Private Finished Running wth the Werewolves

The forest had always been a refugee for Cikňi, a place to get away from the bullying, the slums of his home, to try and relax as much as possible. It wasn't easy with his hyperalertness, which only seemed to have worsened after he became - whatever he was - a werewolf, they said, but he was no wolf.

Even in the woods, the slightest noises had him about to jump out of his skin. Still, it was less stifling than the hospital, a lot less crowded than the school, where he was still shifting at least a couple times a day from fear, flinching whenever people came near.

Cikňi hated this vulnerability. He was not shifted right now though. That was a relief. Even without the pain, being a tiny squeaking rodent was not something he really wanted. He took some deep breaths, trying to relax. The forest smelt so - werewolf!

As a light breeze brought Cikňi the other werewolf's scent, his entire body went rigid. That was - was that? Already he felt the pain of an impending shift. Trying not to fall. Had to protect himself - get away - stop that one. That familiar smell. A warning hissing snarl escaped his lips, eyes darting wildly.

The Russian accent did nothing to calm Cikňi's mounting panic. The male voice, the accent, the familiar scent, werewolf scent. Cikňi didn't know what had happened to that man, the bad man. He had been repeatedly reassured the werewolf was not able to get him here, but he'd just woken up in a hospital in another strange country, and he still dreamed nightmares, flashes, not sure he'd awoken.

Whimpering out a Romani prayer, Cikňi dropped lower to the ground as the pain of shifting fully hit. He was too aware of his vulnerability, but he couldn't stop. Five minutes seemed like eternity - he hoped the man had no silver.

Because right now he couldn't move to flee or fight, was just trying desperately to remain hidden, small in the undergrowth, hating each pained squeak that gave him away.

Luckily, the delay while the other werewolf searched gave Cikňi enough time to be mostly shifted, just a moment more and he was able to stand. He drew himself up as much as possible, a full three feet of skin, scars, and fluff. Hardly intimidating when he reeked of fear. But the spikes that were Cikňi's arms might be enough to give pause. Especially considering where on the man would make the easiest target.

Cikňi stared up at the werewolf. The smell and accent were fogging his mind with panic. Enough that the fact this man was not his attacker wasn't getting through. He smelt the same. Cikňi squeaked and hissed with aggressive terror, unable to make his weasel mouth form intelligible words under the stress, most of what he did manage was Romani anyway, "No no no no!"

But he wasn't running. He had to hurt this man before the man could hurt him. He took two trembling steps forward, arm spikes raised, uncoiling his magic tail. If he couldn't fight, he could at least make the man feel his fear.

When he heard the Russian swearing, the large man towering over his little weasel form, Cikňi's nerve broke. He swiped out at the other werewolf with a spike that was not close enough to even graze him, then turned and bolted.

As agile as the weasel was, he was still not overly fast. And the spikes meant he couldn't comfortably run on all fours, instead having to crouch and scamper along on two legs. He wasn't thinking much either, in a full on panic, until he found himself out of breath, up against a tree.

His tail lashed out behind him, but he wasn't directing it. It would be easy enough to avoid tripping into the glowing blue. He didn't think of using his screech either. That ability generally only worsened things anyway.

The smell, the accent still reminded Cikňi of the one who had hurt him. And he literally couldn't calm himself down. He could feel the panic chipping away at him, his heart racing. But - it wasn't the wolf that scared him. He'd never even seen the bad man's wolf form that he could remember, except when he was bitten, it was always the human form that used him.

So when he saw a wolf instead of a man, it got him to stop. Still terrified, and stinking of it as he always did, the weasel faced down the large animal, trying to breathe as deep as he could with that werewolf scent making him want to scream.

When the wolf barked, Cikňi backed farther up against the tree with a squeak, raising his arms again. Then there was something in his head. He startled at the voice, squeaking some more, too startled to try talking, and unsure if he could think back. "Hear." with a nod, was all the boy could manage, between a lot of weasel noises and indecipherable sounds. At least he'd stopped running away.