[18+] A young human named Asa stumbles upon a secret: Wolfhead Trail is home to a real werewolf. Little does he know, Lyros is waiting for a mate.

Today’s story is “The Forest” by Rykar Thornpaw, a wheel-chair using liotter who loves science fiction and fantasy. He is currently outlining and drafting a trilogy of science-fantasy books set in his own world named Oros.

Read by BandanaDog, Unorthodox Spacetime Drifter.

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story is the first of two parts of “Beyond the Forest” by Ziegenbock, a goat who wields both pen and sword (though rarely at the same time). He was the winner of the 2021 Sofurry Short Story Contest, and his work has been published by Thurston Howl Publications and Fenris Publishing. You can find more of his stories on Sofurry and Furaffinity.

Observant listeners may have noticed a trend, a pattern, a not-so-inadvertant theme, among the stories we’ve presented this year. Yes, tonight’s story deals with adult subject matter for mature listeners. And yes, the same has been true of more of this year’s stories than any previous Ghost of Dog. As to what we think we mean by this, we shall say only that this year, more than any other, we at the Fireside have been made to live in fear, and it is perhaps well to remind the world that it is more afraid of us, than we are of it. Any further message than this is for you, Observant Listener, to interpret.

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“Beyond the Forest” by Ziegenbock, Part 1 of 2

It was one of my more intriguing assignments.
A clan of foxes had invited me to settle a dispute with a local wolf tribe. Now, while I will gladly support my fellow vulpine, I am a creature hunter and not a diplomat. But it was a single word in their letter which caught my attention: ‘lycanthropes’.
Of course, we are all familiar with the curse of the werewolf. An affliction which allegedly affects our lupine cousins when the full moon is high. Not all wolves, of course. And as wolves become more integrated with the modern world, animals are starting to see the lunacy of the stereotype. But, there are still outposts of isolated packs who enjoy the wild ways. Ample breeding grounds for myths and rumours to endure.
I did wonder if anything untoward was going on. Wolves are still viewed with some suspicion, seeing as how they prefer to keep to themselves, or to their own kind. So, a lupine enthralled by the hunt could have easily sparked the overactive imagination of a young fox. And while it wasn’t the most lucrative job around, the foxes had offered a respectable reward, and they were providing me with food and lodgings. Plus, it had been a while since I’d visited a fox clan. I did fancy seeing how the wild vulpines still live.
The rail station was little more than a halt. It consisted of a platform, raised half a metre above the ground, with a rudimentary waiting building to offer shelter. I had to request that the train stop there, and at first the guard had grumbled. Oh, they could slow the train, certainly (and presumably I’d have to take a flying leap). But to stop the train for just one passenger, then to build up another head of steam, would have been far too much trouble. Of course it would have. However, a polite word with the guard, and a show of gratitude for his thankless work, and the gruff-whiskered mutt did agree to stop the train. If only I’d had time to knot him. Still, no surprises that he was all smiles as I dismounted.
Another fox was waiting for me under the porch of the building. I went over to him and we embraced, twitching our whiskers together.
“You must be Senja," I ventured.
“I am. Pleased to meet you in the fur, Igor.”
In his follow-up letter, Senja had suggested that I take the mid-morning train, because it was a long hike, and we didn’t want to be ambushed in the dark. Indeed, a few times when we passed a shaded copse, I heard a rustle of leaves or a crack of branch that sounded just too heavy to be a feral forest creature. 
A few hours later, after trudging through fields, along rivers, and along barely defined forest paths, there was still no sign of our destination. Thankfully, Senja was in good spirits—he had even brought along some smoked mice. We talked at length, me about city life, he about clan life. Their existence was tough, I learned, but they were proud to be clan foxes. I asked if they thought of moving nearer the railroad, maybe to trade with the passing animals.
“Oh no, we couldn’t leave our home. We have lived on our hunting grounds for centuries. Besides, we know what happens when clans cluster around the railroad. They become feckless, hawking tat to passing travellers, or outright begging. Even if the money is better, money isn’t everything. We have our dignity. Plus, the way we have it right now, it’s the best of both worlds. The cultus ferox lives on, and if we do want to visit the outside world, it’s just about reachable.”
It was hard to fault his logic. 
After we walked a little further, I caught the first scent of wood-smoke. Senja must have noticed the twitch in my nose, because he smiled my way.
