Millitimed to May 1

There’s something he’s been meaning to test ever since Wells told him it was possible. He had meant to try the last moon, but due to extenuating circumstances at the time, he hadn’t seen the point. And the moons before that, well, he’s not going to attempt to stay human while Wells goes through with the change, thanks ever so.

So it’s this moon that he’s finally going to attempt to hold off the change. He needs to know that he can hold it, just in case he’s ever in a situation where he needs to. He breathes deeply (earth, trees, petrol) centring himself as he disrobes. He can feel the smallest beginnings of the change, the way his insides start to subtly shift, rearranging themselves. Another deep breath (water, deer, himself) and he forces it to stop and tells it No.

Or tries to.

His eyes are closed so he doesn’t see the colour leach away from the world, but he can feel the now familiar sharp pain as his nails lengthen into sharp claws, bone spurting forth from the tips of his fingers to give them shape and substance. His gums itch madly as new teeth force their way in, the jaw bone and old teeth aching as they lengthen to points. He doubles over, grunting in pain as his organs start to rearrange in earnest, closing his hands into fists and forgetting that he has claws now. He tries again, using the new pain as a focus, to stop the change, to slow it down, to do something, but it sweeps over him regardless.

He snarls in frustration as the puncture wounds in his palms knit themselves together. If Wells can do it…but he’s hungry and the thoughts are fleeting. Belar told him that there were deer colonizing the lowest slopes of the mountains and he fully intends to put that to the test. He starts running with a tireless distance eating lope towards the god’s territory. He would be nervous about it had Belar not given him permission. And not only permission, but where the best hunting was. Already he can practically taste the deer, scent the sharp tang of fear.

The night is still young when he reaches the centre mountain, stopping just inside the tree line, downwind of the deer on the open, exposed slope. There are several fawns among the herd, new and still fairly gangly. He knows, he knows he can run them down. Hell, he could run down any deer he wanted to, but the fawns…well, why do more work than you have to?

Prey selected, he tenses, ears and eyes focused forward, nose twitching. He stalks slowly out, one careful step at a time, keeping his head low. But you can only hide so much when you’re seven and a half feet tall and there’s no cover around.

The herd breaks and he follows suit, charging forward at top speed, a blur of black fur and hide with the occasional glint of moonlight off metal. That he should black out the shine slips through his mind just before one of the fawns slips and goes down. It’s small. He’ll have to hunt again before morning.

Ryan’s looking forward to it.

Millitimed to May 2

Ryan attempted to hold off the change again tonight, to no avail, and quickly distracted himself with a successful hunt and the exploration of Belar’s leftmost mountain. He’s searching for a suitable area to bring Wesker so he can teach him how to survive in the wilderness. He knows the pup will be irritated at the task, but it will do him good. Not to mention that it’s an opportunity for Ryan to spend more time with a packmate.

He’s looking for a stream that isn’t raging from the influx of melting snow, but it’s taking far longer than he thought it would and instead of drifting asleep in the wee hours of the morning, as he is wont to do, he keeps exploring the lower slopes. Just before sunrise, he finds a swollen stream still calm enough that, even as a human, he’d be able to wade in it. He laps at the icy, clear water before standing and shaking his fur free of the remaining droplets. Then sun will be rising soon and he rushes to return to his den in the woods.

The fiery orange ball peeks over the horizon, bringing an urge to return to human form with it. He’s not home yet, though, so he shoves that aside and pushes himself even harder. This is no distance eating lope but a flat out sprint towards the (relative) safety of his shelter. The sun rises higher, the urge to change back rising with it, but he’s not ready until he can see his base, only then allowing the metamorphosis to shudder over him.

He’s never been awake for this before and as much as the change to wolf involves stretching and growing, the reversion is all compressing and shrinking, though still just as painful and fast. He stays kneeling on the ground for a long moment, panting hard and shifting only slightly to remove a twig digging into his knee. He’s terribly tired and would like nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep, but he remembers all too well what happened the last time he slept in the woods whilst human. There’s nothing for it but to climb to his feet, put some clothes on to protect his skin from the underbrush, and slowly jog back to the mountains.

Millitimed to May 3

It’s the last night of the full moon, his last chance to try and hold back the change from man to wolf. He’s failed utterly the first two nights, not even able to postpone it for a few seconds. Once he’s capable of wondering why, he’ll be irritated and annoyed with himself, but that won’t be till at least tomorrow morning.

But now is now, so that is what he focuses on. He leans against a tree, head bowed, hands on the rough bark so his claws will have something to dig into besides his palms. But despite all the focus he pours into it, despite his attempts to even slow it down, the change still sweeps over him within seconds of the moon having risen.

He can’t stop it. He can’t even slow it down. But, as he’ll remind himself tomorrow, he’s only ever attempted this three times. There’s no reason to think it’s impossible and rather foolish to believe he would succeed the first time. He simply needs to keep trying until he does succeed. He strongly suspects that it will take a while. After all, he only has three nights out of twenty-eight to attempt it, and only one opportunity each night.

He’ll not waste them.