'When are you going to jump into the bushes with Tommen?'

Liza's eyes widen into the round shapes we use for cookies at the bakery. Her eyes dart around nervously to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

'What are you talking about?' she whispers, embarrassed, as we continue on our way to school.

The long path along the road runs at the edge of the dense forest. The sawdust covers the damp ground to somewhat protect the shoes of those who care about such things.

Although Liza and I no longer share a school, the buildings are close enough together for us to walk together.

The year you turn eighteen is your final year at Miny, also known as your basic year. From your eighteenth, you choose one of the Fiata. You can fill in advance who chooses what, but there isn't much choice. The girls all choose for teaching, surgery, or clothing making. The boys always choose woodworking, goldsmithing, or, if they're in a wild mood, baking.

'You're studying surgery. I believe you know what sex is?' With that remark, I almost immediately receive a bag to my head. The bag eventually lands against the tree to my left after I've jumped out of the way.

'No, Chea,' she hisses with pink cheeks as she quickens her pace after snatching her bag from the tree. I run after her, laughing.

'So, we can conclude that no bushes have been jumped in so far?' Again, a bag swings my way. I grab the thing out of the air with a grin.

'Is that a no?'

'Yes, that's a no.'

'Why is it so uncomfortable for you to talk about this?' She sighs deeply, stops, and turns to face me.

'Because it's normal to wait for these things until you're married. It shouldn't be a topic of conversation before then.'

My values and beliefs on these subjects have always been different. Maybe it's my primal instinct or just curiosity. Perhaps even the people who once called themselves my parents who never had a happy marriage or Tom's pain every year on Kimberly's birthday, his dead wife.

'And then? Then you're lying there on your wedding night and you've never seen your husband naked? You have no idea what to expect.' Liza sighs deeply, looks around once more, and directs her frustrated gaze at me.

'I need to get to my class,' she sighs before continuing silently along the path and entering her building without even giving me a second glance.

In conversations like these, I almost forget that we generally get along well for most of the day. So well that we seem like sisters. However, our lives have always been water and fire. Liza is the neat girl who does well in school, works hard, and follows the beaten paths. I'd rather throw myself into the tall grass, searching for something new.

Reluctantly, I enter my school building. The red bricks have been recently renovated, so the medium-sized building no longer leans as much as it used to. It's a pity they didn't replace the white window frames and the windows themselves. The wood seems ready to give way at any moment. The small white front door could also use a new coat of paint. The last thing they might need to renew are the school uniforms. The brown and dark red dress is the worst color combination they could have chosen. My blonde hair is obligingly in a high bun, and my brown shoes are slightly dirtier than those of the other students.

'Chea, just on time, as always. I expect you to pay attention in class this week unlike last week,' grumbles Mr. Fillink as I walk into the classroom. The man doesn't like me, and I don't like him. Tom calls him 'from the old school,' and that clashes.

'Mr. Fillink, in a good mood, as always,' I smile before quickly making my way to my desk. I hear the man sigh before he pulls the ugly red door shut.

'The goats?' Lolet asks, as she does every morning when I take my place next to her. Lolet hasn't reinvented the wheel and will never do so. The blonde girl is friendly and a good conversation partner to survive Fillink's lessons, but she won't get any further than her father's goat farm.

'The goats,' I reply as I lay my school books on the rickety wooden desk. Every morning she asks why I am punctual to the minute. After telling her dozens of times that I like to take the long way, which she understands less than nothing, I told her I help Tom milk the goats. Her walnut brain could store that and since then she asks me every morning.

'Didn't they run away then?' Lian's annoying voice comes from the left. With a deep sigh, I ignore the comment, open my notebook, and pull out my half pencil from the worn bag. While Lolet's notebook is filled with numbers and letters, mine is full of drawings.

'Good. Ladies and gentlemen. We'll continue with the history of Runcast after the Moon War...' Fillink's rattling fades into the background as my pencil glides across the paper without thought.

As with many things in the human world, I've never fit into the school system. The long periods of sitting still, the monotonous old teachers, and the endless repetitions. The curriculum doesn't go beyond Runcast and the basic subjects that are supposed to help you through life.

My pencil moves automatically across the white paper. A moon and sun shine over the paper. The leaves of the black trees conceal the darkness hiding behind nature. The lonely wolf howls at the moon, calling out for his distant family.

'Chea,' a loud voice echoes through the small classroom. I'm so startled that the pencil bounces on the floor and rolls a meter away from me towards Lian.

'What?' I ask, startled, at the red-faced teacher. Mr. Fillink stomps towards me with heavy steps. With his hands folded in front of his stomach, he looks at me.

'What is the answer?' My eyes dart across the blackboard, searching for something that might give me a clue to the question. Unfortunately, there's nothing more than a few keywords.