“That’s right, not much further to go now.”
The fox village was beautiful. Built away from the river, just above the floodplain, it consisted of homely, wooden houses, with thatched triangular roofs that almost reached the ground. Many houses had smoking chimneys, and fenced-off gardens of herbs and flowers in front and back. There were no paved paths: they weren’t needed. And by every threshold, there grew a vivid purple flower with a distinctive hooded shape. Clearly, the foxes were taking no chances with their wolven neighbours. I just hoped they taught their kits not to touch the wolfsbane. 
A vixen came up to Senja and embraced him, before she turned to me with a smile.
“So, this is the werewolf hunter?”
Those foxes had high hopes for me. All the same, Senja introduced me to his mate. The vixen had plenty of questions about my line of work: how long I had creature-hunted, what equipment I used, had I ever seen a dragon.
“You have?! How big was his…”
“I’m sure he had a massive hoard,” Senja interrupted. “Now, I’m certain that Igor has countless stories he could share. But he’s had a long journey and he needs to rest. So please can you tell the chief that he’s arrived? We can then go ahead with the clan meeting at sundown.”
When the vixen was gone, Senja turned to me and rolled his eyes. “Horny vixen.”
“You’re a lucky man, Senja. And you know the best thing? That dragon was a girl.”
Senja chuckled. “Anyway, we do have until sundown. Let’s head to my den and get you settled in.”
The foxes’ den was warm, a welcome shelter from the rapidly chilling autumn afternoon. Three young kits scampered up to me. I greeted them and scritched their ears before they dashed outside. Most things the foxes needed were in this main room: reed-mats for lounging and sleeping, a hearth and kitchen space, and games for the kits. They did, however, have a spare room, which they had cleared out and prepared for me. Senja showed me to this room, and left me to catch some rest. I had time for a groom and a change of attire, and I was part way through writing a journal entry when Senja knocked on my door.
“Igor, are you ready to go?”
From across the village, foxes were gathering. In the centre of the village was a roundhouse, wooden and thatched like the other buildings but noticeably larger. Smoke rose from a hole in the centre. I entered into a hall with a fire at its centre. The chatter inside dipped as I entered with Senja, and more than a dozen pairs of golden and blue fox-eyes fell upon me. I paid them no heed, simply following Senja and taking my seat on a mat, while foxes continued to arrive.
The conversation stopped entirely when two older foxes with heavily greying fur entered. They were followed by another fox, the biggest I had seen in this village, and almost as big as me. He wore a dark green cloak, and he carried a heavy wooden staff that looked to be solid oak. He stopped in front of the fire.
“Brothers, sisters, thank you for joining me tonight. This meeting comes at a precarious time for our clan. For countless seasons, the forest has been neutral ground between fox and wolf. Transgressions were not unheard of, but they were rare. In recent months, however, the wolves have taken it upon themselves to encroach. And we suspect that some force, or some curse, is compelling them on. We don’t know for certain if it is lycanthropy. However, every time the full moon draws near, the wolves become more brazen. And now, the moon waxes once more. In two nights’ time, she will be full, meaning that the affliction may once again take hold. However, this time, we have a chance of defence. On that note, I would like to welcome our guest, Igor, the renowned creature-hunter of Prague. Rest assured you will not need to give a speech. My thanks as well to Senja for offering to host him. Now, Igor, before your arrival, we proposed a meeting with the wolves. We would cross the forest, speak with them canid-to-canid, and see if a beast-hunter might persuade them to heel. What are your thoughts on such matters?”
I nodded to the chief. “It is a new tack, and therefore worth trying.”
“Excellent. Yes, my brother, I will give way.”
An older fox had raised his paw. He now stood to speak.
“My chief, I appreciate these efforts to protect our kind. Yet I fear they will not be enough. One more fox may bring a few extra tricks. But let us not lose sight of our adversaries. These bloody-mouthed hounds have not once listened to reason. The only language they understand is power. Survival of the fittest. And we all know whom they consider the ‘fittest’. They call their new affliction ‘Luna’s Gift’. And with every moon, they grow more comfortable in their new savage ways. And more carnal. You recall what they did to our sister last moon.”
He gestured to a vixen at his side, heavy with kits.
“Tell our guest what happened.”
