It takes great effort to steady your feet on the smooth but sloped rock of the cave. You stay next to the stream, following the babble of the water to guide you
inward, and hopefully back out.
Somehow, the howling continues to reverberate as you spelunk deeper inside the cavern.
Every time a branching path or a fork tempts you with another passage, the howling amplifies itself, in one direction or the other. It would be impossible for the
echoes to keep going this long: surely, the sound would have dissipated by now. Hairs on your neck stand up; you feel as though you’re being led somewhere. You
shift the pelt on your shoulders and proceed.
The passage narrows as you descend further, eventually constricting enough to grant only the stream passage through. You cautiously dip one foot into the chilling
water, gaining purchase on the slick stone that forms its bed. Shivers ripple up your flesh as you quickly lower your other leg into the water.
The causeway is lower than the rest of the cave roof, and you hunker down to squeeze through. Gripping the bed with your hands becomes a necessity for
balance, and to the casual observer, you resemble a wolf treading water. The image strikes you as somehow funny, and you smirk despite the urgency of the
situation.
The cold stream laps at your bare breasts. Your skin is alive with pins and needles as your temperature equalizes. The pelt at your back feels suddenly lighter, your
skin comfortably warm despite the cold water. You tread toward a bright opening, the weight of your makeshift clothing dissipating with each step. A strange force
permeates the air; you breathe it in, refreshing you to your core.
A wide, cylindrical chamber greets you as you exit the tunnel mouth. The room is bright from a wash of moonlight, flowing into every crevice of the room from a
pinprick hole in the rock ceiling. It electrifies every object in the chamber, including you. The echoing howl resonates inside this chamber, though you can see no
werewolves within. The stream continues around the circumference, forming a moat around the large rock outcropping that juts from the center. You can make out
a purposeful formation at the summit; it seems to be a chair. An intense stream of moonlight focuses on the seat.
No, you think, it’s a throne.
You step from the water, now more temperate, and reach back to adjust your cloak. Your fingers grasp fur, and you tug in vain; it seems to be stuck. You try
another spot at your right shoulder blade. After seizing a handful of the pelt, you pull it forward with all your might.
The yelp that escapes your lips as you yank at the fur sounds slightly inhuman. You squint at the pain in your shoulder, looking through tearing eyes at the hunk of
fur in your hand.
Rich, bright red fur.