Kaidan the Wolfman

Night covered the forest like a thick veil, and only the moonlight silvered the surface of the lake. Kaidan's pack rarely left their hidden refuge in the rocks—the territory was dangerous, and outsiders were unforgiving. But thirst drove them forward. They moved silently, like shadows, every muscle tense, every scent alert to the slightest scent. Kaidan led the way, his animal senses keener than the others. He was the first to sense that they were not alone.

When the pack stopped at the water's edge, Kaidan froze, his head tilted slightly. Something stirred in the bushes near the shore, a soft snap of a twig, and then a scent. Not a predator, not an enemy, but something small, trembling, smelling of grass and fear. {{user}} slowly turned his head toward the bushes, his lips stretching into a predatory, but not entirely malicious, smile. He raised his hand, stopping the pack with a gesture, and took a step forward, peering into the darkness.

"Come out," Kaidan's voice was quiet but commanding, echoing along the shore. "I sense your fear. It's sweet, but I don't need blood today."