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Subject: {ASSM} NEW:The Hunting Moon 1/3(MM,Zoo,viol,rape)
Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2001 10:10:03 -0400
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This is a first post to this group, so hoping and believing that I got the
codes correct.  I case I didn't, I add *caution* to the list.

   The Hunting Moon.  Part One of Three.  Author:'Mischa Laurent.' Email:
thedarkvoice@hotmail.com. 
 
_________________________________


   Hoarfrost crumbles beneath trotting pads.  Fog breath rises into the
silent trees as the pack roams and hunts, sniffing the air for the lost
scent.  Night is cold, but fur is thick and warm, keeping the sting of
nights' breeze at bay.  On the wind, it comes again, trembling fear and
rapid flight, a soft invitation of hide and horn drumming across the frozen
earth on terrors' wings.

   Away!  Away!  The cry goes up to the hunting moon.

   Pads thrum and sting, muscles sing with joy; the fleeing flesh commands
the chase.  Acrid taint of bracken and whip of thorn, pushing through, the
prey in sight upon the darkened hill.  Wind runnels into fur, cooling and
soothing, bringing fresh impetus to tired limbs.  To the crest and down,
the prey does stumble and falter, gathering air into heaving lungs, despair
shining in liquid eyes.

   Oh, joy to run, pressed close against the flank of dam, the silver hair
of sire's tail a beacon in the night.  Huff and howl, growl low in the
throat, hungry for meat that pivots and flees.  Between the trees where the
scent of vole's fright lays heavy on the knobble bark.  Rabbits tremble in
their burrows; the owl turns bright eyes to watch the pursuit as the deer's
desperate folly leads her into the trap.  Surround and keep the quivering
flesh corralled in the circle of sharp, shining teeth.  Grinning and
wagging, eyes glazed with lust as sire lunges and attaches himself to the
corded throat.

   Bleat!  Bleat!  And she falls, throttled and torn, kicking delicate legs
in death's own dance.  Rend the flesh; tear it clean from the bone.  It
steams in the cold night air as the hot chunks flood the hungry gullet. 
Muzzles painted with heart blood, raise heads to the dark sky in triumphant
harmony, joyous in the defeat of hungers' eternal pain.

   **

   Stephan stirred from his reverie, his ale flat, the unpalatable rough
stew forgotten and cold as he turned his head to the mountain and peered at
the inky outline in futile search.  At night they called in his dreams,
hunting the raw hills under the moon's pale light.  But the pack was gone
to summer ranges, long gone and away.  Left behind, alone and lonely, in
misery condemned to two legs.

   Hairless, pinkskinned like a newborn, with eyes that felt blind and
useless.  No nose to scent excitement and joy, to wheedle and cajole with
lolling pink tongue and grin of white teeth.  No nip and play, no rough and
tumble, just endless days with dulled senses and itching clothes.

   Time to learn, to study...  to be a man.  So it is for all, his dam had
told him, whiffling and snuffling at his neck, grooming and licking.  He
suffered it, as he suffered all her loving attentions, all the while asking
why, why must he be a man, why?  Was not the time spent as a cub, learning
the changing, experimenting with fingers and thumbs enough?

   All change, sire told him.  Know the men, know their ways, and survive.
If you cannot learn, you cannot lead.  Only the smartest, the strongest can
lead.  And if they find you out, you will die.  So it was and here he was,
trapped in pale skin and strange coverings, eating burned meat, long dead
and stinking for it, suffering to learn the words that came hard to his
tongue and mind.

   The village is small, the people filled with suspicion.  Lingering here
would be a fool's death.  Stephan finished his meal, chewing diligently
with bovine teeth and downing the last of the ale to rid his mouth of the
rancid taste.  He rose and stretched, standing tall and straight, his arms
high above his head of dark hair as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
The innkeeper had offered him the use of the barn, the rooms inside full.

