The Conversation With Claud

Reid

His wolf-form’s vision cast the night in shades of grey, black, and white as he ran along the sand. The waves soft whisper dimmed beneath the pant of his breath, the beat of his heart, and the pound of his footfalls. His nose was filled with the scents of the water, the sharp briny scent of seaweed, and somewhere the wet, slightly sweet smell of some creature rotting.

He loved to run along the sand, feeling the grit of it give beneath the pads of his feet, the spray of it kicking up behind him. He loved the way the moon reflected in the water, the sparkle and splash as fish leaped in pursuit of the bugs that flittered over its surface. Summers were spent on this beach, surrounded by the pack, the children playing in the shallows, the sun baking his skin until he took to the water to cool off. And almost every full moon of his adult life, he had joined the pack to run across the night-cool sand.

He could hear other wolves around him, see them in his peripheral vision, identifying