Ethel shuffled quickly down the overgrown path. The sinister trees stood on either side of her, their barren branches stretched to the heavens like the hands of sinners begging for absolution. She had gone seeking work in the city of Grindstone, but nobody would give her the time of day. Anyone willing to speak to her only grinned wryly and told her to inquire about Ms. Horehound's brothel on the seedier side of town. She knew she would fetch a pretty penny that way - she was a lovely woman with wavy reddish-brown hair, fair skin speckled with freckles across her shoulders and nose, and eyes somewhere between gold and tan - but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was an outsider in her hometown, and following that line of work would only further ostracize her. Besides, she wanted to finally earn her father's approval. How would she do that living as a whore? So, she was returning to her town of Wiltfield with an empty coin purse.
"Get through that forest quickly, Miss," a guard had told her, "for a beast stalks it in the night." He turned his head skyward and said, "The moon is full. I've warned you not to proceed, but you wish to go and there's nothing else I can do to stop you. Just know that, should something happen, I will lie and say our paths never crossed."
Ethel had tried to ignore him. She thanked him for his concern and went ahead anyway, cocky at first, an easy-going sway in her step, but her mood shifted the moment she heard a branch snap. It had been under her own foot, and she admonished herself for not only her carelessness, but her paranoia as well. The guard was only trying to scare her. She wondered if he was lonely. "If I had a wife or daughter," he had said, "I would forbid her from going into these woods alone." Perhaps it had been a ploy, a trick to frighten her, to get her to fall into his arms, and maybe, after that, into his bed.
Yes, she could almost hear him now, "Don't worry, lass. I don't have gold to pay for your stay at the inn, but I can put a roof over your head and a bed beneath your back. By the way, has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look in the moonlight? Now, tell me what you like..." She giggled to herself. It was the first time she had laughed in so long. She wasn't quite sure why she was laughing. Maybe it was the thought of how easy some men could be, or maybe it was the thought of going to bed with someone, or maybe... maybe she just wanted someone to want her. Her smile suddenly faded at the thought. Sure, she had attention back home, but none of it was kind. Wiltfield was a sorry little hamlet. Nobody there was happy. And they decided to make it each other's problem. She sighed sadly.
And to her horror, it seemed the forest sighed back.
Ethel froze where she stood, her feet glued to the dusty trail. Every hair on her body stood on end. She looked around. She wanted, stupidly, to call out, but she knew no good could come of it. She scanned the trees, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Bars of moonlight pierced the clouds and passed through the trees, but everything about the unfamiliar landscape seemed unusual to her. She forced herself to keep moving, step by step, barely inching her way towards home. It was the wind, she told herself, just the wind, you're being ridiculous. Another twig snapped. She looked down. This time, it hadn't been her fault. The bare branches rattled. She shivered. She looked around again. Still nothing. She forced herself forward, one foot in front of the other. There was a growl. Tears formed in her eyes. It was her stomach, she had barely eaten all day. She kept walking. She scanned the trees again, and stopped. Hadn't she passed that boulder already? She put a hand over her racing heart. Then, the boulder moved. It raised its silver head and opened its golden eyes, seeming to give off a glow of their own. She yelped. The thing lunged at her. She tried to run but stumbled and fell flat on the path. She rolled onto her back just as the thing stood above her. It was a beast in form, but a man in shape.
She swallowed hard.
It was a werewolf.
The werewolf threw its head back and howled. Ethel rolled onto her stomach and scrambled to her feet. It grabbed her skirt in its claws. She turned and tried to jerk it away, only for it to rake its claws at her chest. She lunged back. Its claws ripped her shirt open, spilling her breasts into the cold night. She screamed. She jerked on her skirt as she tried to run, and the old fabric tore apart in its hand. She stumbled, but caught herself, and threw herself down the path. The monster howled again. It pounded down the path after her.
There was not one light ahead of her. There was not one light behind. She sprinted down the path. A cloud veiled the moon, plunging her into darkness. Everything beyond her fifth step became a mystery to her. Still, she ran forward, the beast thundering close behind.
A fallen tree appeared on the path. She leapt over it, snagging her skirt, but pulled herself free, leaving more fabric behind. She kept running. The wolf pounced on the tree, snapping it in half. There was a low-hanging branch up ahead. She pushed it out of the way, and let it snap back into place. The werewolf caught it between its jaws and crunched down, breaking it to splinters. It was gaining on her. There was a bridge just ahead. She had always been taught that evil spirits couldn't cross running water. If she could just make it-
The wolf clawed at her again. More of her skirt was torn away, exposing everything below her knees.
She couldn't get cocky yet. She sprinted forward, legs on fire, lungs burning like brands, before she finally threw herself over the wooden bridge. She collapsed on the other side, pulling herself just a few stretches forward, before turning onto her back, grinning like a madwoman, to see the foe she had vanquished.
The werewolf leapt into the air.
Her smile faded.
It crossed the stream no problem.
She tried to scurry away but she was too slow.
The monster landed on her, pinning her arms beneath its hands and her legs beneath its knees. She struggled to free herself, but to no avail. Its fingers were as thick as her wrists, its body almost pure muscle beneath its grey-brown fur. It snorted, its hot breath blowing the hair out of her face, settling like embers on her neck. To her shock, that pang of loneliness came back. Is this what it felt like to die? Lonely? The werewolf's attention roamed down her body, snorting again in her face, on her neck, on her chest. Its snout brushed her breasts. Its golden eyes were wild, but not unintelligent, and it almost appeared to be studying her. It snorted again, its warmth enveloping her chest, shielding her from the cold night. She drew a breath. Her heart pounded and her throat tightened, but fear had failed to fully take root. The weight on top of her and the hot breath on her virtues reminded her of a lover she had taken once. Something just as primal as fear and twice as shameful bloomed within her. The werewolf was powerful beyond all comprehension, making her feel small and weak and vulnerable and... enticed! And how shameful it was, to remember that traveller and the way he made her feel! And how shameful it was for this monster to be the catalyst of that memory! But, if he was to kill her, at least she could die to the memory of the handsome stranger who took her breath away.
The werewolf returned its gaze to her face and snorted yet again. "I smell more than fear," it growled. Its voice startled her. It was the perfect marriage of man and beast, deep and resonant, wild but with a shred of civilization. Ethel felt its gleaming eyes on her, scanning her face, her bare chest, her torn skirt. "What is this?"
"Something I can't explain," she choked. "Perhaps desire... for negotiation." She should have gone to work in the whorehouse! Who in their right mind would answer so bluntly? At least she tried to cover her trail there at the end. But perhaps... Yes, perhaps she could try to fulfill that need.
"In what way? I have no need for gold."
"Tell me of your other needs." She swallowed hard. Beads of sweat broke upon her brow. She thought about what so many men had told her, both in Wiltfield and in Grindstone. "Surely, I can be of some use to you."
The monster growled, leaving Ethel's skin covered in goosebumps, and her legs pressing themselves together in something akin to girlish excitement. To her surprise, he stood, towering over her once more, as a new shape distorted his silhouette. Ethel held her breath as she realized what it was.
The beast's shaft was as long as her forearm, and just as girthy. It was red as an apple's flesh with a bulge near its base, giving the whole thing the shape of a vase.