   Stephan had accepted readily, preferring the odours of hay and cattle to
that of the sour sweat and urine smell of humanity.  Slipping through the
part-opened door, he was aware of the quivering of nerves that came from
the cows, goats and horses quartered inside.  A mare whinnied, stamping her
feet as he passed and shying away when he looked at her from the corner of
his eye.

   They knew.  Their primitive brains recognising what the humans could not
see.  His pink skin did not quiet their fears.  He showed his teeth to the
horse, satisfied to see it give a sharp tug on its halter at the sight.

   The feral grin died and disappeared when he realised he was not alone in
the barn.  Another human was busying itself making a bed in the straw.

   He approached on silent feet, making the human jump with surprise when
he appeared at its side.  Stephan sniffed; a male, somewhat cleaner than
those inside, dark skinned and beardless, he smelled of road dust and young
flesh.  "Good evening to you." The man greeted him.  "I'm to have company
in my purgatory am I?"

   Stephan did not entirely understand the words, but answered readily
enough, the courtesies of humanity coming more easily with practise.

   "You are." He nodded, showing his teeth in friendship.  "There is no
room inside the walls, but I prefer the clean air in here and am not
disturbed by this placement."

   The man straightened, having finished with his bedding and held out his
hand.  Stephan knew this act and clasped the offering, giving it a firm
shake.  "You speak strangely, friend." The man said.  "And you have an
accent.  Not from these parts?"

   Seating himself on the hay, the stranger looked up at Stephan, waiting.
"From the hills." Stephan told him, lowering himself down onto the hay pile
at the unspoken invitation.

   "Ah.  I am newly come here myself; travelling for now, learning the
villages and farms of my parish."

   Stephan did not know of this 'parish' the man spoke of but, as he
loosened the neck of his coat, Stephan saw something he did recognise, the
cross.

   A religious; and Stephan knew he must tread with care, for it was the
religious who were most likely to see through his disguise to the animal
beneath.  Still, this one was young; perhaps he did not have the experience
to sniff him out.

   "I journey," he told the man, snuggling down into the soft hay in the
hope of indicating his wish to sleep.  " and when I am done, I will be a
man."

   The religious spoke again, but Stephan paid him no mind and presently,
the lamp was blown out and the welcome darkness descended, ready to bring
slumber to the occupants of the barn.



   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   The morning dawned fresh and crisp and Stephan was eager to be away.  As
the first birds began their calling, he was up and ready, his pack settled
between his shoulders, his coat tight about his throat to cut the worst of
the chill.  He slid from the barn, opening the huge door a mere crack,
anxious not to awaken his companion of the night who still mumbled and
rolled in slumber.  The morning air felt good in his lungs and he dragged
in great mouthfuls of it, unable to prevent himself from trying to discern
the myriad scents it carried.  He could smell the woodsmoke rising lazily
up from the chimney of the inn, the steaming coats of the animals in the
yard and the good, loamy scent of the brown earth beneath his feet, but the
full range of odours did not come to him.  Cursing the weak senses of his
human form with rare good humour, the bright morning too good to waste on
futile wishes, he set off down the hill toward the road.  Weak sunshine
speared through the branches of the trees that soared across the path,
their leaves rattled and shook off the night dew, sending droplets falling
to decorate Stephan's hair with jewels of silver.  Birdsong filled his ears
as he tramped along the road, the morning passing quickly as he drank in
the beauty of the countryside under the nooning sun.  Stomach empty and
growling, tongue parched and dry, he stopped by a stream that trickled down
a hill beside the road and opened his pack.  Meal done, thirst quenched, he
lay back and closed his eyes, enjoying the soft breeze that tickled and
lifted his black hair, the warmth of the sun on his face.  With his booted
feet crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head for a pillow on the stony
earth, he napped.

