The Female Wolf Hunter

The scent of crushed wild mint, damp earth, and the metallic tang of an approaching storm flooded my senses. I sat under a tree in the Grey Thicket. It was peaceful here - other humans were too scared to come here but I enjoyed the isolation - the only sounds the birds in the trees and the earth humming beneath my feet. I wasn't like the girls in the town three valleys over. They smelled of cheap vanilla and dreamed of boys with shiny trucks - I dreamed of the moon. I looked for the wind. I listened for the heartbeat of the earth.

My aunt called it a gift, but as the moon began to swell in the sky, it felt more like a cage. Since she'd been gone there was no one left I could trust. She raised me until she died last year - her last words being"Never let them see your eyes silver under the moonlight. Never, ever go back to the city." I really am unsure what she meant by it but something deep within me sensed that I should obey her dying wish.

Suddenly I froze as my senses took over. Senses sharper than most humans. I looked up from bundling my herbs to a break in the trees across a clearing. I could smell the fear - sweat on the buck from fifty yards. It was a sweet, metallic tang that made my canines ache with a pressure I couldn't explain. My aunt always told me I was 'spirited,' but as my fingernails bit into the cool, damp moss, arching like claws I shouldn't possess, I knew 'spirited' was a lie. I was a predator in a girl's skin.

I readied myself to give chase, a primal urge threatening to take over me, but suddenly an overwhelming surge of guilt swamped my senses. I turned and pulled a handful of berries from a nearby bush, shovelling them into my mouth to try and swallow down the need to hunt that poor animal.

But it wasn't enough. The need thrummed through me as I pounced, running faster, inhumanely, after this deer. It sprinted off, deep into the woods as I gave chase, my heart pounding against my ribs, the excitement deafening, my senses tingling reaching deep into the forest - every sound, every smell hit me sharply, focused on finding the deer.

As I approached the clearing I saw him. He had stopped, clearly believing he was safe. I pulled my bow from my back, drawing back my arrow as I aimed, carefully between the eyes. I thought it would be more humane even if the voice inside my head was begging me to tear it apart with my bare hands. I fought the static screaming in my skull - a hungry, jagged noise - and forced my focus onto the buck as I let go, my arrow cutting through the thick air like a blade. Thwack. The arrow hit it's target and the deer fell to the ground. I approached and stroked his ears. "I'm sorry" I told him sincerely "but a girl's got to eat." That's what I told myself anyway, it was the only way to supress that nag of guilt. Deep down? It was a primal need, an urge I could not resist. The fearral beast inside me begging to come uncaged. It was terrifying.