A Distant Howling

His prey was close by, crouched and trembling among a dense thicket of blackberry bushes, its breath visible in the cold night air. He stalked through the underbrush, carefully lifting each huge paw and placing it down silently. The breeze brought the scent of the deer, and an insatiable hunger gnawed at his belly as he savored its musky smell and sensed its fear. Suddenly, with a sound of desperate scrambling, the deer bolted.

He gave chase, powerful legs propelling him through a forest Stygian in its darkness. The trees were crowded close together, and the full moon could only be seen wherever the canopy was thinnest. Finally, in a small clearing, a leap brought his prey down. Hot blood drenched his muzzle as he tore the deer’s throat out. As the moonlight poured down around him like pale blue fire, he put one massive paw on the deer’s chest, raised his head, and howled and howled.

Stefan woke with a start. The fire had burned down, so he sat up and pulled his heavy coat tighter against the chill as he added more wood. Still a little green, the wood smoked and crackled. He watched the sparks swirl and dance as he recalled the dream—or memory. He had stumbled back to his camp at dawn, naked and shivering, with dried blood caked on his face and hands. There was still the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. Stefan took a deep gulp from his water skin and rinsed his mouth. He poured more into his cupped palm and scrubbed his face and neck. Tonight was the last night of the full moon. He could go back to his village tomorrow.

He pulled a linen-wrapped object out of his coat pocket and uncovered it. The cross was heavy and made of silver. Stefan rubbed his thumb lightly against its base, feeling the sharp edge he had filed into it. Not for the first time, he considered ending his life. A quick thrust to the throat and the curse he’d labored under for the past two years would be over. Only the fear of what came after stayed his hand. He held the cross up, the rays of the setting sun stretching its shadow across the campsite until it almost touched the trees at the clearing’s edge. After a few minutes, he re-wrapped the cross and thrust it back into his pocket.

Since old habits were hard to break, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed. While he felt a little better afterward, the words Jesus spoke on the cross continued to haunt him: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” For the past two years, he had also felt forsaken and couldn’t understand God’s seeming indifference to his plight. Nevertheless, he continued to offer his daily prayers. Stefan reached for his leather rucksack and saw movement in the underbrush at the clearing’s edge.

“Who’s there? Come on, show yourself.” He slipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, feeling the handle of the dagger concealed within. Suddenly, a small figure emerged from the thick underbrush of the woods. It was a boy, no older than five or six, with tousled hair and dark eyes. The boy’s clothes were old, yet they were clean and carefully mended, suggesting someone had taken the time to care for him.  “Child, what’re you doing here? Where’s your parents?”

“I don’t know. I’m lost.”

“You’re lost? For the love of Christ, child, didn’t your mama warn you about going into the woods alone?” The boy began to cry, and Stefan regretted his harsh tone. “Hey now, hey now, no need for that. Come over to the fire and get warm.”

The boy hesitated and then slowly walked over to the fire, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. After the child sat cross-legged beside him, Stefan draped a rough wool blanket across the boy’s shoulders and handed him the water skin. As the boy thirstily drank, Stefan regarded him. He reminded Stefan of his oldest, Yani, at that age: the same brown eyes and unruly mop of dark hair. 

"What’s your name, child?"

“Niko.”

“I’m Stefan. Hungry, Niko?” When the boy nodded yes, Stefan handed him some venison jerky from the rucksack. 

The sun hung low in the sky, with stars beginning to emerge from their daytime hiding places. There was a village to the Northeast, and he calculated how long it would take to reach it. Having battled the transformation before, Stefan knew he could hold it off for several hours. There wasn’t any other choice. The child would die if he were still in the forest when Stefan transformed. Stefan quickly packed his meager belongings into his rucksack. Once finished, he poured dirt on the fire and stamped out the remaining embers.

“Let’s go, Niko. I need to get you to safety.” He hoisted the child in his arms and ensured the blanket was secure. “It’s going to be a long walk. Can you tell me how you got lost?”

As they walked, Stefan listened to a story about a new puppy and a misguided trip to pick blackberries that morning to surprise his mother. The dog had run off, and the boy got lost while chasing after it. Stefan encouraged the child to keep talking by asking questions about his family and village. At one point, Stefan pulled out his compass to check they were headed in the right direction and explained how it worked to the boy. The conversation gave Stefan a tether to cling to as the moon began to rise.