Earth and moss smell strong, mixed with sweet berries and sharp mint.

Old-young one lies. Teeth long, like mine, but sharper.

Don't trust the hand; smells wrong.

Star moves away, can't chase now.

Hand stays. Want to bite. Rip and tear! No—show teeth instead.

Must take deal.

I shot up and breathed. Reaching for my axe, I started to pull the metal from its sheath, but then my panic faded, and I looked around.

The sky looked as bright as when I entered.

I started to scratch my face to remove some grass sticking to my skin but stopped when my finger met my cheek.

What the?

I patted my face with both hands, feeling smooth skin instead of the expected scabs. Then I stopped to look at my palms, which no longer hurt and appeared in perfect condition.

I rolled up my sleeve, pulling back my hoodie to reveal normal, healthy skin without a single scratch or claw mark.

Even my leg felt fine when I flexed it.

Just how long have I been sleeping?

I stood up and brushed jerky crumbs off my chest. My food sack lay nearby, noticeably emptier than before my nap.

My previous hunger returned, so I kept snacking on the jerky. At one point, I wasn't even sure if I chewed. I must've looked savage, but no one was around to judge.

It seems I passed out after eating.

Now I felt hungry again. I picked up the sack, noticing its lighter weight.

I opened the sack, bypassed the smaller packages of smoked meat, and grabbed three thick cuts. Untying the string around the wax paper, I found the meat surprisingly juicy and fresh despite its age.

I lacked the tools to cook.

That's a problem.

A quick search in the cave led me to a box I had missed. It contained cups, plates, and cookingware atop a small pile of wood—everything I needed.

I returned to the firepit, arranged the logs, and set the largest pan on top.

Another check of the box revealed no firestarter or flint. The idea of cooking meat suddenly lost its appeal, but my growling stomach disagreed.

You just ate, you bastard!

Ignoring my grumbling stomach, I glared at the pile of wood.

I can heal now. A bit of temporary pain, and then you're done. You got this.

Raising my arm, I considered its smooth surface. Ruining my body's hard work would be a shame.

Another protest from my guts declared its lack of care.

Sighing, I breathed in and closed my eyes. I flexed my fingers and began the visual exercise.

Grow the spark, picture the flame and all the details surrounding it. Let the light push the dark away. Feel the heat between your fingers. Slowly, steadily, cup the flame and make it grow, bathe in its radiance.

It went from small to a big inferno, and I let the imagery drop. My eyes opened, and I stuck out my tongue.

Alright, let's try not to set ourselves on fire.

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The flame came to life once more, a tiny little thing. I pictured adding just a small puff of air to fan the flames and stroke it bigger. It grew, and I felt the energy in my chest stir.

No, not yet.

I dropped the image again and restarted. This time, I lessened the puff of air to a light whisper. The flames barely grew, but that was fine. I needed to learn to regulate the spell if I wanted to keep my hand in working condition.

Time meant nothing to me inside the unmoving world. Each time I opened my eyes, the sun stayed the same, and the trees stood motionless; the only thing pushing me onward kept disturbing the peace by growling.

After another dozen tries, I felt good.

Okay, this is the one. You got this!

I raised my arm and started the incantation sequence. The spark grew steadily, and I kept it controlled, my will forcing the flames to grow at the pace I demanded. It felt a lot like meditation, and I cleared my head of all thoughts, letting the hunger pangs fall away, ignored till I completed my task.

The first rune line appeared, and then more, one by one. The energy in my chest pulsed, ready to race out from the center. I let it, the magma sliding down my arm and pooling at the center of my palm.

Flames wavered, but nothing more.

I'm in control.

I finished the rune, and the flame became larger, but I filtered the energy fueling the fire. So far, my mind had complied and followed my will. The energy in my chest no longer battled me for dominance like before.

Licking my lips, I breathed. In and out. Repeat.

"Ek kalla heiðarloga," I spoke, the sound neither a whisper nor a shout, perfectly moderated in tone and volume.

