It was set in stone.
There, deep in the forest, lay a poem chiseled on the smoothened surface of some large rock. She removed the moss that had protected it from erosion, exposed its words to the sunlight.
Its content was banal, celebrating love with the fervor of a young heart. It was vain, humane, foreign and so familiar. From the moment a heart leaped to when the paws touched, even a beast understood that emotional bond.
Her foreleg rubbed that cold stone to uncover more of it.
Lies, she thought, lies all of it. Before her eyes were promises she knew too well, of feelings that should have been unbreakable. Her claws by accident had pressed marks across two lines on the stone.
Because wolves were so strong, they could cut rocks like butter.
And still she could not look away from those empty words.
Set in stone.
It should have been obvious, already back then, what ailment had her so desperate as to pause before the delusions of men. Obvious from the fact that she was standing there alone, when wolves were such social animals.
That was the moment she decided to curse herself.
And maybe it had been a whim, some fantasy even, but when she returned to Char's pack, among her own to find nothing had changed, her mind was set.
This curse could only be done when the moon was halved: at sunrise or sunet.
To do it at dusk would require waiting a month, so she resolved to act that very night. Her heart young again, before the obscurity could weaken she slipped into the woods, added her black fur to the darkness.
Black as death.
There was the pond where the realm's magic gathered. Under the bright sky it shimmered, its surface akin to crystal. This was the time and place where even beasts could believe in higher beings, so serene was the scene, the whole clearing bathed in quiet lights.
On the ground, through the grass she dug patterns, she drew layers of stars.
And when she was done, just before dawn the curse struck. She fell where she stood, deprived of her blood, of her very nature. A wolf no more.
As sunset rose the first lights revealed her new coat of a pale silver.
Crimson lines still fumed, dying out around her in the grass.
That curse was the one humans called werewolves. For those seeking power, they abandoned their human nature, grew stronger and hungrier, reveled in that bestial shape, that bestial heart, closer to the mythical beasts.
Neither wolf nor human, the cursed had reduced her to hardly more than a dog.
She had done it and now, even when feeling so weak, there was not an ounce of regret in her.
Quite the opposite. She felt alive.
Her body was still shaking but she pushed herself up. The ritual would attract attention. She could not be found here.
So the beast walked away, limping at first before the pain receded.
Around her the forest was gaining its first colors, shining under a coat of dew that hung on every leave. It was not yet autumn but she could feel a warm wind break against the trees and ruffle their foliage.
Far, far away, a human bell rang.
Humans, she thought, and her heart beat harder. She pressed on toward that distant sound.
Such was the realm that the ground was wet and the woods crossed by brooks. She passed one only to stop, surprised to see a deer downstream, drinking.
Even when that prey saw her, it just rose its head a moment, alert, then turned it back to the water.
As for her, what little hunger she had hardly pushed her to hunt.
Rather, she too felt thirsty. So the silvery dog turned to lap from that clear stream, amused at the thought of sharing that moment with a weakling.
And when the animal paced away she followed it for a bit, until it turned again to gauge her and then decide to escape, to hop quickly through a clearing of flowers.
It was pretty, she thought, that new reality she had stepped in. The warm air mixed with morning lights had the tall grass and petals glittering. Just one step and her paws would tread in it, becoming part of a fragile dream.
At the edge of a new reality she dared not yet dream of.
A howl afar made her shudder.
It came from the pond, from the site of her ritual. So the pack had found it but it was her name the howling had called. Someone was looking for her and that, she had figured, would not happen for several days.
Now her time was up. If the pack was after her, she would never make it to the forest's edge, let alone a village.
She had to try. And so she ran.
Soon she wasn't the only one. A wolf that didn't hide caused an uproar: hares and squirrels rushed around in search of a shelter, and the weasels and the field mice. They crossed paths not caring for each other, fearful of the ominous presence that grew closer.
Then, as if to give her hope, she heard horns to her left.
A hunt. The humans were hunting, those horns followed by barks were beaters pushing the game toward their masters. There were humans in the forest for her to reach, if it wasn't too late.
Would her pursuer devour them? She fretted, but had no choice. Her best party was with the hunters themselves and so she veered to the right instead.
She just needed a bit more time.
"Lyra!"
A massive beast had appeared behind, dashing so fast that in moments it had overcome her. She stopped and growled while facing the two beastly eyes that now crushed her.
This was Carmine, her rival and one that should have mocked her absence. She had no reason to be here. Or it was pettiness that made her want to seize the moment and taste her blood.
But Carmine instead lashed out at her, furious.
"Have you gone mad?! Look at you!"
"Out of my way!" The weak dog shot back.
"You cast forbidden magic, you mock our blood, you betray Char! If you leave now, the pack will kill you!"
"No one will even notice I'm gone!"
They both clashed, one to get past and the other to stop her. Of course Lyra was but a dog, heavily outmatched. Her back torn, she crashed on the ground.
Her rival was turning again and pacing, anger at her every word.
"It's not too late! Come back with me and we'll find a way!"
"It is too late!"
She had got back up and slowly turned. Hind legs to legs, forelegs to arms, her tainted silver fur rose over the bushes, still overflowing on a tender neck. Werewolves mimicked the human silhouette.
Nothing but an appalling vision for the wolf that yelled:
"Don't be childish, no curse is unbreakable!"
"I am done being Char's mutt!"
Again they clashed but even with gained weight and reach the werewolf had no chance. Again she struck at the wolf's hide while the claws ripped her chest.
Twice she could have been killed, twice Carmine had spared her. This time she didn't falter and so both went at it again, furiously, while the dogs' barks approached.
Each was done talking. Blood streamed on the lush vegetation.
But when the horns blared again, not a minute away, the wolf broke off and hesitated. She could not possibly fear those humans but still looked in their direction, and back at the werewolf who struggled to stand.
Carmine was panicking.
"Lyra!" The wolf howled as her prey took that opportunity to flee.
The wounds had her dizzy and sick but her curse came with regeneration. The worst of it would be gone before the hounds would find her. The worst was behind her.
Now she just needed to look human.
Stealing clothes, finding money, making excuses, all of that flashed by as a life that would never be faded in the urgency. Arms crossed on her wounds she stumbled and fell in a bush where, feverish, she finished her transformation.
Long white hair hid what the leaves missed.
The hounds would not be tricked by her skin and gentle hands. All she could do was submit and hope they would spare her long enough for the humans to intervene.
In that human appearance, regeneration was much weaker. But worse was the risk of losing consciousness and with it, possibly her human looks. With clenched teeth she put all her efforts into maintaining it.
She looked like them. She had to be looking like them. That was her silent plea.
The dogs had surrounded her bush. Human voices soon followed and seconds later, through her blurry vision she saw hands reaching through the small branches.
"It's a woman!"
There was someone but she realized she was losing her grip. At the crucial moment her weakness proved too much. Her body was failing.
The same person appeared before her eyes, twice through the branches. Two faces with the same red hair that still spoke and she could barely make out their words.
"Quick! Your cape!"
Her own voice never escaped her lips. She closed her eyes.