3

Because of my total lack of control and the overwhelming panic that gripped me, my room turned into pure chaos.

Shredded bedsheets, torn pajamas—my claws had ripped through everything. The mirror was smashed, things were strewn all over the place, and somehow I had even trampled my favorite ficus tree.

I don’t even remember how I did it, but I broke down the door—my paws, my muzzle—and bolted outside, running blindly, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to hide, to get away, to survive this... nightmare.

I was terrified—terrified of what I’d become, terrified of what I might do. My parents are human. And my little sister… she’s human too. At least, for now.

There are stories—horrible stories—about first transformations going wrong. Werewolves injuring themselves, losing control, hurting loved ones. And sure, we heal fast, almost instantly—but humans don’t. If I ever hurt my family… I wouldn’t survive the guilt. I couldn’t live with myself.

So I ran. I ran from the house, across the creaky old bridge by the river, through the endless fields, until the shadows of the forest wrapped around me like a cloak.

Our forest—dense, wild, untouched. People never ventured far into it. They were too afraid. Good. That meant I could disappear for a while.

I dove deep into the forest, branches slapping my face, underbrush clawing at my legs.

Eventually, I stumbled into a clearing bathed in silver moonlight, my chest heaving, lungs burning. I dropped to the ground, trying to catch my breath.

It was quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful.

But only for a moment.

Then came the noise—loud, intense, and all around me. The rustling of leaves became a roar. The creak of trees echoed like thunder.

Even the stream nearby—its gentle babbling now sounded like a waterfall crashing through my skull.

Every sound in the forest felt like it had been turned up to full volume.

It was deafening. Overwhelming. I clutched my ears with my paws, crouched low, trembling, heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.

And then… a voice.

Soft. Gentle. Feminine. But with a power that stilled everything inside me.

"Hey, breathe. Focus on your breathing. Don’t panic. Let the sounds pass through you. Listen only to your breath."

I listened.

My breath was sharp, ragged, but I held onto it like a lifeline.

Inhale. Exhale. Once.

Inhale. Exhale. Twice.

By the time I reached ten, the world had quieted, as if someone had turned the volume down.

And just like that… I could think again.

I opened my eyes, removed my paws from my ears, and looked up.

In the heart of the clearing stood a red she-wolf, watching me with piercing blue eyes. The moonlight kissed her fur, making it shimmer like gold with every breeze.

She looked... magical. Untouchable.

"So beautiful," I thought.

And then—she answered.

"Oh, thank you! You're not so bad yourself," she said, and laughed—an actual laugh, bright and playful.

It hit me then. Telepathy. Grandpa had told me about it—how werewolves could speak to each other in wolf form, mind to mind.

I’d always brushed it off. Until now.

She stepped closer, slowly, carefully. Something about her felt familiar, especially her eyes—so blue, like the sky after a storm.

“Your first time?” she asked.

I nodded, feeling clumsy and awkward.

“Thought so. I’m Elizabeth, or Eli. What’s your name?”

“Dana.”

“Nice to meet you, Dana. Deep breaths. No more panicking. Focus on a single sound and ground yourself.”

I obeyed. I found the stream again—not crashing, just flowing. Then the whisper of the leaves. Far in the distance—dogs barking from the village. Then—a faint crackle of twigs nearby.

Eli’s ears twitched.

"Listen," she said.

I did.

Tiny footsteps. A quick heartbeat. A soft, panicked breath.

Something small was running through the underbrush, fleeing.

“A hedgehog?” I blinked. “Where’s he rushing off to?”

“You're adorable,” Eli chuckled. “Right now, we’re the scariest things in this forest. He knows it. Want to blow your mind?”

I nodded.

“Then listen… with your nose.”

I inhaled deeply—and the world exploded again. But this time, in scent.

I smelled everything. Wet earth. Fresh water. Wildflowers. Pine needles. The wind. Animals.

And—wait. A scent I knew. Warm. Safe. Familiar. Grandpa.

I turned, leapt onto a rock, and there he was—emerging from the trees, his massive dark-gray wolf form unmistakable.

“There you are, pup!” he said with relief. “Your parents are going crazy. How are you feeling?”

He stopped beside us, tail flicking, then gave Eli a knowing nod.

“I see you’ve met Elizabeth.”

“I’m okay now,” I said quietly, shame washing over me.

“I just… didn’t want to hurt anyone. I feel strange. Like I’m not me anymore. Like I’m someone else. It’s scary.”

“That’s normal, sweetheart. You'll learn. You’ll grow into your wolf. I remember my first shift—I ended up in the chicken coop. Scared the feathers off them. Literally. Smashed half of it. My mother was furious.”

He laughed—soft, nostalgic.

“It’s been almost a hundred years since then. You scared me good tonight. Had to sniff half the valley to find you. Haven’t done that in decades. It felt... kinda nice, actually. Brought back memories.”

Then, with a wolfish grin:

“Anyway, time to head home. My place is closer, and your parents are waiting. But let’s shift back later—I don’t want you traumatized by the sight of your grandfather’s glorious naked butt.”

He barked a laugh and trotted ahead. Eli and I exchanged a look—and followed without hesitation. Eli lived just two streets from Grandpa’s farm.

As we arrived, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. Staring back at me was a sleek, black she-wolf with stormy gray eyes.

Just like Grandpa’s. Genes don’t lie.

Surprisingly, shifting back into my human form wasn’t as painful.

The aches lingered, like a full-body flu. But it was bearable.

A hot bath—Eli’s suggestion—worked wonders.

And finally, as the water soothed my aching muscles, I felt something I hadn’t felt since the shift began…

Peace.