Duncan climbed up to the highest hill in the forest. He watched the black sky turn blue, then he saw the first rays of the sun peak over the eastern horizon.
Then he felt, well felt like cold water being poured over him. The curse slowly slipped away, sort of, kind of. The fur fell off of him, the tails, ears, snout, and claws retracted into his skin. In disbelief, and great relief he felt his human nose, his ears, his skin. Then the youth made his troubled way back to civilization. That is, after putting a shrubbery in the first distinctly human action he had performed in weeks.
Duncan made his way back to the highway, tried to hitchhike. Surprise, Surprise. No one wanted to pick up a mostly naked young man wearing a bush. That is until an over-the-hill hor came along in a battered Cavalier. Blond, blue eyes, with crow's feet etched firmly around her eyes. Gargantuan boobs, mostly firm, but slightly sagging toward the starboard side.
"I'm not in the mood," said Duncan, feeling tired and sick. The rejuvenation had worn off.
Duncan realized this was a novelty. He'd been in the mood since he turned twelve. But now he just wanted some clothes, and just wanted to get to the police.
He got there, mumbling a story about being robbed, kicked out, hit on the head, and wandering through the forest.
The cops took his story seriously. Duncan didn't dare tell them the truth. They gave him some clothes, he put him on quickly. He didn't even look at his reflection.
"Here kid, have some food, looks like you need it," said the desk seargent.
He passed Duncan a bowl of cereal, and a spoon.
"Thanks," said Duncan, picking up the spoon. "Ahwwoooo," he suddenly howled, dropping the spoon.
It was silver, a prize the precint won, for some long forgotten contest amongst the county police department.
Duncan made his excuses, and went to the washroom. He stared at himself. He looked like he did the night he did in the clearing, just before he left the car. If not worse.
Shaggy hair on his head. Pointed ears, with hair at the tips. Large, wolf-like nose, large pointed teeth. Glaring eyes, albeit in his natural brown instead of an inhuman yellow. Heavy five-oclock shadow amongst his unnaturally protruding jaw and chin. Ragged hair coming up his neck, from beneath his shirt. Heavy hair on his hands, and on his oversized feet.
"I'm allergic to silver," Duncan muttered to himself.
He wasn't a wolf, but he was a werewolf. For all time, perhaps.
He returned outside, and in obvious pain, ate his cereal.
"Took some time to realize, it was you kid," said the seargent. "You sort of the same, but a lot different than this picture. When was it taken?"
"Only a year ago," sighed Duncan.
"Damn Amazing," said the seargent.
"You have no idea," muttered Duncan.
He was better off than he had been, he was lucky, but he'd just have to grit his fangs and take it.