I survey the one room one last time making sure everything's in order. The fireplace is out, and still holding the feeble remains of the tiny fire that gets lit only when the night is harsh and the hunting is bad. The single chair is tucked under the rickety table, as it is every evening when I leave. The crumbs that just got brushed off are on the floor, and I sweep them into a corner with my foot. Every time I return they're gone, and I know that's because of the mice. I've never seen them, but I know it's mice. Every morning I come back and I can smell them all over where the crumbs were. It's alright though, I don't mind sharing.

I step outside and close the door behind me. No lock. There's nothing inside to take, and anyone who comes around usually makes haste getting away when I return. A shambling circuit around the cabin reveals nothing new yet. Everything is as it always is about this time of night. The sun is just under the horizon and the pink hue of the spanning sky gives everything that calm that's halfway between expectant and relaxing. The trees around the small clearing tower overhead, their shade making it pleasantly cool.

I sit on my doorstep, Indian style, with my hands on the ground in the circle of my legs. I play idly with the hem of the tattered cloth pants I'm wearing with a languid smile on my face. Most people would see me and think I was absorbed in my own little world, maybe even a little disattached. Myself and a couple others would see me and know that that was only partly true. The fact of the matter is that I know what's coming, and I know that it would unsettle some people, and I know that I love it very much. The fact of the matter is that I'm waiting patiently with the pleasant confidence of a child knowing that there's candy coming but it'll taste better if I don't get anxious about it.

Then, of course, it begins.

As I finger the ankles of my pants, I notice my nails get a little bit longer. If I didn't know to look for it, I wouldn't notice it myself. To a bypasser, the only thing that just happened is that my smile just got a shade more beatific. Little by little, it happens. My nails continue, in almost imperceptible degrees, to get longer and sharper. The hair on my arms and body get a little darker and longer. I continue to smile, everything is going well.

My crossed legs grow thinner and shorter. The muscles in my back tighten and pull my shoulder blades together. My neck drops until I'm looking up, and my face grows a long, triangular snout. My teeth rearrange themselves until I've got a mild set of fangs. My smile is still there, but it doesn't show as well because the muscles in my lips have softened and grown flat, those in my cheeks are now long and tight. I feel the strange twisting as my eyes resize themselves, and I know the irises have gotten bigger and the pupils have dilated until no whites are visible. My hair fades.

I straighten my back legs and step forward, leaving a crumpled pair of pants sitting in front of a doorway. I shake myself to get used to my fur again, and pounce on an invisible rabbit in front of me to readjust to my new musculature. I beat my heavy tail on the ground and take another lap around my cabin, this one much more quickly, running with all four of my legs.

The tall, wiry young man in a frayed pair of cotton pants has left the cabin. Instead, a middling-sized grey wolf with strong limbs and lazy movements guards it. I have become. My the scars are still there. The three on my arm are most noticeable but the ones on my chest are there too, bare streaks of skin buried amid my soft undercoat. They aren't visible now unless I expose my belly to someone though, and that's not done very often at all.

My new sense of smell informs me that I was essentially right with my human surveyance of my house. Nobody has been nearby. A buck has crossed my clearing, but he's long gone. The scent of a mouse leads to a small hollow under the cabin, but that's not news either. I'm sure soon they'll be inside gathering and eating my crumbs.

The thought of the mice and crumbs comes at exactly the same time as the smoky essence of a new fire, and I know that I may not be back here until morning. Guided by instinct, memory, and the mixed scents of soft human and warm fire, I find my way into the woods. Evening has given way to night, and it would seem that my mountain lion has come back.