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- Joined
- Apr 8, 2019
Two weeks had passed since the last full moon, leaving a period of close to the same until the next; Fynn had long since cleaned and dressed the wounds incurred during his last run, and instead had begun to focus on storing food and supplies for the period after his next transformation. Much of his life operated on a cycle: the night of the transformation, a recovery period, stocking up for the next, and resting before it was to happen again. It was a tedious routine, but one that proved necessary for his survival; he could worry about enjoying himself when he'd regained his strength enough to challenge his quickly-weakening old pack.
Ever since his brother Pierce had taken over, it had apparently gone to hell; gone were the traditions and structure that had kept the pack organized and strong for so long, allowing the pack to frolic and pursue their own pleasures, but also leaving them open for attacks. Once a month, he allowed himself a cursory trip to the grounds he knew they kept, keeping his distance and using his smaller human form to sneak through the trees and underbrush enough to gather information on their numbers. They were dwindling rapidly, overheard and hushed conversations informing him that they didn't know why – the prominent rumor was that they had left for better protection, something that made Fynn chuckle as he exited their hearing distance.
All his routine rotated around the home base he had claimed for himself, a large but seldom-used wooden structure that seemed to belong to humans. He could vaguely remember being younger, still with his pack, and seeing them occasionally take residence there, allowing their young to play in the lake or make fires near the tree lines, but never allowing them to wander into the darkness of the forest. They had been smart; whether they knew about the werewolf pack and kept a respectful distance or they simply knew the dangers that could lurk there, Fynn didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. Still, it had been years since anyone had taken residence there, so when he had been cast out, he had figured it would do no harm to use it for recovery.
Thinking about the night he'd been cast out did little more than leave a sick taste in his mouth, so Fynn didn't dwell on it often, using the routine of his day-to-day life as well as keeping the house in working order to distract him from the memories. He had kept the place clean, setting aside quarters for himself and leaving the rest of the house alone unless to touch it up, teaching himself to use human methods to prepare and cook food rather than relying on the scarcer supplies that would also be scavenged by his former pack. There was never a lack of things to do, so he kept himself busy, living a simple life until he returned from a short produce-gathering walk to see bags in the foyer.
Fynn's blood ran cold; had the humans arrived? It would be too dangerous to take up residence in the forest now that Pierce oversaw the pack. There was no sense of respect, no rules on attacking wayward humans; when Fynn's father had been the alpha, he had strictly decreed that humans would not be bothered unless seen as a direct attack. Pierce had nothing of the sort in place; whoever had shown would be massacred if they were still there in two weeks' time. He had to come up with a plan, and fast, he realized, as he rushed to the lake after hearing screams there.
Thankfully, he found no spreading blood in the water; the screams had been ones of glee, if the grin spread across the young woman's face was a judge of it. Amused, he couldn't help but watch her as she splashed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he switched from watching her to keeping an eye on the tree line, making sure no predators threatened her in her frolicking. After his eyes had had his fill, he stepped forward down the path to make himself seen, doing his best to act as though he wasn't looking at her.
"Excuse me, miss?" he called, his voice rough and coarse from not being used often, a slight southern twang making itself heard. "I couldn't help but hear you from the house. Are you, by any chance, related to the Lawsons?" He had heard the name in the house, after discovering old home movies scattered about; they had kept him company on nights where he missed his late father and the familiarity of a pack. "They hired me to keep up with the house in their absence, you see." It was a blatant lie, of course, but he needed a reason why he was there, and it seemed as good as any – much better than telling her 'I'm a monster who uses your house as a base while I plot to take control of my pack', he assumed.
Ever since his brother Pierce had taken over, it had apparently gone to hell; gone were the traditions and structure that had kept the pack organized and strong for so long, allowing the pack to frolic and pursue their own pleasures, but also leaving them open for attacks. Once a month, he allowed himself a cursory trip to the grounds he knew they kept, keeping his distance and using his smaller human form to sneak through the trees and underbrush enough to gather information on their numbers. They were dwindling rapidly, overheard and hushed conversations informing him that they didn't know why – the prominent rumor was that they had left for better protection, something that made Fynn chuckle as he exited their hearing distance.
All his routine rotated around the home base he had claimed for himself, a large but seldom-used wooden structure that seemed to belong to humans. He could vaguely remember being younger, still with his pack, and seeing them occasionally take residence there, allowing their young to play in the lake or make fires near the tree lines, but never allowing them to wander into the darkness of the forest. They had been smart; whether they knew about the werewolf pack and kept a respectful distance or they simply knew the dangers that could lurk there, Fynn didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. Still, it had been years since anyone had taken residence there, so when he had been cast out, he had figured it would do no harm to use it for recovery.
Thinking about the night he'd been cast out did little more than leave a sick taste in his mouth, so Fynn didn't dwell on it often, using the routine of his day-to-day life as well as keeping the house in working order to distract him from the memories. He had kept the place clean, setting aside quarters for himself and leaving the rest of the house alone unless to touch it up, teaching himself to use human methods to prepare and cook food rather than relying on the scarcer supplies that would also be scavenged by his former pack. There was never a lack of things to do, so he kept himself busy, living a simple life until he returned from a short produce-gathering walk to see bags in the foyer.
Fynn's blood ran cold; had the humans arrived? It would be too dangerous to take up residence in the forest now that Pierce oversaw the pack. There was no sense of respect, no rules on attacking wayward humans; when Fynn's father had been the alpha, he had strictly decreed that humans would not be bothered unless seen as a direct attack. Pierce had nothing of the sort in place; whoever had shown would be massacred if they were still there in two weeks' time. He had to come up with a plan, and fast, he realized, as he rushed to the lake after hearing screams there.
Thankfully, he found no spreading blood in the water; the screams had been ones of glee, if the grin spread across the young woman's face was a judge of it. Amused, he couldn't help but watch her as she splashed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he switched from watching her to keeping an eye on the tree line, making sure no predators threatened her in her frolicking. After his eyes had had his fill, he stepped forward down the path to make himself seen, doing his best to act as though he wasn't looking at her.
"Excuse me, miss?" he called, his voice rough and coarse from not being used often, a slight southern twang making itself heard. "I couldn't help but hear you from the house. Are you, by any chance, related to the Lawsons?" He had heard the name in the house, after discovering old home movies scattered about; they had kept him company on nights where he missed his late father and the familiarity of a pack. "They hired me to keep up with the house in their absence, you see." It was a blatant lie, of course, but he needed a reason why he was there, and it seemed as good as any – much better than telling her 'I'm a monster who uses your house as a base while I plot to take control of my pack', he assumed.
