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Subject: {ASSM} NEW:The Hunting Moon 3/3 (MM,zoo,viol,rape)
Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2001 11:10:02 -0400
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The Hunting Moon.Three Author: 'Mischa Laurent' Email:
thedarkvoice@hotmail.com Labels: MM, zoo, viol., rape, caution.

   The daylight had fled by the time Stephan found the strength to move. 
Wearily he dragged himself upright and walked back toward where Dirk sat
next to the blazing fire.  Dropping down once more onto his haunches, he
nodded silent thanks to Dirk, who offered him a blanket to wrap around his
naked limbs.  He felt immediately better, warmed through by the heat of the
fire and by the kindness shown by a stranger.

   "Feeling better?" Dirk enquired, spearing a piece of rabbit from the
fire and onto a plate, which he handed over to Stephan.

   "A little." He shook his head sadly.  "I can't believe that I did such a
heinous thing.  But I must have.  It makes sense."

   He bit into the rabbit, pleased to find it still raw and tender beneath
the charred skin.  He felt a little like the unfortunate bunny, raw and
bleeding on the inside, a new formed hard shell for an outer covering.  But
the temptation to wallow in his misery, or worse, to shed this human skin
and run, and to keep on running, must be mastered and put aside.  He could
not do that to Michael, who would wonder what foul fate had befallen his
companion and blame himself for the disappearance.  Nor could he continue
to be silent and withdrawn in Dirk's presence.  Not only had the elder been
extraordinarily kind and patient in his dealings with this unwarranted
intrusion, he had been helpful, despite the nature of the news he had
delivered.  He deserved his visitor's undivided attention and appreciation
of his hospitality.

   "Still," Stephan put on what he hoped was a brighter tone.  "There's
nothing to be done about it now.  I shall simply have to convince the
villagers that the murderer was of human origin and that wolfkin had
nothing to do with it."

   "As I am sure you shall." Dirk said cheerfully.  "Would you like a drink
to wash down that rabbit?"

   He surprised Stephan by producing a flask of red wine, which, he
informed his guest, he had made himself.  He kept the conversation light as
he related the story of his discovery of vines growing in the valley and
his attempts to turn this bounty into 'something drinkable'.  Stephan hung
on to the words as a rope to sanity.  He found that, if he concentrated
hard on his host's conversation, and consumed a goodly portion of the wine,
that the idea of himself as a killer became easier to deal with.

   * The night wore slowly on, the conversation stayed casual.  Stephan
found himself telling Dirk about his family and the relatives that he had
left behind.  He even related a little of his adventures with Brother
Michael, wondering even as he did so, whether it was the desire to confide
that was seeing his tongue unleashed, or merely a surfeit of wine.

   Dirk threw another log on the fire and sat down beside Stephan on the
soft turf.  A friendly arm about the shoulders turned into a comforting
hug. Then the hug into a soft kiss that quickly saw Stephan pushed back to
the ground, Dirk's searching hands, and mouth making free beneath the
blanket.

   He is so handsome, Stephan thought dreamily.  It is an honour to be
desired by a male of his obvious stature.  The few stars he could see
through the canopy were spinning crazily as he felt Dirk push away the
blanket.  Stephan did not feel cold, the heat of Dirk's body as he lay
across him and the heat from the fire were more than enough to keep him
warm.  Part of him was conscious that his member remained flaccid through
their coupling, that he felt none of the urgency that had been such a huge
part of the copulation with Teras.  But the touching was nice; he felt
comforted and wanted, all that he really desired.  The steady pressure of
Dirk's hands rolled him over onto his belly and he drew up his knees, aware
but uncaring of the moment when the hands across his belly shortened and
were replaced by claws.

   The moist human skin became fur and he bent his head to expose his nape,
the action almost causing him to vomit.  Stomach churning with wine-induced
nausea, Stephan rode out the time of the knotting, able to think of nothing
but his aching belly and the throbbing in his head.  He dropped off to
sleep almost immediately he was released, happy to escape the driving pain
of his overindulgence and his conscience combined.



