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Nights used to be full of life, even when the pack settled in to sleep the woods hummed with a soft steady rhythm of life. A bassline of constant footfall, paws thudding lightly on hard mud, in the autumn the soft bass was graced with the presents of a light crips crunch, the motion caused gentle ripples of vibrations as the warrior wolves paced the weaving lanes of our home, occasionally joined by a quite snort or puff of air. Most birds would sleep when the sun set but rustling in the canopy above owls would be feeding their young, hunting the chittering mice in the undergrowth and in the spring, they made the most absurd noises to attract each other.

Here there is no thumping of paws to be heard, no owlets squawking above my head, no deer stripping the trees of their bark. Out here the trees bend and creak a woeful song in the abusive wind, their long spindly branches rap tirelessly against thin glass windows. Our homes weren't like these human structures, we didn't have separate rooms to sleep in, there was one room where the family kept skins of pray, a large pile of deer, fox, rabbit and if you were lucky enough, even bear. We would sleep together in that room in our beast forms, the nights here in the north are extremely cold, we kept each other warm. I used to complain, I would drive my mother mental, begging to sleep in a room of my own, pleading that it wasn't fair my older brother could have a separate room with his mated. But as the wind whistled through the cracks in the walls, carrying the dampness of rain and bitter chill of the morning frost I wince, pulling the feather quilt over my head trying to warm the frozen tips of my ears. The small quilt left my bare feet exposed and I let out a whimper, a small sob that springs unwanted tears to my eyes. I used to complain, even beg, but now I would give anything to curl up in the safe warm ball.

The dawn light is dampened by angry grey clouds still swirling in the sky, the rain is no longer falling as did last night, but still a mild spray falls from the heavens, keeping the world soaked in wet misery. With a sigh I heave myself from the bed, yet another sleepless night clings to the corners of my mind, leaving my thoughts foggy and movements sluggish.

Coffee. What a magnificent bitter bitch of a creation! We didn't have this in my world, I had found jars and jars of the stuff, powdered, chunky, and in an assortment if flavours that sounded completely foreign to me. But what a buzz! I gripped the handle of an old generator left here by the previous owners of the cottage, I had to read a manual to even know what this big metal monstrosity was, we weren't taught much about electricity in our classes it was akin to magic to us. After several arm aching turns, I booted the thing to life and set an old kettle on the stove top, boiling the water. Coffee, such a strange word, it rolls smoothly off the tongue, in my ignorance the first experience I had with the stuff was not a pleasant one. Dipping my hand into a jar like a starved kid in a sweet shop I shoved a fist full of the strange granules into my mouth and chewed. Fucking. Disgusting! After reading the back and mixing it with water, it still doesn't taste great, bitter, and sharp, it tastes like what id imagine liquifying the black asphalt streets would taste like. But the bold of energy, the tang of life that erupts from this tar like hot juice is delightful. I take a sip and feel the bone deep weariness melt from my bones, hot steam warms my frozen face and hands, hot liquid filling up my stomach heating me from within and I am ready to start this nasty ass day!

I swing the cottage door open with the energy of a hyperactive puppy, my backpack secured firmly to my torso, a fresh change of musty clothing and a desire, a desire for something sweet. Humans are monsters, there's no doubt about that, they are cruel and ruthless, never content unless they are destroying something and honestly just all round weird. But to their credit they got somethings right, the heart racing elixir of coffee and the sweet, sweet taste of chocolate. Like heaven in a wrapper, and my first taste of sugar, sooo damn good I feel my mouth water at the mere thought of a gooey caramel treat. I trek through the small, wooded area surrounding my humble cottage before reaching the outskirts of the city, lucky for me the humans really liked their convenience shops, they are everywhere and almost all of them have chocolate!

It's funny, I read a pamphlet once, it was crumpled torn and smelt old, I haven't seen one like it since so I assume it must have been old. It told people that to stay safe they could poison my kind, werewolves, with chocolate. It's funny how much they tried to treat us like their beloved household dogs, poison us with chocolate, spray us with water, use a dog whistle. That one is my favourite, it was hilarious to begin with, watching them resort to these useless tactics. Until it wasn't.

I reach the outskirts of the city, old crumbling houses, overgrown back gardens, and the sickening stench of decay. The morning light is beginning to break through the moody clouds, pushing them aside as slices of slight beat down, the beams look deceptively warm as they do nothing to heat up the crisp that whistles through hollow structures, light bounces off broken glass and small metallic objects. No matter how beautifully they sparkle, dancing and twinkling in the low morning light, don't touch them, I made that mistake my first venture into the concrete jungle. Following my train of thought I lift my hand to a beam of light, I have long fingers and slim hands the knuckles protruded just a little bit, permanently swollen from form changing. But it was the long pink scar that holds my attention, sparkly things are not my friend, I huff at the reminder of my own stupidity. Just because it's pretty doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Don't even get me started on roses.

I have ventured into this part of the urban landscape many times, the road ingrained so deeply into my brain I could probably sprint it blind folded, so it doesn't take me long to get to the small corner shop on the end of one of the multiple snaking streets. The building got lucky when the bombs dropped, only sustaining the damage of time rather than the destruction of man, its roof is completely intact and to my delight so are its windows, when I had first come across it the door had been locked and the shelves fully stocked. I suppose the owner was too selfish to allow his wares to be distributed amongst his own kind in their time of need. Oh well, more for me.

I swing open the heavy yellow, wooden door and strut inside, this has been my personal oasis for the past five years, I scour and survey the shelves for the hundredth time taking stick of the colourful tins, packages of goods, boxes of stuff I have still yet to figure out what on earth it is. And there, in all its delicious glory, the sweet aisle. I have been carful, I never take too much from this shop, pacing myself, taking only when necessary. But my stomach gurgled with urge, and I pluck a deep purple package of small chocolate disks from the shelves and rip greedily into the noisy packaging. So, fucking perfect!

I am reaching my hand into the cavern of goodness once again, mouth bursting with a creaming flavour I can only truly describe as 'love' when a loud crash rips me from my activity. I freeze, muscles tense, my heart jack hammers in my chest. Years, it has been silent for years. Another crash resounds through the still air, the wind has hushed, I along with the world holds its breath, slowly I am able to move from my solidified state and place the packet down with a quiet crackle.

Footsteps, I hear footsteps approaching me from the street just outside, fast but light, they hit the floor with a soft fleshy slap. The person is, barefoot? Confused I feel my ears twitching and straining to hear clearer, to pick up on any clue of who or, what, this creature is. Light, but undoubtedly getting closer, I crouch behind the aisle out of sight of the large glaring window. The building blocks my ability to smell the approaching creature, coming closer and closer, fear vibrates in a shocking rhythm through my body, eyes blown wide desperately trying to catch a glimpse a clue any information. Hope swells inside of me, but it's squashed by the fear, my gut feels heavy, nauseous I double over clutching my stomach. Oh God what if they're hunters?

Do they know I'm here; will they kill me?! Question after bleak question is echoing inside of my head, the fear growing like a wild beast inside of me, sweat coating my back, heart ready to explode, a scream bubbles from the depths of my stomach, threatening to spill, to expose me when the heavy yellow, wooden door swings open for the second time today.