"Moon Weaver?" Aedan asked, catching up with his teacher and being careful not to stumble over any stuck out branch.

When the Moon Weaver turned his head towards Aedan in acknowledgment, the werewolf continued, "Why have you chosen me to become your next associate?"

"Are you not exhilarated with your current position?" he asked curiously, and Aedan lowered his head remorsefully. "You are now in charge of the all younger werewolves, Aedan. It is a great responsibility," sighed the Moon Weaver, looking ahead into the deep thicket of golden trees.

Aedan's eyes widened at the teacher's remark. "N-no, I didn't mean it in a way that I was afraid of the responsibility that came with the role nor did I dread the commitment it required," he faltered. "I am afraid I will not fit into the role. I don't think I am the right person with all due respect, teacher."

"Isaac told me of your concerns regarding the role, however, I have every bit of belief in you, my boy. I completely trust my confidence in your success, so must you," the Moon Weaver remarked firmly, craning his neck to see Aedan. His serene silver eyes held such sincerity, that Aedan believed in himself, too, as if all his worries had been erased with the confidence his teacher had seeded in him.

But as all of the things the Moon Weaver said, there was a certain depth to them without revealing excessive information: he always spoke in succinct sentences that left you strikingly well-informed. The elderly werewolf had no need to compliment Aedan or define his worth using many words in the process.

Aedan chuckled. He thought of his brother and cousin. "Well, now I am certain that I will never cease being an object of ridicule to Gabriel and Idris."

"They never mean harm to you," responded the Moon Weaver with an amused smile. "The two boys are really something else, I have to say. So much power, nobility and tenacity in them. I am happy that you do not take their childish remarks close to your heart."

The young werewolf smiled at his teacher and continued strolling in a relaxed manner beside him. He acknowledged the almost naked trees around him, the occasional croon of the birds hiding all around the Enchanted Forest, the crispy blue sky that flashed above.

"Each one of us walks his own path in life, isn't it wonderful?" the Moon Weaver exclaimed suddenly. "Just like we choose the path to walk on in the forest, we choose the path we want to follow in life. And whatever awaits on the other side of that path, is something we work towards throughout our existence. May I point out that the desired result defines our path. Hence, make sure your path is the right one, no matter your desire is."

"Was becoming the Moon Weaver your desire, teacher?" Aedan questioned.

He never thought of becoming one as it was a great responsibility. The responsibility of being the wisest of the pack, the role model to the younger generation, outliving your family members, other werewolves. With the role came the infinity. With the role came the grief for the loved ones.

"I do not think I ever thought about that, my boy. Becoming who I am today was never what I prepared myself for. In fact, it was a pure coincidence," he paused, a faraway look marking his golden-brown face. "I only knew one person who purposefully followed the path of a Moon Weaver. It was Herielle."

Aedan's breath caught in his chest, but he tried not to show his unease. His teacher never spoke of her, ever. Aedan decided keeping silent was the most respectful reply.

"She was my first associate, and she became one due to my blind trust. How could you not trust her? Herielle was the first girl to ever choose the path of Moon Weavers. I don't need to tell you how gifted and considerate she was, you have met her briefly before, haven't you?"

Aedan recalled seeing her in their classroom. She taught some lessons to him, Gabrielle, Idris and other werewolves. The girl liked her role, and Aedan remembered the energy in the classroom during one of their lessons: she didn't just teach, she taught with all her heart, all her will.

Everyone thought her a prodigy.

"Herielle left one night, took off while everyone was asleep. I saw her," he paused, releasing a deep sigh, "she never looked back once she was out of the gates. She knew I was watching, however, as much I wished and prayed it would, it never stopped her."

"What caused her to leave our pack?" Aedan asked carefully, trying to read his teacher's expression.

"Her ideals. Her ambitions. Her upbringing," he said, picking up the speed of walking. The soft sound of his shaft hitting the forest carpet grew more frequent.

"She was different from everyone else, wasn't she, teacher?" Aedan said in a slight breathless manner, trying to catch up with the older werewolf.