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

   Morning found him standing by the creek wrapped in his blanket, staring
blindly at the sparkle of the sun upon the water.  He did not turn at
Dirk's approach or move when Dirk lay his arm across his shoulders.  He
felt...  better.  Still burdened and regretful, but more able to carry the
load and to think clearly about what he wanted to do next.

   There was nothing to be done about the girl now.  She was beyond his
help.  His concern now must be for Michael.  His friend had done nothing to
deserve so untrustworthy a companion and Stephan had decided that, for
Michael's sake, their friendship must end.  He no longer trusted himself.
If he could torture and mutilate an innocent stranger as a substitute for
Michael, what then might he do to the man himself, should his lusts run out
of control again?  He turned at Dirk's soft query and smiled.  "I am well,
thank you.  Just thinking of what I must do now.  When I return."

   Dirk nodded and the two of them returned to the fireside for a hot drink
and a small breakfast before Stephan made his preparations to shift and to
go.  "Fare thee well, little brother." Dirk said to him and they indulged
in a curiously passionless embrace.

   "My thanks to you, Dirk, for your kindness and your care.  I am better
equipped now to deal with matters as I must."

   Dirk nodded sombrely, then his face changed and he grinned his feral
grin.  "You are welcome here any time, little brother.  A little sport,
followed by an indulgence in fine red wine, there is nothing better in this
world for the curing of all that ails you."

   Stephan smiled and stepped away from the fire, shifting with his usual
smoothness and trotting off toward the creek, without looking back.  He
kept his consciousness close about him on the journey down the mountain,
wrapping it tightly about his mind as if to defend himself against the
darker side of his own nature.

   ** Night had fallen by the time he came to the trees behind the hut. 
Stephan had stopped only to drink and to retrieve his hidden pack, which he
carried in his teeth instead of shifting, as he could cover the remaining
distance faster on four legs.  But the need to avoid those places where the
men of the village were still working had led him a roundabout route that
had taken more time than the journey out.

   He barely had time to enter the hut through the window and regain his
clothing from out of his pack, when Michael appeared in the doorway.  "Ah,
you're back." Michael sounded pleased to see him, but cautious.  He entered
the hut and sat down on the bench across the room.  Stephan could see that
Michael still harboured some suspicions.  As before, they were nebulous,
unformed things, leaving his friend uneasy because he could not put a name
to them.

   He gave Michael a brief smile, meant to reassure, and sat on the cot his
hands clasped before him.  Stephan's face became serious as he cast about
for the words he needed to use.  The air in the hut became pregnant with
waiting as Michael sensed something was about to occur.

   "I found her." Stephan said bluntly.  "Up on the higher peaks, on a raft
of shale.  The woodsmen hereabouts would not have come across her even had
they searched so high.  I only stumbled across the remains by accident,
trying for an easier way across the scree."

   Michael sighed.  "The poor child." He crossed himself briefly and then
looked back up at where Stephan sat, waiting for the inevitable questions.
"Could you tell...?"

   Stephan nodded.  "Man." he said.  "No doubt of it.  The boy is cleared
of suspicion in this.  She died up there, Michael.  He could not have done
it."

   "A stranger, then." Michael put his hands to his knees and rose.  "I
shall have to inform the council.  They will be disappointed by this news.
There is little chance of the culprit being caught now."

   He went to go and then halted, a thought coming.  "Or..." he said
quietly.  "Perhaps not a stranger.  She went without fuss, did she not? 
Could it have been someone she knew after all?  Trusted?"

   Stephan knew differently.  A pair of strong jaws clamped across the
throat could silence even the most vocal of victims, but he could not put
it quite like that.  He cleared his throat, interrupting Michael's thoughts
and said,

   "Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  A stranger might have muffled her cries in some
fashion.  A hand across the mouth.  A rag?  It would mean no sound was
heard."

   "Hmm.  True." Michael looked disappointed.  "There's nothing for it
then, but to inform these villagers that the girl is dead and that little
more can be done.  At least we can quiet their fear of werewolves, I
suppose."

