Werewolf

Lust for blood when the moon is high primitive instinct in the wolves’ cry The call of hunger to everyone near those that fall prey hide with fear. Whispers from the wind swaying the trees, moving the leaves not sure what you heard running faster trying to flee. The white moon growing brighter on each tree around the loch knowing your at the end between the water and the rocks. The scream can’t escape from the throat that once was yours. It now lies in his belly as he rests on all fours. You were warned never to go into the forest around the lake especially with the harvest moon bringing the werewolves awake.