Moonlit Hunt

Weeks passed.

Ren kept his promise.

Not once did he slip into another human’s skin. The memory of Ulrich’s thoughts and memories still clung to him like a stain. They were too heavy, too invasive. He had felt another man’s grief, his rage, his hunger for things Ren could not name.

Safer shapes called to him instead. Shapes without human whispers in the back of his mind.

Most often, it was the wolf.

It was a moonlit night when the call became too strong to ignore. Snow lay thick on the world, crusted over the trees so they glittered like silver. The farmhouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that made him feel almost guilty for breathing. His parents believed he was asleep.

In truth, he was stepping into another life.

The change was almost effortless now. One deep breath. The steady thump of his heart. Then the shift, bones warping, skin sprouting fur, hands curling into paws. His world widened as his ears drank in distant sounds, and his nose flooded with the frozen perfume of winter.

He was no longer Ren.

He was Korr.

The cold bit into his fur but it was the kind of cold that sharpened him.

Rathar was waiting near the treeline, the great black alpha, his golden eyes bright as lanterns. Beside him, Veyra stood still, head tilted as if already listening to the wind’s secrets. Hask, broad and thick-furred, gave a single grunt of greeting. Tirn, the youngest, could not stop darting in circles, his paws scattering snow.

The pack was large. Twenty to thirty strong. All answered to Rathar.

Korr gave a low chuff. The pack moved.

They ran as one, paws striking the snow in a rhythm that made the world feel smaller. The forest was layered with scents: the musk of deer, the faint tang of rabbit blood from some earlier kill, the sweet bite of pine sap frozen in place.

Rathar slowed. The pack followed. Breath rose from the alpha in slow, deliberate clouds. The scent of prey hung heavy.

Korr’s heart pounded. The wolf inside urged him forward. Not cruel. Not mindless. Just certain. Certain of the chase. Certain of the kill.

They fanned out. Veyra slipped through fallen branches without sound. Hask blocked a narrow path, his body like a wall. Tirn trembled with excitement, tail twitching. Rathar’s presence kept them all in perfect rhythm.

Movement ahead. A red stag, its antlers rimed with frost, breath curling into the moonlight.

Rathar flicked his tail.

The hunt began.

Korr launched forward, snow exploding beneath his paws. The stag bolted, hooves ringing on frozen stone. Brambles tore at fur, but the pack was relentless. Veyra nipped at its flank. Hask closed from the right. Tirn slipped, yipped, recovered. Korr lunged, his teeth grazing the stag’s hind leg, feeling the thrum of life beneath the skin.

The stag veered, and ran straight into Rathar. The alpha struck like thunder, jaws crushing its throat.

The snow turned red.

Korr panted, steam rising from his muzzle. The kill was quick, almost merciful. They fed together. No snarls. No greed. Just the quiet law of the pack. The taste of blood was wild and ancient, yet it left him with a deep calm.

When the meal was done, they lay together beneath the bare branches. Veyra’s eyes drooped in contentment. Hask’s chest rumbled with approval. Tirn rolled like a pup in the snow.

Korr felt it then: the invisible cord binding them. Not just hunters. Not just allies. Family.

When dawn brushed the horizon, he slipped away. This change back was slower. His body resisted, as if the wolf was reluctant to let go.

By the time the first sunlight touched the fields, Ren was home again. His parents were stirring. To them, he was just their fifteen-year-old son.

But deep in the winter forest, under the white moon, he was Korr, hunter of the pack.

And he loved both lives with the same wild heart.