   He almost smiled, but then his face changed, confusion and chagrin
mingling as he asked Stephan, "Is it possible?  Not in this case, but, are
such creatures possible?  Werewolves?" He shook his head at this last, as
if disbelieving of his own silliness.

   "You are the expert, not I." Stephan prevaricated, not wishing to
address the question and be forced to lie further.  "What does the church
say?"

   "That they are the creatures of Satan, of course.  The church believes
in their existence.  I have even read reports of Brothers having to deal
with such creatures." He sat back down, this time next to Stephan on the
cot.  Stephan moved a little on his seat, uncomfortable with both Michael's
nearness and the subject matter.

   "It is believed that they are men who have dealt with the Devil and been
given the ability to transform themselves into wolves.  They roam the
forests at night and prey on travellers and those who are unfortunate
enough to be found away from the protection of home.  It is supposed to be
almost impossible to detect them in human form.  I read a report once that
declared that all werewolves are of certain appearance, but I cannot give
credence to it.  If a man makes deals with Satan, does Satan only accept
those who look the part?  It defies belief."

   Perhaps his conscience gave him the push, but Stephan could not resist
asking.  "How are they supposed to appear, Michael?" He asked softly.

   Michael jumped and then turned his head to look fully at him for the
first time.  He seemed hypnotised by Stephan's' presence and almost
whispered the words of his answer.  "'Tis said they are dark and fine to
look upon.  That as one, they are all gifted with eyes of the brightest
blue and that their teeth are always white and strong, the canines sharp.
Tall and lean with strange manners of speech and the habit of wandering in
the darkness.  'Tis said that they are graceful to watch and that they
prefer their meat lean and almost raw."

   The last words were almost inaudible, so low had Michael's voice become.
Stephan knew he had made an error in asking, but could not find it in
himself to regret.  He could see the questions rushing back and forth
behind Michael's eyes as they clouded over and darkened.

   "Is it you?" He whispered almost reverentially.  "Do the wise men whose
words I try so hard to disbelieve speak of your kind with those damning
words?"

   "And if they did?" Stephan whispered in return, his face only inches
from Michael's.  The atmosphere in the tiny hut had become close, and heavy
with expectation.  The world outside disappeared, the cold interior of the
room vanished and the only things that remained important were two sets of
eyes, one so blue, the others clouded hazel, that stared into each other to
the exclusion of all else.

   "Then I am dicing with my own soul."

   Stephan moved closer and kissed Michael on the lips.  For a moment there
was nothing, then the mouth beneath his own moved and the lips parted to
admit him.  They kissed softly, only their mouths touching and when Stephan
moved away, Michael sighed at the parting.

   "Your soul is in no danger." Stephan told him.  He knew what Michael
would take those words to mean.  That he meant something else entirely
could not be helped, not unless he was prepared to confess all, which he
was not.

   The clouding in his eyes cleared and Michael came back to an awareness
of his surroundings, and of his position.  He jumped to his feet as if
startled by his own actions, stalking the floor, going to and fro with
hands that raked his hair in confusion.  Stephan merely sat and watched,
wishing he could stop the inevitable retreat into the sanctity of church,
but knowing he was unable to.

   "My soul is in danger!" Michael muttered.  "There is more than one route
to Hell and my feet are set firm upon it." He stopped suddenly and turned
on Stephan.  "This must never happen again!  Do you understand?  This... 
This is unholy.  Unclean." He rubbed at his lips as if to rid himself of
the kisses' taint.  "I must...  go." He said suddenly.  "The council.  I
must speak with the council."

   Stephan regretted Michael's confusion, but could not regret the kiss nor
the intimacy that had preceded it.  "Go then." he said.  "Run from
yourself. From me.  But you will carry it with you, Michael.  There is no
sin in this, only the strictures of a church law derived of man's greed for
control, not from the word of your God!"

   Michael looked at him then, his face a perfect picture of misery and
anger.  Without another word, he strode from the hut, his face set. 
Stephan leaned back against the wall and sighed heavily.  Now, there was
more than one reason for him to leave.  He would not for the world harm
Michael, could he help it, but there was more than one way he could do
harm, or so it seemed.

