“Fantastique,” Henri groaned.
He opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was that he did not have hands. Instead, large clunky paws were stretched out before him, their golden colour vibrant against the stony lake pebbles underneath.
A jabbing pain in the back of his neck told him that the werewolves had gotten him. Tragic. Now he would have to piss in a bush every full moon. Or more often, for it was broad daylight, and Henri was decidedly not human anymore.
For one brief, lovely moment, he entertained the thought that perhaps the rest of his party had at last expired. At last, Henri could be free of them. Mais non—he could smell a familiar scent on the wind. At least one of them was still alive, somewhere. And also probably in a wolf body.
He sighed. And then, with nothing else to do, he dragged himself to his feet. He looked towards the bleak, miserable expanse of a frozen lake behind him. What a sad little place. He rather liked it.
He trailed along the edge of the shore, not stupid enough to try stepping on the ice.
the staff team luvs u