The forest held its breath beneath the moon,
The village fires burned against the cold;
A lonely howl arose too soon, too soon,
A song the oldest storytellers told.
The man who walked the road was known by name,
Yet something waited underneath his skin;
A curse had turned his blood into a flame,
A beast awakened from the heart within.
The silver stars looked down upon the night,
The branches trembled in the winter air;
The hunter searched for signs of human light,
But found a creature running wild somewhere.
Was he a monster or a wounded soul,
A victim chained to magic\'s cruel design?
The wolf and man were never fully whole,
Two natures struggling in a single line.
When morning came, the fields grew still again,
The footprints faded where the shadows ran;
The world returned its face unto the sun,
And somewhere waited both the beast and man.
For every tale of fur and fang reveals
A fear of what may sleep within us all;
The werewolf walks where human darkness kneels,
And waits beyond the village and the wall.