It's a shame you don't know what you're running from...

The full moon was shining down brightly upon the marble-like surface of the lake. It seemed to almost be teasing all that wandered beneath it's light. Shadows danced upon the mountainside, the wind seemed to be mourning. Everything about this night was deceptive. The quiet calm was only really there for a moment before it was all thrown apart by the light of the moon and jumbled back together again.

There was a small house, well a shack really, and it seemed to move with the breeze itself. Inside, a small wolf lay tucked away in a corner of the highest room. If one were to describe this wolf, the word timid may come to mind, but in reality, he was nothing more than pathetic. What there was to be scared of, no one would know. This wolf was trapped in his own tumult of emotions.

With the moonrise came the implosion of his heart, and the reset of his nerves. Smells wrapped themselves around his mind, his senses wove under his skin and through his fur until the pain became only a line of fiery red invading every recess of his mind. There was no color. There was no thought. Only hurt and longing shoving themselves to the front. But there was something-someone missing.

Alone. He was alone.

As usual.

But not really usual at all.

He couldn't really think. He pushed himself to wonder at what he knew was missing. It was as if a rainbow had streaked its way across the sky, only to find itself missing a color. For the first time, there was a note that wasn't there anymore. The space had been slowly filling itself in over time, and now, nothing.

As this idea became more tangible in the mind of the wolf, its pain switched from the physical sense to that heartache. Before he could stop himself, the wolf stood on shaky legs. The moon was calling. Paw over paw, heart thumping in his chest. One step at a time. Soon the wolf was bounding though the house; looking, searching, but not finding what it needed. An itch was growing beneath the skin.

A new pain tore its way across the body of the wolf. This was different. It burned brightly across his consciousness, blotting out the emptiness. But then a pool of darkness began to spread around the wolf. The sharp smell shook the wolf out of its reverie. This was not right. None of it was right. The wolf sat back on its haunches and seemed, for an instant, to try to take stock of the situation. But then that flash of control was lost, and the claws made their presence known once more. The night raged on, and the heart of the wolf tore itself to shreds.

Would your bones have to break?

A/N: I tried going in a totally different direction with this bit. Writing the wolf was challenging. I hope this didn't come off as strange. There will be a pt 2 with the rest of the marauders, I should think.

Please review and let me know what you think! (Good, bad, whatever :)