The hunt.
It was my favorite part of Autumn. When the moon turned orange and the beasts howled their challenges, when my essence thrummed in my veins and I felt the most alive. I shimmied over a small rise and, keeping low, scanned the meadow below. The peachy glow transformed it into some magical heavenly place, but everyone knew this was far from.
Known as the Wolf's Lair, where locals had confirmed sightings every Harvest Moon of their best warriors transforming into hulking monsters. Their roars lit the night with terror, and the once beautiful lunar spectacle henceforth became a dreaded omen. Huntsmen and women from all over the country were hired to pick off these inhuman beasts. For once turned, there was no going back.
I was among them. If we didn't eradicate the threat, bloodshed like nobody had ever seen before would rise with the sun.
Movement at the edge of the trees. I tensed, hands curling against my bow and quiver. Something loped into the warm moonlight and quick as a cat I was on my feet and pulling an arrow back against the twine.
Zziiiiiing!
The line sang as the arrow sliced through the air, straight into the chest of a man. He cried out and clutched the embedded shaft, blood pooling. Gasping, he sank to his knees, then fell over with a moan.
One down, more to go.
Three more fell before they grew wary. None of these men knew of our activities since none lived to tell of it. The next man was much more careful. I held my breath, arrow nocked at the ready, when he stepped into the light.