'What is the question?' I ask while looking the man straight in his brown eyes. To my left, I hear Lian snickering and whispering with her neighbor.

'The name of the stadtholder during the Dark Days,' the man nearly spits my way as his eyes slide over the drawing. The man's already irritated expression darkens at the sight of the wolf.

'I Uhm...'

'How many times do I have to tell you that your notebook is not a drawing book and especially not for these ridiculous drawings?' Fillink snatches my notebook from the desk, tears the drawing out, and throws it back on my desk. The class is dead silent as he turns around and walks back to the board.

My blood nearly reaches boiling point, my nails have dug into the wood, and with slow in and out breaths, I try to keep the beast in its cage.

Lian's whispering grows louder, as does the whispering of the rest of the class.

'Am I getting an answer?' the man continues irritably. I know that the moment I open my mouth, the beast will spring from its cage. In silence, I stare at the torn notebook, trying to keep my breathing in balance. My eyes glow like the full moon in a clear sky.

'It's really going nowhere with you. You should be grateful if an employer is crazy enough to ever hire you because you have nothing to offer.'

A low growl escapes my lips. I want to pounce on Fillink and tear him apart until there's nothing left of the man but shreds of his gray sweater. With all my aggression, I stand up, the desk clattering to the floor, and I want to lunge at the man until a loud bang against the window interrupts me.

It snaps me out of my trance, and I look in confusion at the empty window. No sign of a rock, stick, or even an animal.

The yellow before my eyes fades away. Slowly, the realization sinks in of the immense mistake I almost made.

For a second, I look at the confused Fillink before grabbing my things from the floor and running to the door. I pull open the red door and turn one last time to the eerily silent classroom.

'Dion Vernaals,' I answer his earlier question before running into the hallway.

My paws carry me twice as fast over the narrow forest paths as they did yesterday. My heart races with aggression and frustration. My mind is a haze that I can't seem to control.

Normally, a long run helps ease the raging thoughts and aggression.

Not this time.

The endless bullying never seems to stop, nor does the feeling of loneliness it fuels. Loneliness from being the only one of your kind, from not having a single person who understands what you're talking about. From not having someone you can confide in about what you feel or what you are.

Since birth, I've been the weird child, so strange that my own parents didn't want me, and my new ones will never understand me. Of course, Liza and Tom try, but being alone in your kind means you're always alone.

Controlling my aggression is the last thing Tom or Liza could ever help me with. It's an eternally burning fire that only needs a gust of oxygen to turn into a wildfire.

The black haze of aggression and confusion wraps around me like a blanket, blocking everything from sight. It overwhelms me so much that I seem to forget I have any control, though I do.

The only thing I can feel is a primal instinct—the urge for blood, the urge to kill and hunt. The instinct that drives a wolf to survive and fight to the death.

The images that my brain registers feel like nightmares that come and go. Images you forget after a few minutes, but not the feelings. Images you wish you could forget, but that your eyes can never erase.

The metallic scent of blood, the sour stench of fear, and the animalistic smell of flesh.

Sounds of pain, growls, fear, panting, and final breaths.

The sensation of adrenaline, aggression, and exhaustion.

Images of blood, fear, and death.

When and how long it takes for my consciousness to return, I don't know. It could be minutes, or it could be hours.

The only thing I know immediately, before my vision fully returns, is that I'm crouching in the wet grass in my human form, naked and surrounded by the overwhelming scent of blood.

The more this realization sinks in and my sight clears, the more I wish both would vanish again. I wish my vision hadn't returned.

Slowly, and against my will, I look around. My hands start to tremble, and my breath escapes my lungs. In the horror I know too well, I slap a hand over my mouth without thinking, staring at the carnage that has unfolded just meters away.

Dozens of corpses—what were once hares, deer, boars, and other creatures—now lie in pieces, unrecognizable animals, torn apart in a circle around me. The once-green grass is coated in a thick layer of red blood, tufts of fur, flesh, and entrails, shredded beyond recognition.

In complete shock, I slowly lower my trembling hand from my mouth, and my eyes fall on my blood-covered skin. In horror, I stare at my red-stained hands, dripping with blood, my bare legs smeared with it. Only then do I notice where I'm sitting. My lower legs are submerged in a pool of blood, my skin stained red and reeking of iron.

I shoot to my feet, pushing myself up and stepping away from the spot where I've sat for an unknown amount of time. My bare foot lands in the torn intestines of a deer.

I try to walk away from this gruesome place, but my feet sink into the blood-soaked ground. It's as if the earth itself is trying to hold me there, forcing me to confront the horrors I've caused.

The nausea I expected never comes, and that disgusts me more than anything else about myself.