   The sound of a horse clopping slowly down the road hardly disturbed him.
It was only when he heard the friendly hail, "Well met, friend.  We travel
in the same direction, I see." that he opened his eyes to the afternoon
sky. It was his companion of the night before, dismounting to allow his
horse to drink.  Stephan suppressed a sigh and sat up, running his fingers
through dishevelled hair in a futile attempt to right it and brought forth
an approximation of a welcoming smile.  "I see we do." he smiled.  "Yet I
was hours ahead, leaving you to your rest." The religious flopped down
beside him, the horses' reins held loose in his hand.  "And welcome rest it
was, for which I thank you." The horse came too close and caught Stephan's
scent.  It shied away, tossing its head, forcing its rider to grip more
tightly.  "Silly beast." the religious muttered testily.  But then he
smiled again and continued with his speech.  "If we travel in the same
direction, perhaps we should travel together?  There is safety in numbers,
so they say and, if you are agreeable to my suggestion, it would be wise to
introduce ourselves to each other, don't you think?" The cheery tone and
open smile did not annoy Stephan, as it should.  Mankind were strange in
their habits, welcoming and trusting strangers when more caution might be
wise.  But the religious seemed a most amiable young man, friendly and
undemanding.  Perhaps he should still his wariness and agree to this
proposal.  As learning more of man and his ways was the purpose of this
travelling.  What better way to learn?  "I am Stephan." He said, thus
agreeing to the journey.



   ----------------------------------------------------------------

   Stephan soon grew to enjoy the company of Brother Michael.  His
wandering route through the towns and villages mirrored Stephan's wish to
stay close to his beloved mountains and the days and nights passed amiably.
He learned of his companions' life, his upbringing as the son of a
blacksmith, the calling that lead him to his church and his subsequent
travels and experiences as a wandering minister.  Michael was easy to talk
with and Stephan found it hard to guard his tongue, the religious had an
air about him that spoke of trust and tolerance.  A happy mien and
easygoing attitude to his work that was difficult to resist.  But he heeded
the warnings of his furred kin and kept to his silence about his own
origins, pretending to vagueness or a change of subject whenever the
questions came too frequently.  After a few days of this treatment, Michael
ceased to ask and thereafter regaled Stephan with funny stories, the
meaning of which Stephan did not understand entirely, but which he greeted
with laughter nonetheless.

   When their travels took them far from habitation and the night fell,
sometimes they would find themselves with stores sore depleted and in need
of replenishment.  At these times Stephan would wake in the early hours
before dawn and take to the woods in lupine form.  He hunted and killed;
bringing back the bounty to within earshot of their campsite before
resuming his skin and walking upright toward their fire just as the dawn
broke above the trees.  It was a welcome change from the deprivations of
human form.

   To run in swift harmony with the night creatures, bounding across
streams and fallen trees to catch his quarry in jaws made gentle by the
need for secrecy.  No marks of teeth were to be found on his kills.  The
nights' forays sustained him and kept him from despairing over the
limitations imposed on him by pack law.  So too did the company of the
gentle Brother keep him from bemoaning his humanity.  His companion's warm
brown eyes and warmer heart gave him faith in the notion that humankind did
indeed possess qualities worthy of note.

   Days turned to weeks and Stephan's' fondness for the good Brother grew
from an appreciation of his companionship into a firmer, more carnal,
delight in his presence.  He tried to ignore it, knowing that religious
humans who had given themselves to their church no longer indulged in the
sexual act.  But it became harder to pretend.  Every smile and glance, the
sight of the sun glistening in the soft hairs of Michael's exposed forearm,
the grace with which he moved his limbs, all these things drove Stephan
into an almost-frenzy of unrequited longing.  But it was the smell, the
most tender of Stephan's senses, that was the hardest to ignore.  He could
close his eyes or look away when temptation felled him, but the scent of
warm, ripe flesh was unavoidable and made his mouth salivate.  When Michael
would bend down to wash in the stream or to retrieve something from his
pack, his nape exposed to the summer sun, the desire to nip, to draw blood
and mount was almost overwhelming.  Many times, Stephan would have to
muffle a curse and stride rapidly away, lest his true nature gain the upper
hand.  As a junior pack member, the females were forbidden and it was with
his den mates that he tumbled and fornicated under the indulgent eyes of
the alpha males.  As a man, he was counted adult, and this conflict between
the two near drove him mad.