"Yes, indeed. Her ideas did not correspond with the moral principles of our pack, and you know very well, my dear boy, that the Moon Weaver has to belong to his pack. He cannot be living an independent life. His life is committed to the pack's best interests. You cannot be a Moon Weaver and relinquish from the other members and Paclave."

"So she took off to find a pack that would correspond with her interests," the younger werewolf deadpanned, looking down.

Aedan thought that Herielle chose the easiest solution to her situation. She escaped it, deciding not to get involved in it. He wondered where her interests lay.

The Moon Weaver chuckled, "That is true. She joined the Onyxtooth pack, even though they never accept strangers from other packs. They prefer to keep their bloodline pure and maintain the black canines characteristic consistent with all members. But the pack hated humans as much as Herielle did."

At the mention of humans, Aedan's eyes grew as wide and round as a pair of his spectacles he used to wear during studying. He had no idea Herielle despised humans.

What wrong had they done to her?

But just like with his father, who joined the Onyxtooth pack after their mother died, he could not comprehend the depth of Herielle's and Elias's decision.

"What about Thyrius Blackfang? Why does he despise humans?" Aedan asked curiously.

He wondered why the Onyxtooth pack's Leader amended his pack's traditions of never letting strangers in.

The Moon Weaver smiled pensively, "If Thyrius ever lets all werewolves across Starleten know, Aedan, you would know. Everyone would know."

He halted to a stop, his eyes fixed on a tree a few strides ahead of them. The Moon Weaver sniffed the air, and Aedan scanned the area around them cautiously. The afternoon sun managed to direct its light through the shield of tree crowns, and his platinum hair appeared almost luminous against the dark tree trunks. His hood was down, but he pulled it up, covering his silver hair.

"What is it, teacher?"

And that was when the scent hit his nose, too.

The human scent. The honeysuckle scent. The scent he had picked up in the Enchanted Forest when he met the human girl.

The girl Aedan had met two days before when he visited the manor.

Why was her scent all over that part of the forest?

"We are nearing the village, Aedan, it is advisable to pull your hood up. We don't want people knowing us by our faces."

She must have been here.

As much as he had wanted her to see and recognise him, he jerked the hood of his cloak up. She would not want to know he was a werewolf. Humans always felt threatened by them, therefore he convinced himself that he would rather her think he was a human boy. Or rather not see him at the manor at all.

The image of her face floated at the back of his mind. He remembered seeing a swollen, bruised eye and a scratched cheek when he had glanced at her. The unpleasant waft of manure mixed with her floral scent trailed after her; she had looked sick and dizzy.

He couldn't withhold the tug in his chest. A tug to find out how she had gotten bruises. Aedan found it peculiar. It was a novel sensation; something he had never been prepared to feel.

Perhaps, it was something that science and books could elucidate to him?

Knock! Knock!

A maid with ginger hair and freckles littered all over her face opened the door and led them to the study room.

They call it a study room, Aedan snickered.

The room looked like it was used to sit in one of the chairs behind a large, awkward desk and pretend it was a study room, for there was not a thing to demonstrate the real purpose of the room. No excessive amounts of books to line the bookshelves. No rotating, globular structure with all the realms' locations and names drawn and named all over it. No placards hanging on the boring walls to illustrate the human or animal anatomy.

It was a pretentious study room.

Just like the student - whom the Moon Weaver and Aedan had to teach - was.

All Aedan could notice in the room was the tremendous effort to show the wealth of the family living in the mansion by the silly addition of unnecessary pillars, golden chandeliers and intricate candlestick holders, and, most importantly, a skin of a dead bear, spread on the wall behind the desk.

Aedan fought the urge to retch at the display of the poor creature.

The Moon Weaver pulled his hood down, and Aedan did the same. Both of them sat behind the desk, disregarding the bear display behind them. It was pure cruelty, and Aedan thought there was nothing more humiliating and painful for the creatures to be skinned and then displayed as some sort of a token.

