“Let’s hope so,” the ranger said, glancing out one of the garage windows at the werewolf, still sitting steadfast between the trees. “For our sake, and the sake of the town.”

Noble didn’t quite understand. “What about the one out there?”

The ranger shook his head. “It’s trusting us for now.” He put a hand on the wolf’s head and stroked it. “This is probably the werewolf’s mate. If she dies, the werewolf will be sad, but eventually it’ll find another. Worse than that, it’ll be angry. Mad, in every sense of the word. Humans will have killed its mate, and it might want to exact its revenge against every man, woman, and child in Redstone.”

A shiver chilled its way down Noble’s spine. He went back to the kitchen and glanced at the clock. “Where’s Doctor Katz?” he said. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

Chapter 9

The werewolf stayed hidden between the trees, near where the man lived. Over the years, the animals of the forest had come to know that the man here was different. Better, somehow…

He wore colors created by Mother Earth. He never carried a deathstick. And he was known not to have ever harmed one from the forest. Furthermore, several creatures injured by Mother Earth had found their way to this place, were taken in by the man, then let go when they were made better.

The female wolf had been felled by a deathstick, and not by Mother Earth, but if the man had healing powers, then he could use them here as well. At least here, there was a chance…

The werewolf closed its eyes, exhausted. It was part man now, and with its new form came many new burdens.

Before, as leader, there were few things he had to worry about beyond food, shelter, and survival of the pack. Now that he walked on two legs, his head was full of thoughts.

When the change first came over him, he had savored the idea of being man, but as the days passed and he spent more time near the places men lived, he wanted less and less to do with them.

When the female had fallen, his first instinct had been to kill the man who had hurt her, rip him apart and feast on his flesh. But the man had a deathstick, and even if he killed him, it would only anger other men with deathsticks. They would seek out the pack and kill them.

No, even though he walked on two legs, he was not man, nor could he ever be. It had been wrong to think otherwise. And the more he thought about it, the more he knew that he did not want to be any more like man than he already was.