What We Are

There was an animal whimpering in the darkness. Claude's first instinct was to ignore it, though it gave him a big fright the first time he heard the animal's howl. It was the middle of the night, maybe the early hours of dawn? Not many animals in the woods could make such a spine-chilling sound. His parents hadn't mentioned any big, scary predators spotted around the grounds recently. Still, if Claude got into some sort of trouble, nobody would come to his aid—not until sunrise at least. It was a terrible idea for Claude to head straight towards where danger might be, and yet these worries were pushed to the back of his mind, an unfathomable force making him move. His family had always told him he was too curious for his own good. With careful steps, Claude drew closer to the source of the sound, boots sinking into the layer of snow covering the earth with a crunch. His vampire eyes helped him navigate through the darkness of the woods with ease, chest growing tighter with every step. His top priority has now shifted into finding the animal making those hurt noises which echoed throughout the large expanse of land covered with tall trees. It could just be a stray dog. (He doubted it). He stumbled onto a clearing before he realized he was approaching one. For the first time that night, Claude could see the moon and the stars lighting up the sky, tiny snowflakes falling from the heavens in a slow, continuous pace. He's startled out of his momentary appreciation of the winter season when the animal let out another tormented howl. Right there, in the middle of the clearing, laid a small, furry heap the color of ink against the bed of seemingly endless snow. The animal was hurt, and Claude's young mind could not focus on any potential threats as his tiny legs moved faster, the snow in this part of the woods coming up to his ankle. Once he got near enough, he confirmed that the animal was actually wolf, not just some big dog, and that the wolf was bleeding out. There were stains of dark red on the snow, dripping out from whatever injury this wolf had sustained. It was hard to tell given the wolf's black fur, though most of the blood seemed to be coming from its hind leg. The smell of blood wafting into Claude's nose felt like a punch. His fangs popped out, one foot stepping backwards to keep himself upright against of the sudden hunger that hit him with a force enough to make his vision blur for a few seconds. The wolf, already aware of Claude's presence amidst the pain it was in, seemed to understand what was happening. It sensed danger, but it was too weak to move away or stand on its legs to defend itself. The black wolf raised its neck to bare its teeth at Claude with a low, threatening rumble from its throat. It took a moment until some form of clarity appeared as Claude made eye-contact with the wolf. Red orbs stared back at him, and Claude marveled at them. "You're a werewolf," Claude breathed out, puff of air visible due to the cold temperature. Claude had never felt as relieved as he did at this moment. If his inexperienced self gave in and happened to drain the blood from an injured werewolf... The werewolf was openly growling now, probably spotting Claude's fangs. The werewolf struggled to get away from Claude, managing only a few feet as their lower half still tried to heal; probably a broken leg or two since it became apparent that they couldn't stand. They were vulnerable, practically tethered to the ground, bleeding out, and Claude was so hungry. How did a werewolf get here? Was this another test? Claude's throat felt dry, and his gaze kept flickering back to the werewolf's blood on the snow and its injured, bleeding leg. "I–" Claude's gloved hands closed into fists. "I need to feed," He whispered. The werewolf barked aggressively at Claude, rising to their front paws even though the movement looked like it took massive effort for them to do. Claude shook his head defiantly at the urge to drink the werewolf's blood. The smell of all that blood was making him dizzy, the sight of it mixing with the snow was hypnotizing. His usually sharp senses were going haywire because of the steady pulse coming from the werewolf. "I can't be here just yet." Claude almost tripped in his haste to turn around, telling the werewolf with a wavering voice, "I'll come back. Um... D-Don't die." With gritted teeth, Claude stomped away, just until he couldn't smell the werewolf's blood anymore. He pulled his gloves off and stuffed them inside his coat pocket, letting the cold winter air against bare skin shock his system, trying to find some semblance of control. It didn't help. He needed to find any other living animal in these woods that wasn't part-human right now. Fortunately, he managed to spot a hare that hopped into a fallen log right as it heard footsteps approaching. Claude moved so fast he barely realized he'd crashed onto his knees. His instincts guided him, arm sticking into the thinning, hollow log. Claws dug into the hare's furry back before it could get away. The hare furiously squirmed in Claude's grip, but it was smaller than an adult hare and Claude was desperate enough that he had it imprisoned in both his hands within seconds. His body responded eagerly now, claws growing longer and drawing pinpricks of blood from below the damp, brown fur. The hare's large ears twitched at that, its feet kicking out in the air at a feeble attempt to escape. Claude was breathing so hard he was trembling. He tightened his hold, brought the hare up to his awaiting mouth, and sank his fangs into the hare's neck. Claude began to drain its blood. It felt like an out of body experience—Claude couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He'd drank blood before, but that was blood handed to him in cups, not blood he'd taken from a living being. He registered faintly the sound of the hare's squeaking and the feeling of its body seizing in his grip, rapid heartbeat dying off. Claude continued until he couldn't taste any more blood. The hare was dead now. Claude released it and barely saw the way its lifeless body flopped onto the snow. Claude panted on all fours to regain his normal breathing. The ringing in his ears died down, his tunnel vision long gone as his own flying pulse finally slowed. The sounds of the woods seemed to fade away too, a witness to what Claude had just done. His first live feeding. There was hare blood dripping from his lips to his chin and to the ground. Clumsy, wasteful, uncontrolled. His