And called me a monster
So I howled at the moon
And showed them all
Once in Alanaris, long before mortals sought to classify monsters, All Hallows had been known as Lunamortuus, the Night of the Dead Moon, where the dead would whisper and the Corvi would dance. But as old tales and even older Gods were forgotten and the true meaning of All Hallows was lost, it became known as the Hunter’s Moon, a time when monster hunters grew rich slaying the creatures drawn like flies toward light, to the veil that separated the two plains. Castalla had always recognised it as a dangerous time- not just for her kind who often fell prey to hunters, but for the whole of Alanaris. It was during the Dead Moon that creatures from the other side could cross into their world, that witches could summon dangerous spirits or druids channel ancient beings. But did this world, this Novus, suffer from the same threats at Harvest? Did it lay prone next to a veil that thinned at this time?
From the festivities filled the air with tantalising scents and joyful choruses, this Court at least celebrated something, though Castalla had not gotten close enough to find out. Instead she had taken a wooded path, wandering ever into shadow. She was not ready to join the revels and the crowds, the raucous and the games, not when the loss of her powers, of her longevity, still cleaved at her heart.
From somewhere in the shadows, a broken voice split the silence, a cry for help that set the Wolf on edge. Ears pricked, stock still, Castalla listened intently, her eyes narrowed. And then again, the soft plea stroked the edges of her hearing. Carefully, cautiously the rogue picked her way through the forest, weaving between the trees and bushes, an ever silent predator. The rustle of leaves and soft thud of hooves upon earth told the femme she was not alone, but the shadows disguised whoever might also be wandering the woods. Were they friend or foe? Powerless or not, Castalla was still a living weapon, a dagger honed by years of experience. Whatever threat faced the weeping voice, the Wolf would not stand idly by.
