Moonlit vow

9.People who cannot transform

The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the cracks of the cave, while a thin mist lingered among the trees. The air carried a damp freshness.

Iris rubbed her eyes and sat up from the pile of furs. She saw Leiand standing at the entrance of the cave, arms crossed, his calm gaze fixed on the forest beyond.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, pulling the fur around her shoulders as she walked over to him.

Leiand’s nostrils flared slightly, and a deep frown appeared on his face. “The leftover game from last night is gone,” he said.

Iris followed his gaze and saw that the remains of the prey from the night before had been reduced to scattered bones and fur outside the cave. On the ground, there were messy footprints leading into the forest.

“A thief?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

“Yeah, but it’s not anything strong. The scent is weak,” Leiand said with a cold snort, displeasure evident in his tone. He turned to face her, his voice low and resolute. “Stay in the cave. I’ll go catch them.”

“Wait, I’ll come too,” Iris said, grabbing his arm, her eyes full of determination. She knew he didn’t need her help, but she couldn’t just sit idly by.

Leiand glanced at her, a trace of helplessness flashing in his eyes before he finally nodded. “Stay close to me, and don’t wander off.”

They followed the footprints through the underbrush, pushing past thick shrubs until they came to a dense patch of grass.

There, crouched in the foliage, was the thief—a skinny boy, barely in his teens. He was wrapped in tattered animal hides, his face smeared with dirt. He was hunched over, tearing into the leftover meat with both hands, devouring it ravenously.

“It was you who stole it, Ewan?” Leiand’s voice boomed with anger, deep and commanding, carrying a natural authority.

The boy flinched, his head snapping up. The half-cooked meat in his hands fell to the ground. His eyes, wide with fear, darted toward them. Though trembling, he stood protectively over the scraps of food like a cornered animal.

Iris’s heart softened at the sight. She stepped forward, placing herself between Leiand and the boy. “Don’t scare him,” she said gently.

Leiand’s brow furrowed, but he held back. Fixing his cold gaze on Ewan, he asked in a slightly softer tone, “Why did you steal?”

Ewan bit his lip, his head hanging low, refusing to answer. A hint of grievance and unease flickered in his eyes. After a long pause, he finally mumbled, his voice quivering, “I was hungry… I haven’t eaten in a long time.”

Iris’s heart sank. She glanced at the mess of meat on the ground and then looked back at Leiand. “He was just too hungry,” she said softly.

Leiand snorted. “Hunger doesn’t justify stealing. The people of the tribe live off the game they hunt. Every animal matters.”

Iris knew he wasn’t wrong, but she couldn’t suppress the pity she felt for the frail figure before her.

“You can finish eating this time, but don’t steal again. If you need help, come find us,” Iris said with a gentle smile. She took a few wild fruits from her pouch and handed them to Ewan.

Leiand fell silent for a moment before letting out a sigh. “You’re always too soft-hearted,” he muttered.

Ewan froze, staring at Iris, a mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out, took the fruit, and muttered a quiet “thank you” before turning and darting into the forest. His small figure quickly disappeared into the mist.

Watching Ewan vanish into the woods, Leiand spoke in a low voice. “You saved him, but don’t expect everyone to appreciate your kindness.”

Iris smiled softly and turned to look at him. “Maybe not. But I can’t just stand by and do nothing.” Her voice was gentle yet firm.

Leiand was quiet for a moment. Then, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he reached out and ruffled her hair.

Time passed swiftly. Before long, the heat waves of summer gave way to the cool breezes of autumn. The forest floor was blanketed with layers of colorful fallen leaves that rustled softly underfoot.

Iris spent her days busily wandering through the forest, always carrying a small basket woven from vines. The basket brimmed with fruits and medicinal herbs she had gathered. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the tree canopy, casting warm, gauzy beams on her as she worked. As she bent down to gather plants, the sounds of birdsong and rustling wind constantly surrounded her, filling her heart with a sense of peace and fulfillment.

Meanwhile, Leiand continued his daily routine of venturing deep into the forest to hunt. With his sharp instincts and swift movements, his wolf-like nature made him perfectly suited to navigating the wilderness. Every time he returned, he brought back an abundance of prey, earning him the admiration of the tribe as their most esteemed warrior.

Lately, Iris had noticed a familiar figure while walking through the village—it was Ewan, the boy who had once stolen their food. He often kept his head down, lingering alone in the corners. His frail figure stood out, and whenever other tribesmen passed him, they either ignored him or cast him disdainful glances. Some even muttered cruel remarks under their breath, such as, “Can’t even transform—what’s the point of keeping someone like that in the tribe?”

Ewan endured the ridicule in silence, never attempting to defend himself. He tried joining the other werewolves on hunting trips, but his lack of speed and strength made him unsuccessful every time. In the end, he always returned empty-handed. Gradually, he became completely ostracized by the others.

One evening, Iris sat by the fire, her gaze drifting toward Leiand. He was not far away, carefully sharpening a bone knife he was making for her. His expression was as focused and stoic as ever.

After a moment’s hesitation, Iris spoke up. “I’ve been wondering… is transforming really that important to your kind?”

Leiand paused slightly, lifting his head to look at her. Setting the knife aside, he leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, as if carefully considering how to answer.

“Transformation isn’t just a skill—it’s a symbol,” he said slowly. “For the wolf tribe, the ability to transform directly determines a wolf’s status. Those who can’t transform are seen as inferior, sometimes even worthless. Every wolf lives in their beast form until they’re eighteen. On the day they come of age, they undergo the moonlight ceremony, transform into human form, and enter a new stage of life.”

“What about the women?” Iris asked, puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of them transform or hunt—they seem to stay in human form all the time.”

Leiand raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. “The women of the wolf tribe are born in human form. It’s a unique trait of our bloodline and serves as a symbol of continuity. Women are seen as a bridge between the tribe and nature. They possess heightened sensitivity and a stronger connection to the earth, but they lack the claws and fangs needed for hunting. That’s why they usually focus on gathering instead.”

Listening to Leiand, Iris began to understand. Ewan must be someone who couldn’t transform into his wolf form. Unfortunately, because he was male, this made him the target of isolation and scorn.

As she thought about everything, an uncomfortable feeling welled up in her heart. She lowered her gaze to her hands, and suddenly, an idea struck her. If Ewan couldn’t rely on claws and fangs to hunt like the others, then why not try a different approach? After all, even the women of the tribe could potentially learn to hunt. Having an abundant food supply was vital for the survival of the tribe.