   Now, when darkness descended and Michael slumbered peacefully on the
other side of the fire, Stephan was forced to make his way into the woods
to run off his frustrated desires under the night sky.  He ran for miles,
or hunted voraciously, returning exhausted the next dawn, playing with and
teasing his prey for hours.  Sometimes he released his catches, trembling
and spent, other times his desire would overwhelm and he would indulge in
blood and the tearing of flesh to try to sate his hunger.

   Many of the places they visited were tiny hamlets populated by farmers
or forest folk.  Stephan was never entirely comfortable in the latter.  It
was the people of the high ranges and deep valleys who were the believers;
the ruthless hunters of his kind.  Being in their presence made his nerve
endings tingle with alarm.

   The feeling that they watched him never entirely abated; with their
lined faces and hooded eyes it was impossible to tell exactly what they saw
and what they thought.  It was here in the strongholds of the forester and
the hunter that the stories of the man-wolves had first formed and were
carried on the tongues of witnesses down onto the plains below.

   But he valued Brother Michael's company too highly to abandon him for an
imagined fear and so ventured into these tiny hamlets where the trees grew
so thick and close that the smoke from their fires drifted up through the
branches of fir and yew.



   The hamlet to which they travelled was indeed deep within the mighty
forest.  The path leading there was dark and narrow; if the people who
lived there used carts to take their produce to market, there was no sign
of it on this poor excuse for a road.  All around them tall trees blanketed
out the sky, the hooves of the horse were silent, muffled by the pine
needles that littered the forest floor.  Occasional glimpses of blue,
filtered through the leaves or the rare patches of clearing where some
ancient tree had fallen, were their only proof that it was still daylight.
Darkness caught them close to the village, but not close enough to risk
further travel on the treacherous path.  Michael suggested a stop for the
night and a fresh start on the morrow and Stephan agreed that this was
wise.

   The fire was lit, bedding rolled out, and the mare attended to.  There
was little grazing under the trees and Michael was forced to give her some
of their precious store of grain hoping, as he said aloud, that they would
soon be able to replenish their stores.  The last of the rabbit consumed,
Michael handed Stephan a mug filled with dark tea, sweetened with honey. 
Stephan had grown fond of this beverage and sat on a fallen log inhaling
the rich scent that rose from the steaming cup.

   The fire crackling between them, silence all around, it was not a
setting conductive to their usual lively conversation.  Stephan sipped at
his tea, watching Michael from the corner of his eye.  He gazed into a
darkness that was almost absolute, the firelight playing across bare skin,
shadowing and outlining the muscled forearms.  His rich brown hair fell
across his forehead, hiding his eyes from Stephan's' view.

   It was intimate this forest, this silence.  Stephan felt sweat forming
across his brow, the unsheathed member between his thighs tightened with
desire, a sore reminder of the differences between his natural form and
this one.

   "What troubles you, Stephan?" Michael spoke softly but still the
breaking of the intimate silence startled Stephan as much as the question
did.

   He shrugged his shoulders, unwilling to give voice to his discontent. 
"Nothing troubles me." he replied.  "I was only thinking that perhaps I
should hunt tonight, if you've no objection to being left alone?"

   The tiny sigh would have been inaudible to less keen ears.  But Stephan
heard it and regret washed over him, leaving him sad.  The desire to speak,
to reveal all, welled in his throat.  But the truth of the matter was that,
should he speak, their camaraderie would of necessity come to an end.

   "I don't mind.  You know that." Michael's smile seemed false.  "Without
your night time forays I would be a leaner man than I am today." he
finished, patting his stomach in a wan attempt at humour.

   Knowing that his reticence hurt his companion gave Stephan no ease.  He
drained his cup and rose to his feet, gathering up his weapons and the
hunting pouch that he slung over his shoulder with casual grace.

