I always love a good run with the pack. How the cool night air whips back my fur as we run along, under the pale, milky luminescence of the moon. The absolute silence, save for the soft patter of paws on the damp forest floor, and sometimes the rustling of the leaves overhead. I love how we move as one, in liquid form, twisting and turning in unison, like a mountain stream. And how, afterwards, we just stand around, looking all funny with our tongues hanging out form overheating, our pupils dilated form the excess adrenaline. We smile at each other, then go home, satisfied. And no one ever knows what goes on.
But not anymore.
Something is drawing near, an event that will soon change our lives.
The Blood Moon is coming.
