I stepped closer to Ciaran, my four legs moving smoothly, precisely, with no effort. I felt hw strong I was, how powerful—my jaws felt heavy, my legs were roped with lean muscle, and I was breathing easily, although the change had been horribly stressful. Ciaran opened his mouth in a sinister, wolfy grin, as if to say, Isn't it great? I grinned back at him and was awash with a sudden ecstasy and exhilaration that I was experiencing this. Instinctively I stepped closer to Ciaran and nuzzled his neck, and he returned it.
Then I remembered. The watch sigil. The wolf in me wanted to be running, to be away, to be coursing through the dark night. The last vestige of a human Morgan remembered the watch sigil. I pressed my face against Ciaran's thick neck fur and breathed the words of the spell against him. In a quick, desperate move I traced the sigil against his neck with my wet canine nose.
Ciaran made no response, as if he hadn't noticed, hadn't felt it. I had no idea whether or not it would «stick» since he was a changed being. Then Ciaran nudged me with his head and, turning, bounded off into the night. Feeling fiercely happy, all thoughts of Morgans and missions and spells gone, I leapt after him. My muscles contracted and expanded effortlessly; it was easy to catch up with him, and we loped along side by side as a million new sensations flooded my animal brain. With my magesight I could always see well in the dark, but now it was as if things were highlighted and outlined for me with infrared. With each indrawn breath a world of scent, flavors borne on the breeze, added an incredibly powerful, exciting beyond description.
When Ciaran looked back, I opened my mouth and showed him my pointy teeth. He had given me the gift of a lifetime, I knew. We ran for miles through the woods, leaving the cemetery behind, following scents, feeling the crisp air ruffling through our fur. I ran happily in Ciaran's paw prints, trying to soak up as much of this sensation as possible. I didn't know if it would ever happen again, and I wanted to relish every second.
I hadn't even begun to tire when Ciaran cantered to a halt and sniffed the air. Eagerly I stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and lifted my head. My eyes widened, and I looked at him, seeing the knowledge in his eyes. I smelled it too. Prey.
17. The Choice
Colin, I write to you in fevered hysteria. I learned only hours ago that Nuala is to be burned at the stake, in Barra Head. I can see that at last her devil's work has caught up to her, but the sentence! As Father Benedict himself said, God is to judge good and evil, not man! Cannot her soul yet be saved? Can no one bring her to the Lord's joy? It can be done only if she is alive—surely they must see that, Colin?
I have been insane with worry since receiving this news (news that I am sure I was not meant to know). My brain cannot comprehend her fate at the stake. And what of the child? I beg you, send to Barra Head and inquire. I know not the child's name, nor can I verify whether or not it still lives. But try, for my poor sake.
I will await your next post with all anxiety.
Simon Tor, to Colin, October 1771.
Prey. Oh, God. I was hit by a hunger so strong, it almost overwhelmed me. It was a bloodlust, an animal's need to kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. I was a predator—an efficient, predestined killer—and the idea of prey made my stomach tighten in anticipation. I licked my lips and inhaled deeply, drawing the delicious scent into my lungs. It was almost familiar, a wonderful, maddening smell that I had to follow or die trying.
Without waiting for my father, I set off after the prey, my feet moving swiftly and silently over the detritus of the forest floor. Prey, prey, I thought. My prey. The scent swept through these woods, here touching a tree trunk, here brushed against leaves on the ground, here on the holly bush with their shiny, prickly leaves. Sometimes the trail doubled back on itself, and I circled trees in frustration until I found the one thread that was a fraction stronger. Then I was off again, moving like a wraith through the darkness, filtering out a thousand other scents: tree, loam, mold, bird, insect, deer, rabbit. But I focused on the one scent, that one tantalizing smell that made my mouth ache in longing.
I was barely aware of the other wolf, the black-and-silver one trotting behind me; I couldn't hear his breathing, and his paws made almost no sound.
Here I took a sharp right, and at once the scent became closer, stronger. I almost howled in excitement. Soon. Close. Mine. The next second I froze: there it was! The scent was washing over me now, the air woven through with it. It was close. With every breath I inhaled the promise of the joy of victory over a lesser being. It was beyond hunger, beyond desire, beyond want. My mouth was wet; my eyes were piercing the night. I scanned the woods all around me as the other wolf came to a silent stop next to me. Tree by tree by tree by bush by bush…it was close. It was within range.
There! There, forty feet away. My moving target, my destination, my fate. It was heading away from me, leaving an obvious trail to follow. I smiled. Without having to think, my muscles gathered and exploded, launching me into the night. The distance between us closed rapidly. I felt an intense, palpable hunger, a need to bring my prey down, to sink my sharp white teeth into its fresh, hot, salty blood. I whimpered with want and raced ahead.
With one more leap I would bring it down. My weight would knock it to the ground; it would be scared, confused; I would rip into its throat and not let go… the prey turned around and saw me rocketing toward it. Then it was on the move, charging away from me, running in zigzags, ducking below branches, crashing through the underbrush with as much noise as a tree falling heavily on the ground.
I chased after it, following the traces of its warm footprints, its scent, now laced with fear, that it left in its wake. My breath came rapidly, my lean sides pumping oxygen efficiently through my blood, my incredibly strong heart pushing fresh blood through my veins.
I was glad my prey was putting up a chase—it shouldn't be too easy. I felt the other wolf behind me, and I sensed that he was enjoying it as much as I was. I detected a familiarity in his movements: he had done this before. Hunted before. Killed before.
A streak of crackly blue light flew through the trees and almost hit my head. I ducked instinctively, and it exploded on a pine next to me. The scent of charred bark and sticky-sweet sap hit my nostrils. Another ball of blue light came at me, and once again I dodged, almost feeling annoyance. I hunkered down, kept my head low and concentrated on following my prey.
A strong scent of deer crossed my path, and it would have made me swerve if I had been after any other animal. The air seemed full of delicious scents: deer, rabbit, turkey—but I ignored them, as I ignored the false, confusing trials that told me my prey had taken another path. I was unstoppable, undistractable. I had one purpose. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my whole life.