Snow covered the ground and hung heavily from the pine trees. A cloaked figure knelt beneath one such tree and studied the ground. It was Willow, the blacksmith’s daughter. She pulled back her hood, shaking loose an unruly mane of auburn hair. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stood, her eyes following a nearly invisible trail of foot prints stretching before her. Snowflakes began to drift through the air. Willow looked at the sky impatiently. At this rate the trail would be completely gone in no time. It had been snowing on and off since she started out last night. She shifted the crossbow on her back to a more comfortable position and continued on. There was no more blood in the tracks at least. Close to six hours of running in snow had no doubt washed the beast’s paws clean. For it was a beast that Willow stalked, on this deceptively peaceful morning. A werewolf. As big as a bear and ten times as dangerous, it had ripped through her village without warning.
It had started out a festive evening. It was Christmas Eve, after all. There was feasting and dancing in the big hall and around the huge tree in the center of the village. Colin Mathis had asked Willow to dance, and they had ended up in his father’s stable, ready and willing to take a roll in the hay, when the howling and screaming began.
Colin died that night. As did Willow’s father. Many people died. Willow had followed the scent of blood at first, in a blind fury to cut out the monster’s heart. To bury every one of her silver arrowheads in it’s hell-spawned carcass and watch the life leave it’s eyes as it died by her hands. Now, her fury had settled into an icy fist around her heart. A blood curdling cry broke through the stillness. Willow leapt to the cover of a tree, crossbow at the ready. Another cry, but this time the howl ended in a much different sound. A human wail, even more chilling then the beastly sound before it. Willow did not hesitate. She knew now where the sound had come from, and with the stealth of a cat she crept swiftly to the crest of the hill before her, taking cover in the trees. Willow peered down into a clearing, and there it was. No longer a wolf, the man knelt in the snow with a look of exhaustion and defeat upon his face. And even sorrow. But to Willow he was still a beast. A murderous animal that must be dealt with for the deaths of so many innocents. Willow raised her weapon, taking careful aim. She wanted him to suffer. With a snap the arrow sped to it’s mark. Going right through the werewolf’s now fragile, human shoulder. He fell back with a cry. Willow stepped boldly from the trees as she let her second arrow fly, this time ripping through his lower left leg. She skidded down the small bank and strode into the clearing, a third arrow at the ready, fury igniting in her eyes as she stared down her prey. “Please!” He sobbed, quivering from the pain and the cold, for he wore no clothes. Willow took aim as the man cursed and pleaded. “I cannot control what I do!” He choked out, covering his head with his arms. “That does not matter to me.” Willow hissed through clenched teeth and the third arrow plunged into his knee. He writhed, screaming, in a pool of blood and snow. “Just kill me then.” He finally groaned. “It would be better that way.” Willow reared back, livid that he now wanted this. Revenge was not as sweet this way. Throwing her bow to the side she grabbed a knife from her boot and all but flew to the werewolf’s side. Eyes blazing into his, she drew back her arm and with one deft movement slit his throat. He gurgled and choked. Then his eyes rolled back as he sprawled out on the bloody snow, dead. And Willow scowled in satisfaction. It took only a moment for her to gather her arrows. Then she turned, and without another look at the man she had killed, she walked off, back towards the village.
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
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