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But his fingers are suddenly nerveless and unresponsive . . . he cannot grasp . . .

The pain of his transformation grips him; he throws back his head to scream in agony, a long drawn-out scream that ends in a bestial howl.

The pain subsides.

Shaking away the tattered ruins of chainmail and fabric that constrict him, the sword belt that grasps at his now-slender flanks, the Wolfwere licks at the fast-healing wound on his forelimb and then leaps across to the next TowaShroom cap to join the pack.

He will howl and hunt, he will bite and spread his terrible venom. He will obey his Ogre master with joy and revel in the unending night as it spreads across Malkat.

He will never know that this is . . .

THE END.

Return to 1 and begin again.