A meadow/grassland close to Amaryth, Othea’s capital
All around Roan’s wolfen form were tall grasses, a meadow or grassland. Larks and other lowland birds sang their shrill, elegant songs from their hidden places while they filled the air, seeking would be mates to farther their race’s existence. For the most part there was life teeming everywhere. From the smallest budding flower to the great, blue sky that sheltered the great sun overhead, nothing was left out of the natural cycle all around Roan’s present location. He was mentally relieved to found himself in a more comforting surrounding then the Karak Claw Mountains gave him. The trip, without a single trail and all on his own strength, had been a harsh and unforgiving one which had taken him nearly a week to manage. Between hunting and rest, it was difficult but far less risky than taking the established pass. Over the next few days along his way to Amaryth, he had slowly replaced his lost belongings by either pilfering from lone travelers, farmers or the small, scattered tribes found within the wooded area. His last item ‘borrowed’ was a bow and quivers, unable to return to gain his own, that he continually practiced until he became accustomed to the difference. The string material, wood, and others features made a great effect in his use when compared to his old one, a military assigned one. Most wouldn’t notice why but Roan did. Often he tried to adapt because he was forced to make do with it.
Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Roan’s paws continued to dog trot his way between the vast treeless lands. His paws flattened and crushed the dew coated grass blades with each step, damping the pad slightly. Each time, sending small insects and creatures scurrying for new cover wherever he had treaded, fearful he was still hungry and would end their little lives. Instead his mind was focused on the copper taste, blood from the goat’s leg, the body dangling from his jaws which left small drips in his wake. Ruining the scene’s flawless life he could’ve left untouched. Despite the soft rustle of the grass, he was absolutely silent in his movement when he finally scented out his current ‘camp’. Feeling the exhaustion weigh in his muscles, Roan’s maw opened, dropping the carcass down onto the dirt, while his head lifted to dart about the scenery. It had taken a long time for him to grow use to the oddness of this new form’s sight. Everything within his focus sharpened, the outer edges blurred slightly, making it easy to ignore any distractions outside of it. Colors had been dulled greatly by what he could only described as seeing through a yellow amber gem covering each eye. Unlike his human shape, there wasn’t any color which stood out with such intensity that he found it easier and faster to adjust his target to sudden motion within his vision range.
One of the few things he liked about his wolf shape.
His bluish tongue came out once and licked his black nose, wetting it, before it flickered back in. His middle twitched when his hunger began to claw at it making his head flipped downward, eyeing the goat again. His eyes narrowed upon the glossy eyed brown and white beast which stared its undead sight on him, quietly accusing. Roan felt his breath inhale and let out sharp, arrogant snort like sneeze. Gently he lowered himself onto his stomach while his right arm reached out to drag the goat’s limp corpse to his chest. He pinned the plump, fresh meal between his hands and lowered his muzzle to the short fur outside. His tongue darted out to lick its belly. Letting his saliva soften the tough hide and mark to his nose were to dig in. The place where the choicest pieces, lungs, heart, intestines, and more were locked away. Roan felt his lips quiver, filled with saliva before his fangs widened then clamped down.
Crack… crunch…ssnffff… his muzzle dig deeper, bones breaking easily, being ripped from the middle with ease. Blood filled his narrow jaws again, throat gulping it down with each time he snapped another rib. Shortly a small hole was made. Licking his chops, Roan started in on the inside morsels. His small canines nipped over the goat’s stomach, catching some of the fatty tissue alongside the juicy muscle while he tugged it out. Bit by bit it came until it hung like a flabby bag, his teeth jerked up and down, shoving it down his throat with each snap of his jaws. The warmth seemed to waft through out his being and delight him, sparking a fresh need to repeat which he did eagerly. Gorging himself on each bite.
While the primal instinct was distracted, Roan’s humanity turned inward and away from the sight. In it was memory of how he had gotten his latest meal much early that same morning and the cause of his worry building deep in his conscious.
The sun, red and angry, had just peered over the horizon. Hours before official dawn. Light crept like molasses across the wide farmlands, dowsing everything in bright gold and adding to the glory of a new day. Among the early creatures, a single wolf like animal stood just outside a land’s fenced in area. His figure easily pulled up and over the crude, manmade structure then dropped back down to all fours dog trotting closer to the single hut which served a small family of four.
Roan’s eyes settled upon a small scene. Its acres on the left was a wide, crudely plowed field, currently left fallow for this growing season while animals polluted the surroundings with their mellow noise. First he narrowed upon the chickens, idly pecking and scratching their daily meal into their greedy beaks. Their filthy feathers ruffled then smoothed, some partly bald from their continual aggression toward each. Slowly, Roan shifted to the dairy and few meat goats within a pen. They, ranging from does to bucks, displayed their varied coats from black to brown and white nearest a small shack like barn. A waft of fresh hay, coupled by the old scent of an inexperienced youth, had told Roan all he needed to know. The goats had hadn’t been fed and were left alone for now.