   "Then I shall go and hunt." he said.  "In a forest so thick, with little
grazing, a rabbit may be hard to find.  It may take all night."

   With that excuse, he left.  Within moments the campfire was invisible,
hidden by the thickness of the bramble patch they had chosen for the scant
protection it offered.  But he went deeper into the forest before beginning
his search for a suitable place to stow his gear.  Under a log went the
pouch, weapons, and clothing, buried hurriedly beneath a hasty covering of
pine needles.  Kneeling down, Stephan extended his weak human senses. 
There was no one nearby.  Even Michael's scent was undetectable over the
strong odour of sap.  The changing was easy now after so much practise. 
Envision the fur, the strong forelegs and silver brush of tail and they
came.  Rapidly and without pain the human form melted away and the silver
muzzle with its coating of long whiskers rose to sniff the night air.  The
wolf marked the spot where the heavy scent of humanity lay buried, lifting
his leg to drizzle the log with a spray of urine that would guide it back.
At last to run, to hunt, to revel in the freedom from trappings; to forget.
The night was alive with sound, movement, and slowly the wolf let memory
slide, retaining only enough of self to find his way back.

   Stephan walked beside the horse, which had become used to his presence.
Brother Michael had offered him the chance to ride, but he had declined,
not at all certain that the animals' patience extended to the thought of
him astride.  Softly, they walked on, conscious of the almost reverential
silence under the forest canopy, each man lost in thought.  As the trees
began to thin, Stephan turned blue eyes upward, seeking confirmation of the
time of day.  Concentrating on the position of the sun, he almost did not
hear the sound of angry voices coming from somewhere ahead of them on the
path.

   "Do you hear that?" He asked Michael.

   Michael cocked his head to one side, listening intently, then shook his
head.  "Nothing." he said.  "Your ears are, as always, better than mine."

   Stephan had been surprised to discover that his senses were greater than
those of other men, as he found them so dull and worthless.  But he was not
thinking of this now, sniffing the air discreetly and listening, he could
tell Michael, "There are men ahead.  Foresters, I think."

   "The village, perhaps?" Michael offered, dismounting from the mare to
walk beside Stephan as the road meandered around a bend and down a short
slope.

   "If it is the village, then there are angry villagers there." Stephan
commented, aware that they would find out for themselves within moments.

   At the bend in the road they stopped, surprised by what they saw.  Ten
men, foresters as Stephan had surmised, beating a man whom was contained in
a rough wicker cage pulled by a mule.  The man was crouching down, his
hands over his head scant protection from the blows, moaning and screaming,
making unintelligible sounds over the roar of the angry men around him.

   "What goes here?!" Michael roared himself to be heard, dropping the
reins of the horse, and scurrying forward.  Pushing himself between the
burly bodies with reckless bravado, he raised up his hands to halt the men
in their tracks.

   "I am Brother Michael, come to tend the souls of the villagers of Ment.
What crime has this poor man committed, that you should beat him so?"

   The men eyed each other and bent their heads, feet shuffling.  One of
their number kept his eyes raised, defiance written on his bearded face. 
"The devils' work, Minister.  'Tis just as well you are here.  We need a
religious, we do.  That," he pointed accusingly at the cowering man in the
cage.  "be Alain the carters son and he be a murdering coward!"

   "Murder!  Who has he murdered?  And why is this a matter for church, my
son?  This sounds like it must be a case for the magister surely?" Michael
sounded aghast at the charge, but he kept his head and the men moved back
another step at the authoritarian tone in his voice.

   "Beggin' your pardon, Minister." Another man moved forward to speak. 
"It be my Fay that devils' son did murder.  And most foul it was too."
There were tears in this man's eyes, and his workworn hands shook as he
pointed a forefinger at the carter's son.  "Came in the night, he did,
disguised in his pelt and took her clean out of the barn where she was
tending to the cow."

   "Pelt?"

   "Aye!  He be a changeling, that he is.  A werewolf, Minister.  The
devil's own!" 

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Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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