Ice bolts through his veins, consuming him in a heartbeat with a frost that goes as deep as his soul.
He is on his feet again, a puppet yanked upright by the strings.
It is something that goes deeper than instinct that orchestrates his actions, that same force that drags his gaze across the shadows of the treeline.
He searches the darkness, but finds only the trees staring back.
Charlie feels the trespass in the depths of him.
Something even deeper surges, desperate to meet the challenge.
Fury like a blaze within him, the fire of which is quick to thaw away the initial ice.
Darkness and red again, lurching at the edges of his vision. Keeping a grip on his thoughts is an immense task, one that pulls his muscles taut with the effort of it.
The first attempt at speech in Gods only know how long. It is a medley of growling, a bloody attempt, maybe even a mockery at a language.
The part of him that cares not for merriment, not for small-talk, and by the Gods not for second chances.
This intrusion was a crime for which punishment must be delivered.
"Who's there?" He is amazed by how human the second attempt manages to sound.
Though there leaves little room for doubt exactly who is speaking.
But despite his snarling demand for answers - nothing comes.
Only silence, the trees and the shadows staring back at him, as answerless as he.
The breath hitches at the back of his throat, a desperate, sinking fear.
Had it been a hallucination, his maddened mind trying to piece together answers when there was no puzzle to be solved.
That he had finally, given in quite fully to the beast.
His world of dreaming had become reality, and there was no way out.
Fear blossoms again, he stumbles back a pace or two.
Boots kicking the carcass of the deer, the inadvertent power snapping one of its ribs.
He will not let himself believe it until it is the only answer available to him.
"Please," his voice echoes louder, pleading now. He can't be sure how he manages to keep the tremble from his tone of voice. "You don't know what you're doing."
By the Gods, some wretched, barely surviving part of his humanity pleads within him. The part who had seen this play out more times than he cared to count. Run while you still can.
Nothing.
Perhaps he was wrong, and this madness was in fact a kindness.
Relief.
Release.
Both might have been misconstrued as mercy.
He wants to give way to the belief.
Accept it as truth, there was evidence enough that it might be the case.
But Charlie sucks in a long, cold breath. Tasting it in his lungs.
He smells only the pine trees, only the forests, the deer and the morning breeze. A medley that dances across his tongue, alongside the stench of blood.
Something is wrong.
He knows that the same way he knows where his fingertips end.
He ducks, fingering the blade a second time, and hurls it with all of the power he can muster.
BINABASA MO ANG
Nomad
WerewolfTo his people, he was a threat. To his family, he was a traitor. And to himself, he was a monster. Charlie never had the chance to prove otherwise. ☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦☽✦ For the past decade, Charlie has lived in isolation. A brutal life o...