The vixen nodded.
“I…I was walking in the hills, two or three miles hence, when a wolf pounced on me and…well…this is the result.” She cradled her belly. “What’s more, the pups will take after their father. They will be wolves. Of course I shall raise them as my own. But it’s clear what they’re doing. They’re trying to breed us out.”
The older male nodded, his expression grave.
“Wolves among foxes,” he continued. “We raise and feed their young, sacrificing our rations of food. But when they grow up, what then? Will they stay with us? Or will they cross the forest, join their own kind, or maybe even stay here and fill our vixens themselves? I tell you, they are parasites. I would put nothing past them. So I ask, what use is diplomacy? The wolves will not listen to warm words. We are past that point!”
“I agree!”
“It is futile!”
“There is no reasoning with Bror.”
Sudden silence. And then, whispers, like a collective shudder, swept across the assembled foxes. That word, ‘Bror’, sounded almost taboo to the assembled foxes. Nobody dared to admit who had uttered it. It fell to the chief to restore order.
“My clan, I understand your reservations. But with Igor on our side, we finally have a fighting chance. At the very least, it is worth negotiating once more. And if that attempt fails, I am sure Igor has other plans.”
I nodded. “I have some ideas, my Lord.”
There was general agreement, even from the dissenting minority.
“Excellent, Hunter. In the meantime, everyone, continue to stay alert. Do not let your young ones wander near the forest edge. Foxes of age, carry your wolfsbane pouch at all times.”
Diplomacy did seem a logical first step. And so, the council and I prepared. Senja agreed to accompany me, and we would seek an audience with the wolf chieftain, this ‘Bror’ they spoke of.
In the morning, we prepared two packs of supplies and water, and Senja handed me a sickle. I must have looked puzzled, because he followed up by saying: “Don’t underestimate how thick the forest gets.”
And with our supplies, we struck out into the forest. The going was heavy, and the forest was indeed thick with undergrowth, without a clear path ahead. “The forest is our defence,” Senja had explained. Suffice to say that we needed the sickles.
The forest felt darker, our route steeper and mistier the more we pressed on. The fox village had felt vulnerable—compared to Prague—but it was a haven of safety compared to this forest. Senja told me that foxes had been lost in these woods. Just that spring, a fox had snagged his paw on undergrowth and broken his ankle. While hobbling back home, he fell down a steep bank and cracked his skull on a rock, succumbing to shock and blood loss before any healer had any chance of reaching him.
We stumbled on, slashed on. Crows called overhead. All around us, the plants rustled and rustled.
Then I felt the eyes. 
Glowing, yellow in the gloom, visible for a single second before the animal skulked deeper into the bracken. It was big, black, canine. Senja felt it too. His tail bristled, and he whispered to me.
“Just keep walking. Don’t look at them, don’t acknowledge them.”
‘Them’? I could only see one. But it made sense: wolves hunt in packs. So I nodded, and I followed my fellow fox. Out of instinct, I rested my paw on my blade. The rustles moved further into the distance, away from us.
Up ahead, the trees began to thin. Through their trunks, I could see tents. But it was the scent that struck me the most. Warm, meaty, a scent familiar to any canid, but richer and wilder. The scent of wolf.
The pack village was a huddle of tents within a forest clearing. Of course, the pack lived in a more rudimentary way than the foxes: wolves were all about ‘living close to nature’. Even those who moved to the city sometimes camped in the city parks: a frightening discovery for any park ranger, especially if they were prey.
We felt like prey ourselves, wandering into the wolves’ terrain with eyes watching us: male, female, and young. Their clothing was simple, often only a cloth to cover their modesty, if they even wore clothes at all. And they were big animals, hunters in their own right, bigger and stronger than your average fox.
Senja walked as far as he dared, before he stopped. He swallowed hard, and he called to the assembled animals.
“Wolves! We have come to parley with your alpha.”
“Only to parley?”
A deep voice growled from the largest tent, followed by a hungry chuckle.
“And I was hoping you wanted another wolf-rut.”
Senja got that bristle in his tail again. Some of the wolves looked nervous, others leered in anticipation.
Then I saw why.
A muzzle appeared from the tent, broad and canid and softly snarling. A sharp-clawed paw followed, before out stepped the biggest wolf I had ever seen. He must have been a foot taller than any other wolf. He was covered in thick brindled fur, striped brown and grey, and his eyes were yellow and gleaming in the low light. 