This knowledge seemed to encourage Roan’s body to move. He slunk to all fours, his tail hung to balance him, while he started to cautiously close the distance between him and the shack. His body laid as low as possible in his approach. Every few meters he’d grind to a stop and perk up his ears, his body slumped deeper into the uncut grasses, until it seemed he was still undiscovered. His paws absorbed sound as well as protected his hands and feet while he edged to the goat pen. It took only a few moments for the animals to sense his presence. Their narrow heads barely reached the second gap before their watery eyes blinked then gave a shrill alarm, unhappy with the scent of a nearby predator. Several fat little bodies veered away from the edges nearest Roan and clustered together, their cries grew louder with each passing moment. It made his heart leap. Both driven by hunger and the desire to taste blood, he licked his black lips revealing several white teeth, enjoying the fresh waft of shit pilled on by their panic. Gingerly, he lifted on three legs. His upraised arm pressed near his chest then, when his eyes caught no movement from the hut, it reached for the top part of the fence. Muscles coiled and snapped, bring him to hop onto the top of a post where his sight could easily decide his prey choice. It was hard. His need demanded them all but he knew he was only going to be able to carry one.
Roan gradually moved into the pen, the coast clear, causing the goats to veer away from his position, the more experienced ones stumbled and tried to leap over each other to escape their demise. Blood… it was deeply etched within his mind, the thought of tearing flesh and feasting made his muscles twitch with anticipation yet his wolf like mind refused to make a mistake. Not this close to actually gaining a meal. Louder their noise became while his muscles coiled underneath the dark fur and his eyes intense in their glow. His face narrowed on the largest goat. A buck, his nose confirmed through smell, stout and strong with plenty of meat thanks to the human boy’s favoritism. Too bad it doomed the animal when Roan arrived.
His muzzle snapped open when he lounged at the goat’s throat. Its neck bones fractured easily between his teeth, even with the muscle thick as it was, so quick that it barely had time to choke out its last sound. Even on the moment of impact Roan felt its life ebbed from it. In seconds, the others scattered to the other side and tried to knock their prison’s wall loose. Their bodies shivering from the bloody scent masking his muzzle, fangs now pinked with the kill, while he twisted his head to give a snarling snap for silence. Abruptly his ears perk when a sound reached him. His fur bristled from the realization eyes now watched him, causing his sight to follow his nose. They narrowed upon a figure standing now within the enclosure’s inner circle, the farmer’s young son.
Only ten in age, his brown hair was shabbily left long and messily curled about his face smudged with goat shit, dirt and hay. His breeches and tunic were stained with labor from head to bare feet. Within the boy’s hand was a pitch fork, sloppily held upright to jab into the wolf now staring at him. Their eyes locked. Roan’s frightening animal like eyes fixed on the pale blue ones, laced with frightened but determined emotions. The weakness within seemed to pour strength into Roan’s dislike at being interrupted in his kill’s victory.
Roan made a soft, threatening growl. His eyes fixed on the pitchfork then his head jerked to the side, as if motioning for the boy to discard his weapon, only to fail in being understood. The boy instead tried to shove the pointed weapon. His aim: right into Roan’s shoulder. It was far too easy to read; Roan’s body shifted upright and tilted his shoulder back while his hand like paws whipped up. They grasped the junction where the prong piece and handle were forged together. His fingers wrapped around, stopping the points from breaking past the fur and skin, resting merely on the surface. Roan gave another warning growl then jerked it from the boy’s shaky grasp. The tool rang out in a hollow thump when it hit the fence then the dirt at Roan’s side. In the same motion his hands pressed into the ground and lowered to stalking form, his figure pulled closer. His fangs slickened with drool dripping past his lips, his muzzle crinkled in fury. Naturally the boy recoiled. The lad’s feet gave out from under him causing him to topple into his side, kicking dirt up in his terror scrambling backward. Too bad his attempt to retreat was stopped by the fence itself. That fact alone seemed intensify Roan’s excitement, his pace never faltered or changed until he was inches from the boy’s face. Roan’s hot breath breathed into the skin, his nose inhaled all the information, flooding his brain, as the most disturbing thought crossed his consideration.