   The hut was silent, even the fire was spent.  Michael would probably
find excuse to stay the night in the village.  If he returned in the
morning and found Stephan gone, then it would be a relief all round.  He
got up and began to pack.  A few hours to sleep and he would be on his way
before dawn.

   As he rolled up another shirt, he paused, a sound from outside intruding
on his musings.  He froze, listening, uncertain of what it was he had
heard. Then it came again.  A cry, muffled but agonised.  Two steps toward
the door.  Another sound.  Now he could hear it clearly.  Stephan shot
through the door and out into the night, his teeth bared.

   Somewhere ahead in the night, a creature was growling, tormenting its
prey.



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



   It was easy to follow the trail.  Stephan did not hesitate.  He found
the place where they had left the path, the bushes flattened, and followed
the sound of breaking branches upwards and into the forest.  Michael was
being dragged and Stephan did not even spare a moment to shift form.  He
could hear them well enough, the noise the unknown assailant could not help
but make passing through the shrubs and grasses, Michael struggling all the
way.  They climbed at a fast pace, Stephan hurrying to keep them in
earshot, certain that whoever had Michael was in wolf form as no human
could move with such speed and with the strength to drag a full-grown man
against his will.

   He paused for breath, bent over with his hands on his knees, listening
all the while, confident that Michael would not be harmed so long as the
noise continued.  When he caught up with them, they had gained the top of
the hill and come to a halt on the edge of the meadow where Stephan had
encountered the pack.  He crouched behind the last of the trees, seeking to
know his enemy better before he intervened, the cloudless sky and the
bright light of the full moon giving him a clear view.

   It was a wolf who stood over Michael's prone body, but at some point, it
must have been in man form, for Michael's hands were tied behind him with
vine, leaves and vine knotted about his mouth to muffle his voice.  The
wolf was magnificent.  Stephan had not seen this creature before; he stood
almost five handspans tall, with a mane of black fur with silver tips that
glistened in the moons' light.  It nudged at Michael's leg, ignoring his
futile kicks, and took the cloth between its teeth with delicate care
before ripping the material and tugging it from Michael's body.  His shirt
received the same treatment, the boots proving to be a longer job, but no
harder with such power to aid in the task.

   Stephan could hear Michael's strangled voice clearly as it carried on
the night air.  A mixture of curses and prayer that would have been amusing
had the circumstances been different.  Stephan longed to rush out and
confront the wolf, but a headlong charge uphill would serve no purpose
except to wind him and leave him weak before he even arrived.

   So, he was forced to leave Michael to the wolf's tender mercies and back
off, weaving his way through the cover of the trees, in search of a closer
approach.  He lost all sight and sound of them now that they were no longer
moving and when he finally approached again, he saw that the wolf had
rolled Michael onto his naked belly and was attempting to mount.

   Close enough now to make a run across the meadow, he waited for the wolf
to turn his back, maximising his chances.  Michael was still struggling,
the horrid realisation of what it was the wolf intended plain to see on his
face.  His eyes looked straight at Stephan's hiding place, appearing to
plead with him for salvation from this horror, although Stephan knew that
Michael could not see him.

   The wolf achieved his goal, forcing Michael's legs apart and driving him
upward onto his knees.  He came between them and mounted; Stephan could see
the huge member probing for entrance.  The sound of Michael's despairing
cry as it touched his cringing flesh made his heart contract within his
chest.

   And then it came.  Clear memory at last.  Another night, just like this
one and a young wolf gambolling across this very meadow, with the night
scents tantalising his nostrils and the dew wet on his fur.  The cries that
reached sensitive ears, the quick rush and the sudden halt at the sight of
the wolf mounting the female.  Her face, eyes hopeless, and body bleeding
from numerous wounds, she looked directly at him and screamed, as the wolf
penetrated her.

   He drew his knife, eschewing his wolf form for now even though it would
lend him speed.  The wolf had its back turned, its concentration solely on
the man beneath its striving body and Stephan made a silent charge, coming
from behind.