Matthew Fairen emerged into the room. He was dressed in a waistcoat and a pressed shirt, tucked into single-creased trousers. Greasy-looking blonde hair was slicked down, accentuating his wide-boned face and protruding ears. The boy smirked at Aedan, and the skin around his huge mouth creased like paper in one of Aedan's journals.

"Good afternoon, Matthew," said the Moon Weaver. "It is a pleasure to see you today."

Matthew sat across from the two werewolves, facing the animal display. He folded his arms, "Morning, werewolves. Likewise."

Aedan flexed his fingers, drilling holes through the buttons of Matthew's waistcoat, and growled, "You may address my mentor as Moon Weaver, human."

The rude boy didn't even flinch, but Aedan's watchful stare caught his eye twitch for a split second.

If eyes could pin somebody to a place, that was what Aedan precisely did.

The Moon Weaver broke the intense silence, "Shall we start our lesson, my boy?".

From the corner of his eye, Aedan saw the Moon Weaver's proud simper.

☽☽ ☆ ☾☾

The lesson dragged for what felt like millions of years.

Aedan's eyes ached, and he assumed his eyeballs got stuck to the back of his head. The eye ache resulted in a slowly developing headache. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, sticking a few ink-black curls to his temples.

The werewolf tried to remember the last time he shifted into his wolf form. While straining his mind to roam through the latest events, a sudden realisation hit him. His wolf spirit wanted to be let out: Aedan had suppressed it for inordinately long. It was clear to Aedan then as to why his senses had felt extremely amplified for the past fortnight.

Much to Aedan's delight, Matthew didn't attempt testing Aedan's patience and indifference anymore. He probably considered his chances of making it out of the room in one piece. Aedan was convinced that if the boy did as much as blink in his direction, he was capable of shifting into his wolf-form right there in the mansion and biting his ears off.

He needed to shift as soon as possible.

He couldn't contain himself anymore.

Midnight-blue cloaks billowing out around them, Moon Weaver and Aedan walked out of the mansion with their heads covered.

The day concluded to its end. Confident twilight painted the dome above them in coldest indigo and lavender with tiny clouds littered across. Soon the day would be over, and as the warm light seeped gradually out of sight, cold air of the night grew chillier, lurching for the werewolves.

Aedan was grateful for the chilling air that wrapped tightly around him. It would keep him cold-headed until he could find a clearing in the forest where he could shift.

"Moon Weaver, will you excuse me, please?" Aedan croaked.

He blessed his teacher by the stars and the moon under his breath while he sprinted towards the forest along the only path visible through his blurring vision. Treacherous heart pounded like a hammer against his ribcage, ready to shoot out of his chest, so he tried to maintain it within himself by taking more frequent breaths.

Just a little bit more, he thought, subduing himself.

He felt relieved as the fresh scent of the trees and moist soil hit his nostrils.

Aedan dashed from tree to tree and looked for a clearing.

The werewolf frantically fumbled for his cloak's clasp, and it flew to the ground in a swift motion. Just like his waistcoat, shirt and trousers.

Shivering, he dropped down to his knees, his back arching and caving uncontrollably. Burying his hands deep into the soil, he inhaled ragged breaths and meekly watched his fingers fuse together into paws with darkened claws retracting out of them. Aedan's head jerked up, and a pale light, cast by the moon, illuminated his handsome face that lengthened into a furry snout with razor-sharp silver fangs sticking out of it. A pained growl escaped out of him when bones cracked, his spine curved and elongated along with his legs, that now resembled a wolf's hind legs. The air was squeezed out of his lungs, and he felt every bone in his ribcage bend while internal organs had been rearranged and squished tighter. A bushy tail shot out from his lower back, and hairs grew out of every skin pore, covering the wolf in majestic, midnight-black fur.

The wolf stood on all fours, solemn under the cover of the night, its ears were perked up and ice-blue eyes glowed like stars above.

Aedan's essence was caged within the wolf. Aedan hadn't shifted often, hence he was unable to control the wolf completely, once it was let out.

The wolf sniffed the air quickly, snatched the discarded clothes from the ground with its muzzle and trotted towards its pack.