How easy it could be to just sink his teeth and shake. Not a gentle one, but one which would easily snap the neck, and devo…
Roan felt his humanity send a chill down his spine. It took a moment to realize where his thoughts had turned and it terrified the hell out of him. The haze, the high, and all attributes in tune with his wolf side abruptly vanished. He shut his jaws just inches from the boy’s face, and then slowly pulled back. Already his ear picked up the sounds of adults, a man and woman, the father and mother respectively, start to pour out of the house. It was time to go. Now. He turned away, pausing just long enough to lock the goat within his jaws then gave the boy a remorseful glance back. His ears were pinned back in shame before he darted out of the enclosure in a dead run.
Soon after, he was out of sight and never looking back again.
The memory faded yet the disgust with himself remained, his mind irritated despite the raw meal warmly filling his stomach. His head lifted enough to peer over the tall grass and fix his gaze upon Amaryth, Othea’s capital. A prang of hurt edged into his heart at the painful memories Angus left him, even more for his behavior. He wondered what was happening to him. His thoughts drifted back to his original reason for being here, his need to seek out anyone who he could trust and would listen to him about his brother’s plans. Hopefully the information he held would be able to reach the Empress in time. Roan’s emotions stirred while he decided it was best to release his form back into his original shape. Before something else happened that was beyond his control. Gingerly he lifted his body to all fours, his front limbs stretched out in a dog like yawn, the claws digging into the earth before he smacked his jaw together then stood alert. He inhaled a long, soothing breath.
Then the change back began.
Into the beast was never hard, just always the changing back which was torment to Roan. Hot, flaming pain rippled through his muscles making them spasm uncontrollably. Immediately his body curled into a fetal ball crumbling to his side while his mind’s thoughts blared into numbness, each painful wave washed over him. He felt his very insides rearrange themselves from his bones down to his very muscles. First he felt his muzzle sucked back into his face inch by inch, the bones making loud, and deafening cracks giving him a headache from hell. Even in the foggy haze of his thoughts, Roan thought it was like a red hot poker was being shoved bit by bit between his eyes. Scents faded into the dull contrast of the human range giving Roan a sense of mourning. His eyes blinked and shut, blocking out the sudden rush of color flooding. He whimpered softly, trying to let it pass and praying not to pass out this time. Not like the first time. His ears shrank and shifted, rotating to the sides where they rested on his human skull. His hind legs cracked their joints back into their original places as the foot shortened, the knee rose, and calf lengthened into a recognizable human leg. Fur retracted leaving him naked and an itchy sensation all over his flesh, like he was too small for it. The last notable discomfort was his tail. It sucked back into his body without as much as a warning, making him grunt in annoyance then shudder.
All that was left was a sweating, shivering and pitiful looking man in nothing more than his breeches. Thankfully that changed with him or else he would’ve been butt ass naked. His torso and arms still held the evidence of his last kill, the carcass not too far away, though it took some to clear away the pain of his transformation. Now he knew how a drunker felt after a night spent face deep in the ale. Slowly, he lifted his shoulder upright, lying on his side in an effort to bear the pain and regain some ability to focus back. Sitting here wasn’t going get him anywhere other than caught. That thought began to push Roan into moving just a bit faster. His feet pulled underneath and tried to straighten into a wobbly stance. It last only a minute before he crashed down hard onto his knee, pain ripped back up causing Roan to cry out in surprise.
“Shit… bad idea,” Roan muttered to himself, his arm braced against the ground, stopping him from plummeting into the dirt face first. Talking to himself was habit now which would take time to lose. He just hoped no one could debate if he was crazy enough to warrant arrest as he tried to rise, more carefully, back to both feet. Nothing said unsound of mind like a half-naked man wandering the country side, talking to himself.
Once up again his eyes darted to his small stash nearby, his weapons, clothes, and more safely wrapped up together and hidden surprisingly well among the tall grass. Still very sure he would easily stumble and fall, Roan took his time. First he disposed of the goat’s body by dumping it into an old fox den he had noted earlier when he was still a wolf. The animal was long gone but since it was likely farmers who would hunt him, they likely won’t know the difference and assume the animal was still around to pillage their farms. Part of Roan hated placing the blame on another, innocent creature, even if it was for his own survival. Ripping up the taller grass here and there, he made a small bundle to use for the purpose of covering his prints. Mainly due to the fact they turned from wolf into man in a few places. It was a dead giveaway he was an evoker and that might’ve been a good thing to keep him from being killed on sight, but it also made it easier for Angus to send someone to silence him. Like drawing a charcoal target on his back for them to shoot at. Taking up his belongings in one hand, he walked through the unfarmed land, dragging the bundle behind, for about a yard until he felt safer to finish his dress. Wiping off most the blood, Roan started with his boots to prevent any more blistering to his soles then started with his shirt. All the time, his spear was close to his right foot, ready to be used against ambushing thieves. Though in this case, they would attack at their own risk for like others, they wouldn’t live long enough to keep his belongings.
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