Some of you know I’ve got werewolves on the go as well as witches. Well, one werewolf, who’s currently…er, trolling in the park, basically. (How has trolling come to mean ‘looking for s-e-x’, instead of ‘lurking under bridges waiting for billy goats’? When did that happen?) 😉
Anyway, this is Part 2 of a story I started earlier this year, before I really knew anything about what writing involved, apart from typing words on a keyboard. I had never heard of revising, editing, plotting vs pantsing, and all kinds of things I pretend to know about now. I originally wrote it as one complete short story, and merrily sent it off to a website that was running a feature on werewolves. I cringe to think about it. Fortunately the file got corrupted, and by the time they told me this, I had realised what drivel I had sent off. (Or maybe they did read it and just didn’t want to embarrass me). Either way, I had missed the feature, but that was fine, as I wanted to improve my piece using my new found knowledge.
I revised my ideas and decided to make the story a serial. I did a plan. I made quite a few changes to the piece and published it on my blog as More (Part 1). I still wasn’t sure, and debated whether to continue the story, but a few people liked it which was encouraging. I wrote Part 2 and sat on it for ages, still dithering.
Then I started my Creative Writing course. Suddenly, I had some new tools and skills that showed me how I could maybe improve the future parts of this tale. I did more planning and character building. I’m even considering using one of the characters for my next assessment piece. He hasn’t even got a name yet, but he’s going to be important, and he deserves a little story of his own.
But for now, here’s Part 2 of my werewolf story. (Click here for Part 1, if you like). Enjoy!
More (Part 2)
What’s it like to be a woman – and a werewolf? One word: complicated.
He was walking towards the boating lake, with a casual air that suggested he’d been this way before. Every so often he would push his floppy hair out of his eyes, a gesture I also recognised. I racked my brain as to where else I’d seen him. Then it dawned on me. He worked at one of the venues in town I frequented – I’d spotted him there just last week. I shook myself, as my brain was still focused on his face and body. I dragged my one-track mind away from that and looked past his appearance. After all, there was no doubt I was drawn to him physically.
Being a female werewolf was a pain. I was sure the males of our kind didn’t think ‘potential life mate’ of everyone attractive they set eyes on. Yet as well as the sexual attraction, the thought was always in the back of my mind. It never worked out. The beast part made me an intense person to be around. Playing it cool only lasted so long. They would catch a glimpse of the wolf just under the surface sooner or later – and run. I was ahead of the game anyway, with these thoughts. I turned my attention back to my quarry.
Our kind can’t read minds. But with human and beast senses at our disposal, we come very close. In spite of his confident swagger, I knew something was eating at him underneath. He was running away. Not from physical danger, but from another kind of hurt. I had a good idea what, but decided not to use my extra senses to probe any further. I had intended to go back home and be more human – in all ways – before heading back into town. That was the good thing about getting older. Although the full moon forced the first change, I now changed back at will, although I always fed first. Swopping from beast to human used up a lot of energy.
But something about this young man had captured my attention, and it wasn’t just his looks. Okay, they were a large part of it, but still… On a whim, I followed him. Keeping silent and out of sight wasn’t a problem for me, after all. I padded after him, past the lake and across the playing fields. As the town disappeared behind us the only light came from the moon, but tonight that was enough to be a problem on open ground. I slunk low, prepared to flatten if he turned. When he reached the other side of the park, he climbed the fence and dropped down lightly. Fit in more ways than one, the human part of my mind said to itself. I was glad that side of me was still functioning.
As he headed away from the park, I gave him a bit of distance before leaping the fence, in case the movement caught his eye. I didn’t want to lose him, as he was going into the housing estate, a maze of flats, communal gardens and alleyways. On the plus side, there were more shadows for me to hide in. I didn’t have to dodge about for long, as it soon became clear why he used the park as a short cut. He made for the third block on the street. As he slid the key into the lock, I darted across the road and into the garden, concealing myself in a bush and hoping against hope that he lived on the ground floor. I mentally punched the air as a light came on in the window above me. Cautiously, I rose up, planting my paws on the windowsill, and peered in. He was sprawled on the couch, staring at the television without seeing it. I took in all the signs of a bachelor pad: beer fridge, DVDs and video games piled haphazardly. Then I realised I was acting like a stalker, albeit a dog-shaped one. I knew where he worked, and now I knew where he lived. I dropped down and trotted out of the garden and back along the street. It was time to take myself home and plan my next move with all my human faculties.
I hadn’t gone more than a few steps, though, when I stopped dead.
A stench so strong it was unmistakeable hit my sensitive nostrils. The fur along my back rose and without any conscious thought on my part I crouched, ears flattening. My lips drew back in a snarl, which I cut off with some effort. All thoughts of going home disappeared as I used all my senses – beast and human – to scan the area.
There was another of my kind nearby. In beast form. And male.
That was a problem in so many ways. Our kind seldom encountered each other. Two of the opposite sex meeting under the full moon – a recipe for disaster. Oh, it would start off with mating, so at least that itch would be scratched. But unless he turned out to be The One – a slim chance as it never seemed to happen that way – other instincts would take over.
We were territorial, both males and females. This was my town. From the nightlife of the centre, to the edges like this, and all points in between. My patch. Mine.
I would fight to the death to defend it.