   As he drew up to them the wolf sensed him and began to turn, but Stephan
was too close and drove the knife down into the space behind the shoulder
blades.  The wolf screamed and threw itself backward, snarling and yipping,
trying with its teeth to reach the blade buried in the muscle.

   Michael rolled over, his eyes wide and disbelieving, hope warring with
fear as he took in the scene.  The wolf left off its attack on the steel
blade and turned to Stephan, its eyes alight with hatred and pain.  It took
a step forward and Stephan took one back, shifting as he did so, ignoring
the gasp of shock from Michael.

   They charged each other and came together, rising onto hind feet to
grapple, teeth flashing as they fought for advantage.  It seemed to Stephan
that the wolf would gain the upper hand, its superior weight too strong for
him, but the wound he had inflicted bled freely, and the creature was
weakened by it, giving Stephan the edge he needed.

   He pushed, driving the other wolf's head to the side and lunged for its
throat.  He drove his teeth into the soft flesh, ignoring the spearing pain
as fangs grabbed deep into the back of his neck and sharp claws raked his
sides.

   He began to throttle, closing his jaws as the others struggle grew
weaker still.  He was bitten repeatedly, the blood running down his legs
and side, but he hung on.  Scrabbling for purchase and finding none, his
adversary dropped to the ground panting, Stephan's teeth still buried
firmly in his throat, crushing his windpipe.

   The struggles ceased altogether and Stephan released, stepping back to
stand over the prone body in victory.  The creature was spent and Stephan
had no qualms about shifting back, conscious that he could better treat his
own wounds in human form.  Staggering slightly, he went back to his
clothes, discarded on the ground, and began tearing strips from them to
bind his hurts, aware of Michael's eyes on his back.

   When he turned, standing proudly upright, he wrapped the first of the
bandages around the wound to his neck and moved over to where Michael still
lay, the wolf at his feet, and began to untie him.  He tried not to notice
when Michael flinched at his touch and the frightened look on his friend's
face when he leaned down to remove the gag.

   A sound from behind made him turn.  The wolf was shifting, returning to
its human form.  It was Dirk.  Croaking and spitting, holding one hand to
the mortal wound to his throat, he braved a smile in Stephan's direction.

   "Well met, little brother." He choked out.

   "I am not your brother." Stephan rejoined.  "What manner of betrayal is
this?"

   "No betrayal." Dirk denied.  "Just a mere evening of the score.  You
took my fancy, so I have taken yours." He pointed at Michael.  "Fair
recompense."

   Stephan moved closer, his distaste evident.  "Even were it true, which
it is not, this would not count as payment for an dispute over prey.  You
killed the girl.  You charmed her out and stole her away.  Played with her,
here in the meadow." He squatted down, the better to see into Dirk's eyes.
"Did you kill her here too?  Or drag her higher, still alive, still begging
for her life, before you throttled it out of her and pushed her down the
slope?" Dirk fell back, his remaining strength almost drained away, his
life's blood pooling on the wildflowers.  But he was not too weak for a
parting shot.

   "You remember then.  Ah, no matter.  I should have expected it.  Almost
had you, though, didn't I, young pup?  Matter of fact," he laughed weakly.
"I did have you.  And very tasty you were too.  A little...vapid.  Not much
life in you, but sweet nonetheless.  I am content with that."

   "You are mad." Stephan said in quiet tones as he watched Dirk's eyes
began to fade and cloud over.  "The taking of human life for pleasure is
forbidden and for good reason.  You developed a taste for it.  Is that why
you were alone?  Driven out from your pack because of your appetites?"

   He knew he was talking to the dead, but the words did not dry up.

   "You condemn us all!  Wolfkin with an appetite for human flesh.  An
abomination that will see us wiped out!" Unsteadily, he rose to his feet,
the exertions, and the blood loss beginning to take their toll.  Just as
well, he thought tiredly, addressing Dirk's body.  Had I the strength to do
it, I would shift now and piss on your corpse.

   He dropped down to sit beside Michael, who had not moved during the
entire exchange.  Leaning back on his elbows, he lowered himself to
Michael's level, conscious of the fear stink coming from his erstwhile
friend.  Their eyes met, bright blue and frightened brown.  "So," he said
evenly.  "Now you know.  And what do you think of it all, I wonder?"

