it had not been for the cold gust of air that shattered the nord’s perceived perfect atmosphere it would have been the loud swaggering that had erupted forth from them the moment they strutted through the Inn doors.
“Oy! Somebody best come and serve us!” one belligerent character began to shout, his thumbs tucked into the front of his breeches “We’ve got plenty of coin and we’re looking for somewhere to spend it!”
Brynn eyelids lifted to reveal more than slightly irritated storm clouded eyes. With a deep intake of breath she removed herself from the pure luxury of her previous situation, which had all but been destroyed by these men. Within the time it took to exact a few foggily slow blinks Brynn had once more returned to reality and brought her attention to the ragtag band of men. The first loud mouthed offender in the case of the butchering of an otherwise perfect moment was the first to be dissected.
Clearly the Alpha Brynn mused with an eyebrow raised. His obvious displays were more than duly noted as he switched from his standing position; hips forward, chest wide, shoulders back, head high, chin titled upwards to a more than confident strut. It was clear that he was attempting to make his position as obvious as possible if not only by his subtle choice of stance. Her first diagnostic of the man was further confirmed as he took his place, quite melodramatically, at the groups table. Sitting upright, his chest once again puffed out, open composition, legs spread wide, his relaxed demeanor and his choice of seat, she shook her head as she finished her list middle of the group and back to no one. It was not uncommon for Brynn to put stock in the subconscious power of body language. It was quite clear that this man, if not the leader, had the most dominant personality of the group and if there were to be an altercation it would be best to know who to aid in subduing first. The rest if her hypothesis was correct would follow in suit. She had no doubt as to this, and this fellow would be that man.
His other three companions were infinitely less interesting to Brynn in any case she gave them a small amount of her attention. With her few fleeting glances another contrast was obvious. Whereas the alpha wore what appeared to be banded Iron two of the men bore simple fur while the last sported a set of scaled. This is where the blatant differences ended. In relation to their builds they were nothing noteworthy, for all their grandeur they could have been nothing more than the average collection of bandits. Brynn sighed softly knowing that it was probable that they would conduct themselves with no more class than the group they resembled.
However, they seem to think their heroes Brynn sneered as they groped at the first woman who passed by There has to be a reason. It was then that they made their first mistake. They had peaked the huntress’s curiosity.
2
The warmth of the homey inn as well as the memories that filled it could have seemed no more far away as the cool night air tousled Brynn’s fur. Nevertheless it was a no less comfortable feeling and one infinitely more powerful. Powerful in fact would have been perhaps the perfect word to describe Brynn within those moments. Crouched in the darkness she was a perfect specimen of her kind. Strong, compact muscles yearned under grey fur to send into flight the majestic beast. Ears and nose ever searching, sharp claws grating against the ground in perfect anticipation. Acute eyes piercing the night, full of fire knowing it was almost time. Time once again for glistening teeth to taste and for strong muzzle to bath in the blood of an enemy.
1
As the last of the sweet warm cider was emptied from her mug Brynn had already had more than enough of heroic bandits. She in fact wanted nothing more than to walk up to the table and give a good smack upside the head to the Alpha with her now empty mug. Yet that would have been most detrimental and so she stayed seated. After the passing of a few minutes Brynn found herself contemplating retiring to her bed. It was as she began to rise from her seat that all her previous restraint paid off.
On the lap of the leader sat a woman, a woman whom Brynn had previously had to refrain from calling a harlot already multiple times. In an obvious attempt to impress her, the man began to speak; he began speaking of the kind thing that grabbed Brynn’s attention. As he tried to impress her he spoke the words that sealed his fate.
“Do you know what we are?” He blurted out drunkenly “We’re the ones that keep you safe-afe at night. Hey you sword!”
The man wrapped his arm around the woman more tightly as he glared at his men two of which only looked on at him with discomfort written all over their faces. The third however to think about the possible consequences of bragging clumsily ripped his sword from its sheath letting it clatter down onto the table. As the man sat with his chest puffed out as far as Brynn could imagine was possible it went without saying that the woman, twirling her vixen red hair and giggling naïvely, did not understand nor recognise the sword certainly not in the way Brynn did.
To the lycanthrope the sickening gleaming silver sword represented so much more than a name. In her mind the silver sawn with blood and wreaked of death. It represented genocide of her kind. It spoke of an ignorance that ran so deep as to define a whole people by an unclear assumption. The stories that would follow the unveiling only served to fuel the fire, to make the woman sicker however the man’s next words were the final nails in his coffin. As the name was invoked, words from a dead man’s lips, a ferocious growl was supressed.
“Well My dear, we are members of the silver hand.”
It should have been simple, easy and quick. She intended to dispatch of the men as soon as they stepped foot outside of the village however complications arose inform of a caravan of refugees. It seemed out of the kindness of their hearts the silver wielding men had agreed to protect the migrants up until the point where their paths split. Ivarstead and “Somewhere in the reach”, Brynn assumed Treva’s watch being the final destination. Luckily enough for Brynn the road would split neatly between the two; still she was cutting it close.
2
What had followed was days of stalking, of sleeping during the day and hunting during the night. All of this had let up to this very moment. The men, her prey ignorantly came walking down the narrow path, bobbing torches in hand.
Every muscle in the wolvin body was tense and ready, paws tucked neatly underneath the furred powerhouse of teeth, claws, and wicked precision. Her lithe frame heaved silently, her nose pointed towards the road drinking the intoxicating smell of approaching victory. Placing one back paw forward she was wound like a spring. Almost. Yes, yes. Come to me my darling. And with one release of energy, one great propulsion it had begun.
As silent as the night herself overtaking the day the werewolf launched herself down the hill and into flight. It was a devastatingly beautiful thing, the flight, the air before her teeth closed down on fresh blood. On arterys begging to be broken. Almost as beautiful as the snapping noise of the unsuspecting neck.
Having hurled herself though the air she landed claw and teeth first onto the man, grabbing him with iron jaws, and rolling into the ditch all in one smooth motion. Brynn could already feel herself being bathed in blood. This was the moment of pure ecstasy when adrenaline pulsed through her veils and her bestial blood boiled, this was the hunt and in seconds she had risen from the ditch in search or more blood.
She returned to the path littered with the torches of her victims. She had taken them by surprise, she had no doubt and as she listed her head she could smell heir fear. The problem, and yet the blessing lays In the truth that everyone takes differently to fear. As two of the men fumbled to organize themselves in defense the previously drunken oaf ran. Oh by the Nine! I love it when they run. Brynn could feel the energy build inside her and with one tremendous howl had rocketed after the scale clad man. With her speed fueled by blood lust it was all over in a few short moments. His back was quickly torn open and part of his shoulder found dangling from Brynn’s jaws only to disappear with one smooth kick back of her bloodstained head.
The human blood seemed to fuel the beast inside of her, overwhelming even further her human element. She did not fight to regain her position however, if these men wanted a beast she would give them one and this was to be the case. As an arrow grazed Brynn’s foreleg and shoulder, her memories end, all went black and blood red.