Its Cold Outside Part 2.

Its Cold Outside, Part 2.



I remember waking up... my skin tingling.

I don't know how many times I changed, I felt firm in my peach skin.

I lay flat on the muddy bank, trees surrounding me. The sky above me was pure blue, not a single cloud in the sky.

I sat up, my fingertips still tingling with pain from the change. The brown, thick mud clung to my skin, and every time I'd try to wipe it off it would just smear further onto my skin, concealing the bare skin it hadn't before.



I listened to the rustle of trees, and smelt the air to figure out where I was. My senses weren't as good as they where when I was a wolf, but they are still heightened.



I smelt the familiar musky scent of home, the comforting smell of safety... security.



When Beck was a human he bought a house, a place of refuge, for the still changing wolves. There we could find food, clothes and a little makeshift shower in a small tin shed at the back of the house.



I used the trees as my guide as I strode through the wood, all the scents wafting into my nose, bringing my senses alive.



Wolf,

Human...

Blood.



I still walked toward the house, using smell more than my eyes for guidance.



The smell of blood grew stronger.



My walk quickened into a jog as I neared the slope, descending down to the tin shed.

The shed had rusty brown walls and a new green-tin roof. Beck built it out of tin so it was always warm inside, although he kept a heater in there just in case it was too cold.



I entered the shed through a overly squeaky door, and found myself standing in a pool of blood.

The smell of it was so strong.







They are gone now,







There is nothing I can do.







Why are they doing this?



It was Marks Blood.



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So he changed?



Before I studied the scene any more I walked over to the three yellow-topped bins leaning against the wall, grabbed out a cloth and hurriedly wiped the mud of my body. I reached into the second bin and grabbed a pair of loose-jeans and a baggy shirt.

It would do for now.



I studied the puddle of blood more closely.



No tracks,



No nothing...



Only it's Marks blood.



I avoided the pool of blood as I strode out of the tin shed.

I walked to the left, passed a few more meters of trees until I approached the red-brick house. I studied it for a while, there was smoke coming out of the chimney.



I smelled the air, only a stale wolf-like scent.



I walked up to the deck, the pine creaking under my weight, and opened the unlocked glass door.



The smell of home flooded my nose, but the house was warm... unusually warm. Hot even.



I ran past the linoleum-floored kitchen into the living room.



A small, hunched figure lay before the fire place.

I walked up to it, the smell was stale, But I knew who it was...

Mark.



And he wasn't breathing.



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Jas, 11.