McIan
Journeyman
He awoke suddenly, the full, bright, Papuan moon filling his bedroom with its ethereal, smoky, gleaming rays filtering through the open window. He sat up in bed, then turned, planting his bare feet onto the floor of his bedside. Scar was shirtless, sleeping only in a thin pair of black linen trousers. His dark, raven-black hair, unkempt and unwashed, dangled in tangled strings down the sides of his neck and back. He bowed his head, placing his hands over his face, wiping off the sweat with his fingers, letting them slide down his cheeks and onto the disheveled hairs of his goatee before letting them rest on the tops of his bent knees.
The dream.
It was horrible. Fantastic. All too real, all too familiar.
He was the wolf again, racing wildly through the jungles of the Lost Lands. Whatever he came across that was living, he shredded with fang and claw, leaving a wake of blood-swathed forest behind him, corpses mangled and torn apart. He came upon a man, a farmer or herdsman, out in an open field surrounded by his flocks. The man saw him, his eyes widening in mind-numbing terror, and he froze, his mouth agape, lungs filling with air, building the impetus necessary for a supreme cry of horror… one that never came. Crushing the hapless victim under the enormous weight of his body, the wolf stood over him, slavering, opening its mouth wide to tear open the exposed and defenseless throat…
And then he had awakened, sweating. His heart raced wildly. His breath came in gasps as he sought to control his own fear and terror.
And then he saw the blood on his hands…
The dream.
It was horrible. Fantastic. All too real, all too familiar.
He was the wolf again, racing wildly through the jungles of the Lost Lands. Whatever he came across that was living, he shredded with fang and claw, leaving a wake of blood-swathed forest behind him, corpses mangled and torn apart. He came upon a man, a farmer or herdsman, out in an open field surrounded by his flocks. The man saw him, his eyes widening in mind-numbing terror, and he froze, his mouth agape, lungs filling with air, building the impetus necessary for a supreme cry of horror… one that never came. Crushing the hapless victim under the enormous weight of his body, the wolf stood over him, slavering, opening its mouth wide to tear open the exposed and defenseless throat…
And then he had awakened, sweating. His heart raced wildly. His breath came in gasps as he sought to control his own fear and terror.
And then he saw the blood on his hands…