Therapy Bits

The werewolf howled at the moon.

The sound rolled down the valley, shaking the leaves from the trees and startling the owls into silence. It was not the howl of a predator marking its territory, but the cry of something caught between two worlds.

Elias pressed his claws into the soil, struggling to remember the warmth of his cottage, the smell of bread cooling on the windowsill, the gentle laugh of the woman who used to wait for him at dusk. But memory slipped away under the silver pull of the moon. His heart pounded in rhythm with the forest—wild, untamed, and ancient.

Somewhere in the darkness, footsteps answered his cry. Not prey, but pursuit. The hunters had tracked him again. Torches flickered between the trees, a false constellation mirrored below the sky.

Elias’s howl died in his throat, and for a moment he was just a man again—frightened, desperate, and longing for peace. He turned toward the mountain path, knowing he could never outrun the curse, but perhaps he could outrun those who sought to end it for him.

And so the werewolf ran, chased by fire, moonlight, and the memory of everything he used to be.

RDP Tuesday! Howl!