The Wolfman Chronicles: In Concordance with Duncan Headstealer
First memories of betrayal
The young man lay on his side by a fire place in his mother’s small house just outside of town. The snow was gently falling outside as it were mid winter time. He mumbled softly to himself as if he carried babe in arms. “This hateful world of nonsense and confused pain. As it were nature should be… I’d kill him… if I only could.”
Then the Wolfman falls to gentle sleep.
As resting eyes flutter on young wolf, his mother sentries the living room entrance with a look of concern and great sorrow for her boy. “How awful his thoughts must be. I should not lead him to such betrayal. But what else can I do, if not in my own best interest. Alas, mayhaps I am a poor mother. Still I must leave him here to die.” Then, Izaldrene drifts into the night’s wildness for evermore.
Morning Sun
Awakens the young man to a new day’s light, ah, but what similarity it has to the prior day’s. The wolf walks around in search of breakfast, but no mother. “My mother has left, as I have most deeply feared over the past five years.” Then the wolf drops to his swollen knees and cries in much agony and betrayal.
The next decade of time passed as quickly as a whore bitch to pleasing, yet the boy changed galore. In his taming and clustered, majestic sovereignty over the eastern European villages and speckled forest retreats of the Carpathian Mountains, the wolf savaged much plunder and thrived on heavy booty.