Chapter 1: Hunting
I lift my head and let the cold wind pass over me as if I am not made of solid matter, but rather of the same insubstantial material that it is comprised of.
Many scents color the air that I pull into my lungs, which at times can be nearly overwhelming. There is only one amid the overpowering bouquet that I seek, and within seconds my senses pick it out from the riot of aromas around me--everything from the damp, slow decay of forest bracken to the musky exhalation of the deer as they huddle beneath the trees—and I turn my body towards the north.
From about twenty yards away a rabbit has emerged from its burrow to forage through the snow in search of a meal, and I can feel the saliva begin to drip from my mouth.
Dinner.
The sound of the rabbit scratching at the frozen ground is sharp and tinkling to my sensitive ears, and so intent is it on its mission that it is not even aware that I am slowly but surely closing in on it. My bare feet make no sound on the soft powdery snow, and I am careful to keep my body angled in such a way that the wind will not carry my scent back to it. I keep my head low as my eyes scan the horizon, which appears as so many shades of black and white. I am colorblind in this state, but it seems to make things easier for me.
To see the world awash in so many vibrant hues would be overwhelming to me by this point, and I rather like the simplicity of my life right now. These days everything comes down to black and white, predator and prey, feast or famine.
I’ve known hunger in all its forms, but in the dead of winter that will last for several more months, it is particularly acute. There have been days when I was unable to procure anything to eat and had to return to my shelter, cold and miserable. Being alone made it seem worse, and I had only the howling of the wind and of the others to keep me company.
The others….I had tried to earn my place among them but they knew me for what I was, or rather was not. The sting of their rejection was worse than I could have imagined, but it was not as painful as the rejection my family had shown me. At the time I had vowed to run away to be with “my own kind,” but that had proved disastrous, almost deadly.
I had barely managed to slink away to lick my wounds in solitude, which is how I have remained since then.
My own kind.
And what is that exactly, if everyone and everything has turned you away?
I shake my head and feel the powdery snow tickle my nose. The wind is beginning to pick up, but the scent of the rabbit is strong now and I can see it up ahead, hidden among a tangle of fallen trees.
I almost feel sorry for it because it has no idea that it will soon become my meal, but then again, why should I?
I have to eat to survive, same as any other creature, and in the world in which I serve out my self-imposed exile, it is the one rule I live by.
I am less than ten feet away from the rabbit and have now dropped into a crouch. I keep my head down as low as possible with my eyes fixed on it as the hunger in my belly twists its knife in me.
A few more days without food and I could very well become a meal for a much stronger predator if they should happen upon me.
I make my way carefully down a small mound of fallen snow and am so close to the rabbit that I could reach out and touch it, but I don’t.
I know that patience is a large part of being a successful predator, and so I wait while it continues to enjoy its last meal.
From overhead a limb cracks and the rabbit tenses in fear.
As do I.
I risk a glance upwards and spot a large owl sitting patiently in the topmost branches, its large yellow eyes fixed on the rabbit that I would make into my dinner.
Not tonight, brother.
With a burst of movement I propel my body forward. A veritable flurry of snow and ice marks my trajectory as I close the distance between myself and the rabbit, which is now in full panic-mode.
Slowly, much too slowly, it turns to run, but the wind is now blowing so fiercely that neither of us can scarcely see a few inches in front of our faces. The tangle of fallen branches, which the rabbit had thought would offer it some measure of protection from would-be predators, has actually worked to my advantage, creating a sort of natural barrier that prevents it from making a quick escape.
My mouth closes around the flesh of its neck and it gives a piercing scream and begins to struggle furiously. It takes almost no effort on my part to mercilessly snap its neck with my teeth, and as the final spasms and muscles twitches begin to subside, I settle down amid the natural shelter and begin to eat.
It is a scrawny thing to be sure, but meat is meat, and I am beyond hungry.
The blood is hot and has stained the snow around me, and I can feel it on the sensitive skin of my muzzle. I try to eat slowly, to savor my meal, but eventually flesh, bone and sinew are gobbled up in record time. Hardly any trace of my kill remains save for the blood-stained patch of snow, but I have set aside the fur and steaming entrails for the owl, who has remained in the tree watching me from its vantage point.
It seems only fair seeing as how we had been vying for the same prey, but when has nature ever been fair?
That’s the human in you, Lyvia. Perhaps the last that remains.
How long has it been since anyone had called me by that name? Decades? Centuries?
Who had I been before all of this began for me? I could recall the smallest details all too vividly, though the gods knew I had done everything I could to forget. As for being human, well, apparently I was never that either. I had been raised to believe that I was nothing more than a young woman born into a wealthy family who was destined to marry a man she did not love—“for the family’s honor”—but I knew nothing of what lay dormant within me.
Was I evil, an aberration, or some dispassionate god’s idea of a cosmic joke?
I honestly did not know.
And the worst part of all, is that I probably never will.
Not that it would make any difference even if I did. No one can change the past, so the only thing to do is to endure and move on. Running away from home was my solution, though now that I think about it, no matter how far I ran my past went with me. I saw it every time I looked into the eyes of my companion who remained with me out of what? Love? Obligation?
I saw it every time I looked at my own face reflected back at me in a standing pool of water, and even when it seemed that there were moments of levity or light in our shared life, the shadow of what had brought us to that point always lingered.
But I didn’t know!
Doesn’t matter.
I will live out my days like this until I am too old and feeble to remember, and then it really won’t matter.
Until then I will endure as I have, neither human nor inhuman, but something in-between two worlds. I will walk with my head up, and when the moon is riding high upon her chariot in the great, silent vastness of the night sky, I will lift my chin and lend my voice to the air. Perhaps the others will join me, my false brethren who ousted me from their ranks, or—dare I hope?—another like me who exists on the fringes between human and beast.
One thing is for certain: no matter my heritage or the wild blood flowing in my veins, my heart is entirely human. I crave companionship just as I crave food, perhaps more so, and this hunger is far from being satisfied.