What a big, beautiful animal.
He stalked towards us, on his hind paws, calm and confident like he owned every animal and every tree in the forest. How many of those trees had he marked with his scent?  Given how much of the forest reeked like this animal…more than a few.
“I thought I recognised your voice,” the big male lupine continued. “Senja, right? Envoy of the fox clan, bitch of the wolf clan.”
Wolves snickered around us, baring teeth. Senja squirmed and stared at the ground.
“It is such a shame that your chief no longer dares to cross the forest. But why would he? He wouldn’t last two minutes before I filled him with wolf semen. And then, well, that would be it, wouldn’t it? You foxes would belong to us wolves.”
The big, grinning animal was barely a metre from us. Well within biting range.
“Then again, I would make sure he enjoyed it. After all, you did. The way you squealed underneath me, braced your paws and impaled yourself onto my wolfcock…now that was memorable. After all, you had lain with your fellow dog-fox. I could tell.”
The wolf closed right in, that lethal muzzle just inches from Senja.
“And I was far more fulfilling than any fox in your clan.”
A grin, and a growl, and he licked Senja’s cheek. The tip of the wolf’s arousal tented his loincloth. Senja took one glance at it, and gulped.
“Just as I thought. But tell me, though, who is this stranger you bring? An offering of more tail?”
Senja composed himself and raised his muzzle. “Hardly, Bror. This is Igor, the renowned creature-hunter of Prague.”
“Igor, you say? Now, you are a different kind of fox. Taller, stronger…” he prowled to my side, his eyes on my patterned leather sword-sheath. “And you did not get that blade from the fox clan.”
“Indeed not,” I replied, before drawing my weapon part way. One or two wolves gasped. The alpha—Bror—simply scoffed.
“Brave todd. Bringing silver into our midst. Very well, I will grant you an audience. Step across my threshold.” 
Bror turned back to his tent. Senja nudged me, and in silence, we followed the big wolf, while his pack stared at us, judging us. He was a big wolf, though not a werewolf…not at that moment.
Inside Bror’s tent, we sat on deerskin rugs. A pot of liquid was boiling on a fire in the centre. Bror poured some into an earthenware vessel, and took the first drink. He passed the vessel to Senja, who also drank from it before passing it to me. The drink was fiery, with notes of herbs and garlic. 
“Now, foxes, what have you come to discuss?”
“Bror,” Senja started, “the full moon rises tomorrow night. We know how this affects your pack. The last few months, you wolves have broken the forest truce countless times. That armistice has guaranteed our peace for seasons.”
“We act only in defence, fox. You know, as well as I do, how many wounds you foxes have inflicted on my brethren, even on my own sons and daughters. You even dare to plant wolfsbane in the forest, no doubt to poison my pack. So do not speak to me of truces. You may think of yourselves as more civilised, with your cottages and your herb gardens, but we wolves are no mere savage beasts. You know first-hand how thoughtful and…intimate we can be.”
Bror locked eyes on Senja, showing a hint of fang. The light of the fire cast shadows on Bror, highlighting the grizzle of his muzzle and the power under his pelt.
Senja twitched his whiskers. “Then…maybe tell your wolves to…leave us alone?”
Bror smiled, exactly as you'd expect a wolf to smile. “Oh, you sweet, naïve, little kit. When the Moon-Lust afflicts us, you know we cannot be stopped. It is a gift, from Mother Luna to her pups. And we bear it with pride.” There was no mistaking the growl that undercut Bror’s speech, and which rumbled in his chest after that sentence. A threat, clear to all canids and those familiar with them. Try my patience too much, and I snap.
“We will no sooner give up our gift,” Bror continued, “than you foxes would surrender your russet pelts.”
“In which case,” I interjected, “wolf and fox would do well to respect the forest boundary.”
Bror’s laugh was coarse, hearty and incredulous. He was a confident beast, and no mistake. But, he had the teeth and claws and muscle-mass to back it up.
“Do not pretend to be some neutral arbiter, stranger. In any dispute, you will always side with your fellow fox.”
“I may be a fox, but as you highlight, I am an outsider to your conflict. Therefore, I am placed to bring some perspective to the situation. If that involves bolstering the weaker side, so be it, but I will not play favourites. And if either side oversteps the line,”—I looked at Bror and Senja in turn—“there will be consequences.”
