16 The Werewolf's Fate
(Finn's pov)
When I was little, I always felt like a piece of luggage being tossed around.
Werewolves find it difficult to stay in one place for long.
Some villages feared we'd lose control and hurt people. Some towns didn't even allow werewolves to enter. So my parents always took me on constant migrations—from northern snowfields to southern hills, from ports to canyons.
I had no friends. I always played alone.
When we first moved to Thorn Town, just like before, no one wanted to play with me.
"Finn, do you like Thorn Town?" my mother asked me.
I froze, not answering immediately.
What difference does liking or not liking make? We'd leave after staying a while anyway. We never belonged anywhere. Father said a werewolf's fate is to wander. Our feet can't plant roots. We go wherever the wind blows.
But Thorn Town really is beautiful.
From the attic window, I could see a whole expanse of red tile roofs, layered and squeezed together like autumn-ripened persimmon skins. When sunlight hit them, the tiles glowed with a warm light. Cooking smoke lazily rose from chimneys, kneaded by wind into light blue gauze. From the market direction came blurred human voices—hawking, bargaining, children's laughter, donkey brays—all mixed together like a song that never ends.
Further away was Mount Thorn, green year-round. The trees on the mountain never lost all their leaves. Even in the coldest winter, the mountainside always had a layer of fuzzy greenness, like the earth wearing an old fleece blanket. The mountain peak occasionally got snow, but it melted quickly into fine streams that wound past the town, their sounds tinkling.
The wind always carried a faint plant scent. Probably the smell of pine resin from the mountain, mixed with pollen from the old oak at the town's edge, and rosemary from someone's yard. When you breathed deeply, that scent would spread from your nose all the way to your chest, making you feel at ease.
I actually really liked it here.
Better than the last town. The one before that too. Every place was actually quite nice. I just never had a way to stay.
I had tried to make friends.
Next door was a boy about my age. The first time he saw me, he stared for a long time, then grinned: "Why is your hair black? So cool."
That afternoon we caught seventeen grasshoppers and strung them together with dogtail grass. He said he'd use them to feed his chickens. I thought he was the coolest boy I'd ever met.
The next day I went to knock on his door.
The door opened a crack. It was his mother. She looked me up and down, then quickly glanced back into the house and lowered her voice: "I'm sorry, Finn. Tommy isn't feeling well today. He can't come out to play."
The door closed.
I stood at the door and heard Tommy's voice inside: "Mom, I'm not sick! Is Finn here? I want to go out!"
"Shut up! How many times have I told you not to play with that family's child! He's not normal! He bites people!"
Once I sat on a swing alone reading a book. A boy walked over and stood in front of me.
"Hey, why are your ears like a dog's?"
I instinctively touched my head. At some point, my ears had slipped out of control again, poking out from my hair—pointy and covered with a layer of short black fuzz.
"Not a dog. I'm a werewolf." I said calmly.
"Can I touch them?" he asked.
I didn't want him to touch. But if touching my ears once could get me a friend, I was willing.
I hesitated, then nodded.
His hand reached over, first lightly touching the tip of my ear. I instinctively shrank my neck.
Then he suddenly used force and viciously grabbed my ear, as if trying to tear it off my head.
Everything went black. I cried out in pain and instinctively pushed him.
He fell to the ground, crying and ran away.
"The werewolf hit me! The werewolf's going to bite me to death!"
After that, even fewer people would play with me.
Father said: "Finn, don't take it to heart. They just don't understand you enough. If they knew you, they'd like you."
They wouldn't.
It's fine. I'd be leaving soon anyway.
I turned back into werewolf form and ran around in the forest and canyon, watching sunrise and moonset, catching fish in the lake.
Being alone was also happy.
Days passed like this. When I felt bored, Ella appeared.
It was a very nice afternoon.
She carried a herb basket, crouching by the hillside digging herbs. Wind lifted the strands of hair by her ear. My heart fluttered with the ribbon at the end of her hair.
I lay in a tree watching her. I thought I was seeing a fairy from a book.
She put the herbs in her basket and smiled with satisfaction.
I don't know why, but I immediately hid.
She probably didn't see me, right? Would she be afraid of werewolves? I'd been climbing trees all day. Do I look very dirty now?
Thank the gods, she didn't see me.
I followed her the whole way, watching her collect herbs.
Is she from the town? Why haven't I seen her before? Why is she collecting so many herbs? Are her parents doctors?
What's her name? Where does she live? Would she... be willing to be my friend?
I was full of curiosity about this girl.
For a long time after, I would wait for her in the canyon, then watch her collect herbs.
Sometimes she'd study herbs for ages. Sometimes she'd worry about killing plants, holding a flowerpot and sighing quietly.
She really is a mysterious person. I'd never seen anyone who could kill all plants.
I once tried planting Thornball like her. All of hers died, but mine thrived.
This really is an impressive ability. I think few people could do it!
Finally one day, my spying on her was discovered.
The man just looked at me once and I instinctively wanted to flee.
But he beckoned to me: "Little werewolf, come here."