The flame flared, and I opened my eyes to see bright orange fire trail up my fingers. I smiled as the flames continued to build, and the smell of cooked meat didn't enter my nostrils.

I kept my tongue still, not ready to declare the incantation a success as the fire engulfed my hand.

When it didn't flare up or explode, I relaxed my shoulders, but only a little. Slowly, I leaned closer and moved my hand to face directly at the bottom of the log stack.

Release.

The flame shot outward, and I felt heat reach my face. I winced, ready to roll away in case of debris, but the fire shot between the logs and settled inside the wood structure. I curled my fingers into a fist, and the energy inside my chest retracted its tendril.

When I leaned back, I watched the wood blaze with a steady roar, creating the perfect campfire.

I raised my hand and found it only slightly damaged; the skin at the center had black marks, while the ring around it looked red.

Holy crap! I did it!

"Yes! Haha! I did it!"

My shout pierced the silence, and I pumped my arm.

The whole hour I spent practicing felt so worth it, even if I wanted to tear into the raw meat right then and there.

I picked up the three slabs and placed them on the pan. It took a few seconds, but the meat started to sizzle and fill the air with its scent. I didn't have any salt or pepper, so I grabbed a few pieces of jerky and very aggressively rubbed it along the top, transferring over some of its salty flavour.

The meat smelled so good I found myself reaching for sizzling steaks.

My cloak pulsed, and I felt it grow heavier on my shoulders. The strange reaction from the clothing made me pause and lower my hand. After looking down at my cloak, the weight faded away, and I rubbed at the material, its silky surface nice and cool.

"Thanks. I don't think I've ever been this hungry before."

No reply.

I shrugged and cracked my neck. Hopefully, Devon could explain the whole magic cloak thing to me better. Whatever a soul cloak was, it felt like a part of me, and I wanted to know exactly what it could do.

With the meat cooking, I decided to fill the pitcher with water and wash my hands. I grabbed what I needed from the box and approached the pond. My eyes lingered on the white streaking my bangs before moving on and examining the poor state of my clothing. My hoodie sported several holes revealing my skin underneath, and the black fabric had multitudes of dried blood stains near my neck and arms.

I'll wash these after eating. Maybe Astra can help me fix this.

If anyone knew how to handle fine threads, it'd probably be her. Her control with her silver reminded me of a puppeteer controlling string.

Setting aside the sad state of my clothing, I washed the plates and jug, using the water and my fingers to scrub at the polished wood. If the lack of soap was destined to kill me, so be it.

Before leaving, I let the pitcher fill to the top with the cool water and carried everything back to camp. The salty meat smell caused another growl from my stomach, and I reached out to flip the meat over.

The steaks had a nice golden brown, and I watched the juices drip off the sides.

Screw it, it's not even blood, you're fine.

I held out for only a minute longer before I reached over and pinched the hot steaks between my fingers and slid them onto the plate.

With the last of my self-control fraying, I got another plate and used a fork to shovel over one of the thick slabs.

Setting the others to the side, I lifted it to my mouth and bit down. The salty juices filled my throat, and I groaned. There wasn't much flavour, but it tasted amazing.

I took large bites and chewed fast. The savage hunger came, and I relinquished control. I tore into the meat, juice running down my face as I used my sharpened canines to rip and tear.

The last piece of meat slid down my throat and entered my stomach. I bit at nothing and growled. My hand reached for another, but I slammed it into the dirt and forcefully calmed myself.

"This is insane. Who decided that werewolves needed to be this damn hungry," I shouted to the air.

My tongue lapped at the juice on my face, and I felt the urge to eat more claw its way back into the forefront of my mind. Biting my lip, I sighed and held against the desire.

I grumbled and leaned back, letting my head hit the cushioned ground.

The bright blue of the leaves certainly looked pretty.

"You overcooked your meat, pup," came a deep, raspy voice behind me.