They were headed for the south pasture. Turning hairy faces to each other, they rode horses alongside the herd.
Eyes searching, one pointed a claw. “He’s over there, my boy. I can smell him. See that movement. At the edge of the trees.”
“He’s left?” A concerned look.
“Didn’t come back from the last prowl.”
“Like so many of ‘em.”
They both looked down. They remembered staying home from school when the moon turned full. They tasted fear at the thought of werewolf hunters.
“Wolf packs, they’re more accepting.”
“Probably. But who’s going to take over when we’re gone?”
“Dunno.”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 