Arthur. That was a weird name for a person, although he couldn’t find out what sounded so odd about it. His name was Arthur. He tried it out on his hoarse, whispering voice. “My name was Arthur, Arthur Dawn”. He kind of liked it now. It was special for him.
His feet was ploughing through the snow, the vast snow white landscape revealed itself as he made it through the forest line. The grey. He despised evenings. Grey light all the time, you can’t see clearly and rumours tell of the Graybears usually grab it’s pray at this time of the day. He shuddered, and draped the coat tight around his neck, the freezing cold still nibbling his skin before it stopped a short moment after. His emigrant comrade Johan Eriksson had gone out cold yesterday, his remnants could not be buried because of the hard soil. It is a horrible sight to see a cold, dead body, even more to touch it. It looks like peace lying still for eternity, most people who have touched the inevitable death, usually invite it after their close encounter with it. But in his eyes he could not see that yet. It was absurd, like breaking a crucial and absolute law. He still had to live, even though the situation looked grim in every way possible. Like any other being he could not stay in the cold for too long, but the delay of the graybear hunting party had taken too long for Johan, and Arthur asked for mercy so that they weren’t going to find him in that awkward, dead frozen moment of his life. He just couldn’t stop shuddering. His nose and chins was numb, and he was worried that he might freeze something off at this rate. Unlike Johan, he didn’t have a beard to protect him from the cold, and what he wished for one now. Ironically enough he thought that all the people in the area with those heavy, high beards at the pub first was an amusing sight, but now he didn’t see the fun of it at all. The constant ploughing of snow soon got him tired again, and he cursed himself for it. This was his third break in a half hour, but the high snow was still there even though he wanted it all to go away. He sat down on a stone of appropriate size, crossed his arms and began hitting his sides to gain some warmth. Like stones his gloves fell of the rock as he tried pull out his liquor from the jackets inner folding. The gloom from the sky made him discouraged, and also a bit frightened, lying in those undistinguishable shadows he thought he saw something whirling up a cloud of snow. It could be a ghost, but that wasn’t something that he should be afraid of, as it is impossible for a ghost to even think about touching a human being other than his belongings. But, fortunately he didn’t have any left as those only lowered his pace, so the ghost could sneak around in the gloom as long as it wanted. The air felt heavy, and the small tufting of snow in the forest line about on hundred meters in front of him scared him. Now it had appeared to close in on him. His brown fur coat was covered in light snowflakes, and when he snapped out of his thoughts he felt a tough breeze slamming his back. Slowly turning his head around he saw one of those movements again, but the really important thing was that a pitch-black height of clouds had assembled behind him, and it didn’t look promising at all. The cold blew the small amount of warmth from his face, and he turned around, taking his gloves up. Running in the deep snow, he realized his hands were for no use opening the bottle. He couldn’t feel his hands at all. Shaking his head in discouragement he stands up again and this time he looks for something to keep him alive. The liquor smoothly glided down his inner pocket, just like it always did. The ghost might be the spirit Johan, but he rather not think about, who can imagine what he might speak to him, for what he had done…
Snowflakes began falling more rapidly instead of the slow and peaceful levitation it done just a few minutes ago. He did not want to approach the forest line, but when a tree blew down just at the spot he were sitting on before, and in his eyes most furthest outreach he saw a small contrast between the black forest and the white snow, and he guessed the ghost’s presence to about twenty meters from him. He ran into the big, dark grey matter in front of him, letting it suck his every contour up. He ran in his crippled state, touching trees to gain forward movement only to collapse after about five minutes of running. He chilled in delight of the warmth his body produced, but he was tired. He could hold out this long for the snow here was not as thick as out in the open, he realized that after he stood up he saw his chin bleeding. Small roots could be seen sticking out also. Touching the wound with his furry glove, the blood froze at the spot, and after staring at it, plucked it away from the hairs in one move. He couldn’t see a thing in there, and he was surprised that he even managed to run this far without falling and injuring himself badly. Walking from side to side, he saw an open sky in front of him. He didn’t recognize the route at all, but he had his direction behind him, now he only had to find a place to sleep, hopefully without fatal consequences. Now the sky had changed to a more thick clouded darkness, but out in a small open area in the woods, he could distinguish a slope leading down to small plain spot of snow and a partly snow covered cavern. He wanted to shout out his happiness and began sliding down the side, falling all the time but jumped up again in almost an instant. The whirling snow on his sides stinging his face didn’t bother him much. The snow creaked under him like it had done constantly for four days now, he was really tired of it, but the hunting party were to come tomorrow. He knew it. Reaching the very bottom, he heard how the snow falling in front of him that hit the lowest ground, made water pour up and the cracking noise of ice breaking. He realized the horrible situation he was in, and tried to grasp something to hold on to. But the slope was all ice covered, and he damped down the ice-cold water until it reached his abdomen. He screamed high and hoarse, shaking he climbed up, lying down on the snow. His legs felt like they were stuck by a thousand bees, and he gasped for air. He was very shocked, his lungs didn’t response in the way he wanted, and he was sure that he was about to die. But what happened next was a surprise to him. Something bestial spoke in his very vicinity. A low growl, and a huge mass of snow collapsed from the caverns hole, leaving a hulking sight covered in snow. It shook the snow of, and sat down on it’s back, staring at Arthur. Arthur couldn’t move, and barely had the power to lift up his head to look at the graybear sitting on its haunches just a meter away from him. Graybears were a massive creature, more than one and a half meters high when walking on fours; it was two meters and a half when standing. Its fur is a gradient between dark brown under it’s stomach, and to dark or light grey, also sometimes sporting a short mane on its back, and they were really a predator, therefore their large massive paws. Lying down in a shaded area, it is hard to spot a graybear, which often results in ambushes if you are not skilled enough the face them. The weirdest thing about those creatures is, that they can speak, also the rumours goes that they like to make weird games or asking it’s pray out before devouring…
… but it just didn’t help Arthur to ease the fact that he now probably was really going to die. Like seeing in a tunnel, his eyesight soon grew smaller, after each attempt to focus his eyes on the beast trotting its way to him.
“Weak.”, it said.
(Authors note: don't haste the story of transformation or, if possible, sexual parts just yet, let it develop some plot and depth first. I can't stop you from doing else, but it would make the reading more worthwhile and interesting.)