“Ha. Let me guess. My pack would feel iron and silver. Very well, I acknowledge your threat, feeble though it is. However, my wolves will run free tomorrow night, as we have since Lupa suckled the Twins, and for aeons before that. And when you return to your city and your foul choking air and your open festering sewers, we will still be here, ruling this forest. I have no more to say on the matter.”
Bror stared at Senja, yellow-eyed. The fox conceded quickly and broke eye-contact—we were in the wolf’s domain, after all.
“So that was Bror,” Senja stated as we hacked our way back through the forest. “Conciliatory as ever.”
“Well, at least he knows the fox clan is guarded.”
“Only for this moon. I wish there was some way we could ward off the wolves every moon.”
“Oh, I have some ideas…”
Both of us were grateful to return to the fox village. While it was hardly Prague, it was comforting to return to some semblance of civilisation. The fox chief was disappointed, but not surprised, to hear how our encounter went with Bror. Still, he surmised, maybe the presence of a creature hunter would give his clan some safety this moon. 
A dark, thick meat broth was waiting for us, served alongside rounds of freshly baked bread. Senja and I were both ravenous, and we ate two full helpings each. After the meal, I wandered alone, a short way from the village. The sun had long descended, and the stars shone clear in the twilight sky. By my paws, the river ran its rippling, flowing course. And for the first time since leaving the city, I breathed in deep. The air was so fresh, clean, with the scent of plants and grasses and tree resin, the water of the stream with its traces of rock and salt, and in the distance, the warm, familiar scent of fox. It would have been a simple, peaceful life. 
If not for the wolves.
Senja’s family rested uneasy that night. His three kits whimpered in their dreams and woke without pattern. Through the wall, I heard Senja and his mate shushing them, comforting them. They must have known, somehow, that the moon outside had given light for dark creatures to emerge.
I agreed to take second watch. The foxes being nocturnal themselves, there was still activity around the village. However, that night, all foxes remained near the relative safety of the village. Senja had told me that most nights, one or two hunting parties would assemble. Around the full moon, though, no fox dared to venture far.
A vulpine yelp caught everyone’s ears. I and a few others immediately ran towards the cry. 
A wolf had cornered a vixen. It wasn’t Bror, but the lupine was massive compared to the fox. Oh, and this was no ordinary wolf: the broadness of his shoulders, the kink of his spine, the thick scruff of fur across his shoulders, and the snarl showing sabre-teeth. Not a full werewolf, but not far off. And with his hanging erection, there was no doubt about the dire beast’s intentions.
I stepped forward and drew my sword.
“Stand back, wolf! Or we’ll see how vulnerable you are to silver.”
I turned the blade, so the moonlight glinted off the silver inlays. Whether that did the trick, or the wolf just didn’t like sharp pointy objects, he backed away from the fox. But as he did so, he laughed a gruff chuckle, and he rolled the muscles across his back, evident even under all that fur. 
“You cannot protect these foxes forever. You will leave, but Mother Luna will rise, time and time again. And every time she does, we will hunt. This is our forest, and we will make the foxes kneel to Bror. If not willingly, then one bite at a time. Or…” He groped his sheath, sliding it over his arousal while squeezing out a long thick strand of lupine precum. “One knotting.”
The wolf dripped his copious precum to the grass, marking the vulpine hunting ground. And with that, he turned tail, and loped into the undergrowth. Two of the rescuers ran over to the seated fox, and helped her to her paws. Meanwhile, I sought an audience with the chief.
“This is dangerous.” The chief shook his head. “The wolves have never encroached so far on our territory. They have struck in the forest before, but never on the riverbank, and never this close to our village. They may be planning an attack. Hopefully your presence will ward them off…for this moon at least. If only we had more of your swords.”
“Such weaponry is not cheap. And however potent your weapon is, your paw must still be trained in its use.”
"Of course.”
“I do, however, have some silver-tipped arrows which may help your bow-hunters. As for tomorrow night, I have an idea what I must do. But I will need another audience with Bror.”



This was the first of two parts of “Story Title” by Ziegenbock, read for you by READER, with CALLSIGN. Tune in next time to find out how Igor handles the threat of Bror and his wolves.

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