The Hour Before the Dawn

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.