   "Demon!" Michael spat.



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



   "Ah, yes.  Demon." Stephan sighed; suddenly more tired than his wounds
would warrant.  "And that's the end of it, is it Michael?  Taken by one
demon, saved by another.  Tell me, how does one quantify degrees in
damnation, eh?  Shall I roast in a lesser Hell for having done this one
good deed?"

   "I will admit to a certain confusion over your actions, demonspawn."
Michael ground out.  "But it is not my right to question the word of God.
'Yet you will be brought down to the grave, to the sides of the pit.' That
is what it says, and that is how you shall pay for your traffic with
Satan!"

   Michael's eyes were wild; his experiences on this night seemed to have
been too much for his mind to handle.  He tried to scurry further away, but
Stephan grasped his wrist and drew him inexorably back, despite his
struggles.  Even drained as he was, Stephan had more power in his arms than
Michael possessed in his entire body.

   Michael punched at him wildly, hardly making an impact and Stephan would
have been content to let him fight to a standstill, had he not managed to
land an accidental blow on Stephan's wounded side.  He hissed, his temper
lost and threw Michael onto his back, lying atop him to prevent the blows.

   "Listen to me you mealy-mouthed priest!" he snarled.  "It is your right
to question.  It is your God-given right!  Why do you think that man has
been given the gift of reason, if not to employ it?  Rise above the
platitudes they fed you as you suckled at your mama's breast and think! 
You know me.  You know the man I am.  Would that I could change what has
happened here tonight, but I cannot.  You are distressed, I understand
that, but you try my patience with your talk of God, Hell, and eternal
condemnation.  What of the other God?  The one you speak of with such love
and wonder?  He who forgives, who encourages tolerance and understanding.
Where is that God now, I wonder?"

   He could see that Michael was hearing his words as the attempted kicks
and gouges died away, but as to whether he was giving them any
consideration or even understanding, Stephan could not tell.  Michael's
eyes were closed tight, his fists clenched at his sides and his mouth
moving in what could have been a silent prayer or a virulent curse.  So he
held him down, using his weight alone, his strength rapidly deserting him
and waited.  Eventually, the tortured eyes opened and Michael looked full
upon him with a gaze that held no hint of sympathy or liking.

   "As I walked the path this evening," he said.  "I thought about that
kiss and what it had meant to me.  I thought of what you had said and began
to believe that there was truth contained within it.  Enough truth for the
both of us.  Then a demon sprang from the bushes and I despaired, sure that
I would die without ever having the chance to tell you what I had
discovered."

   His face was set and stony as he drove inexorably toward his point. 
"Twice I have been betrayed.  First by the God who promised to keep me from
harm and who allowed the demon to steal me away and then by you, my trusted
friend, whose words I listened to and whose words were the second betrayal.
Is this now to be the third?  For how can a demon know love?  You tried to
lure me from the path to righteousness, with your sweet ways and sweeter
kisses.  But I see you now, as you really are, a demon wolf, a killer of
men, and the dearth of hope.  You shall roast, have no doubt.  You will
drink down the stink of sulfur and brimstone and call it manna!"

   Stephan was angry, angrier than he could ever recall being.  Michael was
blind, unable, or unwilling to see anything beyond his own prejudices, his
own fears.  Even the attack he had just survived did not justify his
stance. He pinned him down, bringing his face within inches of Michael's
and breathed his own poison directly into that beloved face.

   "I know what ails you, Michael.  My sight is keen, maybe even demonic. I
saw what you might wish I had not.  I saw the excitement at war with the
fear in your eyes when Dirk tore away your clothes.  The hardness between
your legs when he drove you up onto your knees.  You don't hate me,
Michael, you hate yourself." "You hate what it did to you, the thought of
fornicating with the wolf.  Your body betrayed you, not I.  You wanted it,
even as you feared it.  You revelled in the feeling of the grass against
your naked belly; you pushed back against him and invited him inside.  I
saw, Michael." "I know what really frightens you and it is not the thought
of my Hell, but your own!"

