Not All Little Girls Are Made of Sugar and Spice, Some Are Made of Fire.

A Story by dragonw218

Continuation of 7/16/10

Alix regretfully placed the leg of mutton upon the table. Damn. She thought as her nostrils flared. Another hot meal gone to waste. She reached for the sword belted at her side.

The men at the table behind her seemed oblivious to their impending danger. They continued to plot against the innocent townswoman. Alix listened to the variations in each man's distinct tone of voice. She could detect five men.

The number didn't matter so much to her as their location. Two men sat directly behind her. That left one man sat to each side while the fifth member of the group was sitting on the opposite end of the table. That particular member seemed to be completely relaxed with the notion of murder. He leaned back on the chair as he balanced on two legs discussing the vile things that he would do to the so-called witch. He suggested a particularly vulgar remark letting loose a loud guffaw that was cut short suddenly by the howl of a wolf.

Alix noticed the instant change in the room around her. Gone was the boisterous crowd and in its place was stark silence. The acrid scent of fear permeated the room as every member in the tavern froze stiffly in place. Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at the tavern's closed door.

Alix's brow furrowed as she glanced around the room. Her keen senses detected nothing in the small tavern that would cause such terror in the people around her. Before she could question her fellow patrons on their fear, the barmaid spoke.

"Werwulf." She said softly. The platter that she held shook with the vibration of her terror causing the goblet upon it to clink with its movement.

Several other patrons nodded and grunted their agreement while the rest of the room remained silent. They seemed to be listening for any further soud from behind the thick oak door.

Alix raised a brow curiously. She had heard stories about werewolves, but she had never had the privilege of meeting one. She was one of a rare breed of shapeshifters. Her kind could shift their form from human to smoke and finally to dragon. Due to the rage started from St. George and then again with King Arthur and his knights of the round table, her kind had been forced into a life of secrecy. It had been a vital move for the survival of her kind.

She had always pitied werewolves. The idea of being cursed to change into a monsterous being without will pulled at her heartstrings. She as least had a choice. She could control her transformation.

Alix wondered if this creature had plauged their town for long and why they hadn't found it yet. Surely it couldn't be too difficult to detect the person who avoided the full moon at all cost. Or did they know who it was and were too afraid to confont it? Was a witch any easier to attack than a werewolf?

To be continued . . .