parents surely would have expected a little more finesse, even if it was his first time. Claude wiped at the mess on his face, only managing to smear the blood around instead of cleaning it up. Claude rose to his feet with a new sort of strength, feeling ten times lighter regardless of his now heavy stomach. He didn't bother dusting off the snow that got on his pants, nor did he care that his fingers were freezing. Already his mind went back to the werewolf. His eyes fell to the dead hare. Claude picked it up by its ears. The black werewolf had moved even further away from the center of clearing, leaving a trail of red behind them. They looked exhausted, heaving out of their mouth with hooded eyes. Once they saw Claude coming into view, all clues of exhaustion vanished and the werewolf bared their teeth again. Claude, not actually keen to find out if the werewolf was willing to pounce on him despite their injuries, stopped with a few feet of distance and raised the dead hare like a peace-offering. He made sure the young werewolf knew what it was before tossing the carcass near their head. The werewolf stopped growling, jowls relaxing so their sharp teeth were hidden. "I drained it," Claude said. As if the werewolf wouldn't be able to tell, as if it wasn't painfully obvious. "I don't know how long you've been out here. You might be starving, so I brought it back for you." The werewolf made no move to touch the dead hare. Claude sat down on the blanket of snow beneath his feet so he was eye-level with the werewolf in an attempt to appear friendly and non-threatening. Claude probably failed at that. He could still feel the blood drying around his mouth. The werewolf didn't seem much older than Claude, and that was probably the reason why something inside him was pushing him to help and comfort them. He couldn't imagine being left in an unfamiliar environment with an injury that could kill in other circumstances. "I'm not going to hurt you. My parents brought me here to spend the night honing my abilities, and to become more in tune with my senses." Also to have his first hunting experience, but it didn't seem appropriate to bring that up. Claude looked around the clearing, staring at the looming trees casting shadows around them. "Our family owns this land, you see." Claude's brows knitted together. "I'm not exactly sure how a werewolf stumbled into these woods without alarming any of the other vampires living nearby." If this was a test, then Claude had not the slightest idea what anyone was expecting him to do. It would have been hard for others to tell that the werewolf's back hairs rose, or that their gaze suddenly shifted. Claude noticed, and immediately frowned. "I'm supposed to be left alone tonight, my parents insisted on it," He felt the need to reassure this mystery werewolf. "You'll be safe. No one's here except for the two of us." The werewolf seemed to listen to Claude's words, its stance relaxing but only slightly. The werewolf probably had no other choice anyway. With the way their body visibly slumped, it was obvious how tired they were to put up much of a fight. A penchant for manners was a habit drilled into Claude since he could talk. "My name is Claudius Fletcher Fernsby, but you can call me Claude." The werewolf's ear twitched. "I know you can't shift because your leg is injured and your wolf form is the only thing keeping you from freezing, so I hope you forgive me for not calling you by your name." The werewolf continued to stare at Claude with red, calculating eyes. "I've never met a werewolf before." Claude had no idea why he was sharing this. Oversharing was a bad habit he and his parents were working on. "Some vampires at home have told me I shouldn't come near a werewolf. Most of your kind hates us apparently." The werewolf didn't find any offense in his statement though, only huffing out a loud breath through their nose. Claude smiled a bloody smile. He'd like to think that he understood what the werewolf was trying to say. "Come to think of it, a lot of vampires I know just don't want to be friends with werewolves, so whatever they say is likely biased. I, personally, don't see what that's all about." He gestured to the werewolf's injury, the bleeding now slowing down as the wound tried to close itself. "I'm sorry if I made you panic earlier. I don't have much control around blood yet. The urge just... consumes your mind. It's hard to think. I'm fine now, promise." Claude really did feel like himself again, no longer phased by all that red on white. While the werewolf seemed to be listening to Claude, it refused to completely let its guard down. Claude understood that, he only wished that the werewolf would start eating so its body might heal a little faster. Making a point to show that he truly was no threat, Claude walked backwards to the nearest tree, setting a wider distance between them for the werewolf to feel more comfortable. He pulled on his gloves, readjusted the hood of his padded coat, and settled against a tree trunk. All while the werewolf watched. Claude felt rejuvenated from his meal, but he had been walking around the woods for hours. The exhaustion of his body actively keeping him warm and trying to be one with his senses was quickly catching up to him. "I hope you eat. Maybe you'll feel more comfortable if I just close my eyes." Claude let out a yawn, eyelids already feeling heavier. "Starving won't be good. Trust me, I know how that feels. You'll need strength to heal..." He trailed off, feeling the familiar tug of drowsiness. The cold was more bearable now since the snow has stopped falling. The sounds of the woods was like a lullaby. It wasn't too long before Claude was pulled into a slumber. Daylight broke, and Claude woke up to his father's hand shaking him. The first thought his conscious mind made was that his father would have reprimanded him for falling asleep just a mere feet away from a potential attacker. Claude had given the werewolf the perfect opportunity to do so, but the werewolf was long gone. Any trace of the werewolf's blood was covered by a fresh layer of snow. Claude's father did not bring up anything about the werewolf, so his theory about the whole encounter being an elaborate test was thrown out the window. It was as if the whole incident had not happened. It might've been completely wrong, but Claude had no desire to report the injured werewolf he met in their woods that night. He only wished he knew if the young werewolf was safe.