   As Stephan spoke, Michael had lain still.  His hands clenching and
unclenching in the dirt were the only sign of his anger and distress.  Now,
as Stephan finished, he roared to life, pushing Stephan off with
comparative ease as the rage in his body crested, and coming up onto his
knees with the glint of sharp steel in his hand.

   The knife!  It had fallen from Dirk's body when he went down and Stephan
had not thought to look for it.  Michael lunged; his eyes wild and Stephan
only just managed to grab the hand that wielded it before it met flesh. 
They grappled, Michael roaring and screaming as he tried repeatedly to
plunge the knife into Stephan's throat.

   Stephan pushed with all his might, forcing the arm holding the knife
down.  He knew this was a fight for his life.  Michael would not stop,
could not stop, the fear and guilt had combined to send his mind plunging
over the edge into insanity.  Foam speckled his lips and the whites of his
eyes glowed in the darkness.  Stephan knew he was almost spent; his wounds
bled afresh and, if he did not manage something in the next few moments,
his life would be forfeit.

   Calling on all his reserves, he ripped the knife from Michael's grip,
and reversing the blade, drove it deep into his friend's heart.  Michael
collapsed, his grip slackening, his eyes glazing over.  Dead.  Instantly
and completely dead.

   Stephan lay down on his back, staring into the now calm, dead eyes, his
body throbbing with pain both physical and spiritual.  Now I am a killer of
men too, he told the indifferent moon.  Worse still, I have killed a friend
whom I loved, and I do not feel a moment's regret for my actions.  I did
what I had to, he thought.  I am sorry, my friend, he said, looking into
Michael's clouded brown eyes.  I am truly sorry.



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

   When he next opened his eyes, he found some time had passed.  The night
had moved on while he slept, the moon had travelled across the sky, and the
dew had begun to form, carpeting his nakedness with tiny diamond beads. 
Stephan sat up, shaking his hair to rid it of the moisture.  Beside him on
the grass, the corpses had grown cold; he did not spare them a glance.

   He stood carefully upright and stretched, finding, as he expected to,
that his wounds had ceased to bleed and had already begun to heal over. 
Strained muscles felt liquid once more, his natural capacity for fast
mending had done its work during healing sleep.  Sitting down again, he
pondered his next move.  Small animals could be heard rustling in the long
grass nearby, attracted by the bodies and eager to begin their work.  Did
he bury them?  He was not concerned about what would happen should the
villagers find the remains.  As Stephan did not intend to return there,
whatever conclusion they reached was irrelevant to him.

   What conclusions have I reached, he wondered?  I learned something of
myself from Dirk, that is for certain.  But not, perhaps, the lesson he
would have liked to give.  While he tried to play with my mind as well as
my body and, for a while succeeded in paralysing me with guilt, it turned
out that I was not so crushed as he would have had it.  How quickly I
recovered and how easily to my tongue came the lies I told Michael.  That
is your legacy, Dirk, he thought, looking at the body before him.  The
drive for survival can overcome the overvalued virtues of honour and trust
that we value so in our human selves.  There is more of wolfkin in the man
than they and we would care to admit.  He smiled to himself, content with
his conclusion and turned his attentions to Michael.

   And you, he thought with steadfast gaze.  You, the priest.  Crippled by
your conventions and the notions of honour that drove you mad.  You taught
me the lesson that Dirk had tried to impart.  That I can kill where I must
and not think too badly of myself when it is done.  You were both mad but,
in the end, his madness was cleaner, simpler even.  I prefer that.  At
least Dirk did not deny his natural hungers.

   Stephan wiped his hands on the pile of discarded clothing and got to his
feet.  He would not bury them, let them have a natural ending.  Dirk would
appreciate it and Michael deserved it.  A breeze began to play across the
meadow, lifting the stems of the last of the summer flowers, so that they
could dance one more time in the moonlight.

   Stephan raised his head and sniffed.  A cold wind, carrying with it the
scent of ice and imminent snow.

   It was time to go home.





   End.


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