Transformed Into a Hellhound

*Ryatt*

My men are doing exactly what I told them to do. Run. Run in circles around camp. Try to get the hounds to funnel between the two huge rock formations we camped between. Trap them on either side.

I try not to think about the bloodshed, not yet. There’s only a few of us left after battling with my father’s men.

Everyone is in their wolf forms except for me. I wield the sword–an ancient weapon that belonged to my mother’s family and was passed down to me. A sword from the first war, the same war that decided the fate of this land.

A hellhound in the form of a bear charges for me, chasing two of my men. The wolves bank in opposite directions as I raise my sword and swing, sending the blade across the bear's back. Its cry of agony rains down on us as sparks fly in my sword's wake.

Somewhere in the forest, a scream echoes off the trees. A female scream, one of pure, unadulterated frustration. I turn to the sound, panting, blood and sweat dripping from my brow as I narrow my eye