Day 13

Next little bit in my "reverse werewolf" thing—when I started I hadn't planned on going anywhere with it, but now that I've got my first fangrrl... ;}

It began here, continued on Day 12, and is, as usual, a rough draft. In other words, there's a reason for any crappiness. ^_^

***

Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.

The trap was still very heavy.

The pebbles shifted under his paws as he made his way downstream, away from the Pack. His leg was now blessedly numb, but the cold water was beginning to sap his strength; he could feel a clumsy heaviness in his limbs as he splashed through the water.

He felt a sense of urgency now. Clambering out onto the opposite bank, he left footprints in the mud and trampled the undergrowth. The spot wasn't far from where he'd entered the stream, leaving similar markings, and with any luck the hunter would notice.

Entering the water again, he moved upstream, past his first trail. He was shaking, staggering, but he kept on, following the stream around a bend. Once out of sight of the fake trail, he crawled back onto the bank and lay there panting. His leg throbbed painfully, and he wondered blearily if that was bone he could see next to a metal tooth.

He couldn't walk, only drag himself further into the bushes and away from the water. Finding a hollow he curled up awkwardly, the trap still biting into his flesh. He licked it feebly. The sky above was greying in the pre-dawn light, and he waited for the sun and its warmth.

The day passed in a daze. At times he was aware of the passing of hours, and at others he slipped in and out of awareness, finding the sun had moved across the sky in what seemed like minutes. Eventually it began to set, and he could feel the full moon in his bones. His nose itched, and he sneezed.

The change was quick; fur melted into skin, bones rearranged, his eyesight dimmed. He braved it without a sound, having done so many times before, but it was painful. His pelt itched like he'd been bitten all over by thousands of ants, and his bones felt as if they were breaking. Within a minute, though, it was over, and he uncurled himself.

He inspected his wrist; it was bleeding, and he put down his head to lick at the wound before remembering himself. In the dark he could just make out the trap mechanism, and with a bit of struggling he managed to remove his hand. He stood up unsteadily and held his hand to his chest, wincing as the movement jolted it. Squinting into the darkness he began to walk. In only a few meters he managed to stub his toe, walk into a branch, and practice several new swear words he'd learned the previous moon.

***

I'm beginning to think I should've named my pet werewolf. "He" is getting awfully repetitious...

Not sure about the description of the change. It seems rather anti-climatic, and not very descriptive, either.