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The sound of summer rain was once a pleasure, a time of relaxation. Ryndle could once sit on the eastward porch of his estate, gazing out at the rolling thunderclouds as the distant smell of brine and petrichor drifted through the wood, to where he sat. His estate had not changed. The summer breezes had not either. The rain, however, now brought an entirely different promise. The storms which brought them became more palpable, as he ran through the woods he had taken solace in. Perhaps, in time, he would do so again. For now, though, summer was no longer a time of mirth and joy. It was a time of change.

He felt the storm before he saw it, before he smelled it. He could feel it growing inside him, beginning the change anew. It had all begun three summers ago, when his father had brought a wolf, chained with a silver collar, from a sea-galley that had crashed ashore on the swells. It had always been a strange creature to him, from the first he saw it. There was a deepness to its eyes, an inhuman wisdom that pierced the soul.

It had been several weeks into the beast's time there, and it seems to grow weaker and weaker with every passing day. The strangest thing was the fit the creature threw... Always after it had just stopped raining. When first the skies would clear, the rains stop... It would grow for an instant, its bones making a pop as it stretched. Oftentimes, a strange glimmer could be seen. But the strangest of all was when the rains passed away, if only for a moment, the creature spoke in human words. The accent was foreign, with a strange lilt, but the words were familiar to him. It spoke Elrian, just as he did.

"Will you free me?" it would ask. Ryndle shook his head. Often, that was all the creature would say, perhaps excepting a curt word of apology or acceptance. Sometimes, it would even offer thanks.

"What for?" Ryndle would ask the wolf.

"Being here," he would say, "For my final days. I may be chained. The silver takes its toll, but it is good to have someone to talk to, even as I die."

"Do we not feed you amply? We give you the choice meat, from our own stock. What more do you need?"

"I need real food... I need to taste it with my own tongue again. Carrot, bean stews, shimmer-broth, and mincepeat pie."

"But," Ryndle narrowed his eyes, "Those aren't things that a wolf would eat."

"Indeed," the wolf sighed, "Indeed they are not."

The next day, rather than letting his father feed the wolf, Ryndle asked to do it himself. Surprisingly, his father patted him on the head, and agreed to let him feed his favourite new pet, as long as he was careful. So, the next day, his father gave him the meat in a wide, yet shallow bucket to give to the wolf. Ryndle pushed open the door into the beast's pen with his back. They'd not kept it locked, as the wolf was chained to a large post.

The wolf sat up as he entered, sniffing hungrily at the carnicerous offering. Ryndle lowered the bucket down to him, saying "Here you are, Beast. Eat up."

The wolf nodded, and said "Thank you. Will you join me?"

"Join you? You mean to eat? I'm sorry, wolf, but I can't eat it raw like you can. Maybe if it was salted, but... Pa likes you. He gives you the fresh kills.

The wolf sniffed at the meat, holding his nose close to it, but not eating it. The boy, noticing this, lit up, "Oh, right! I almost forgot, Beast. I brought you something else," Ryndle reached into his bag, and pulled out several freshly cut potatoes, a carrot, still bearing dirt from the garden, and a wooden contained. He unscrewed the lid to the wooden container, and steam came rolling out.

"Bean soup, and some of the vegetables you said you wanted. Whatcha think?"

The wolf looked at him for a long while, before sighing, "Thank you... You have no idea how much this means to me. Could you... bring it closer? I can't quite reach with my chain, you see."

The boy nodded, "Of course, of course. He sat the container of bean soup next to the wolf, then grabbed two handfuls of the potatoes and carrots. He knelt down, putting one handful in the bowl alongside his meat. He noticed the wolf sniffing at his other hand as he brought it closer, so he held it out.

He felt the wolf's hot breath on his hands. Suddenly, the beast lunged, sinking its long fangs into his arm. Ryndle screamed, tryi ng to jerk free. The wolf only bit down harder. The wolf's spittle spelled into the wound, hot like a branding iron, like liquid metal leaking into his veins.

Ryndle screamed, amidst the sound of echoing brontide. As the pitter of rain sounded on the roof, he slipped out of himself, out of the pain, and the sound of distant thunder.