The Fearsome Rise of the WereWolf/Pony 

Chapter 1

The last of my gin and tonic sat wetly on the bar.  I had idly spent the last ten minutes soaking up its puddles with the stack of coasters left nearby, the rough cardboard fibers wanting to sip slowly though I force fed it the whole mess.  Finishing off the last of my drink, I caught the bartender’s eye and gestured toward the stage.  He nodded, agreeing to send the drink I had ordered to the backstage area.  It was still early, but I was already growing restless. 

Slipping off the barstool to get up, my hooves found the floor ungracefully and I gripped the barstool to catch my balance.  The shiver of a neigh rose unbidden from my chest and I forced it down.  Dropping my eyes I felt my cheek burn in embarrassment as a whisper of wind greeted my skin to tell me a few heads had turned in an attempt to reconcile the sounds I’d made with the appearance of my slight frame.  Ignoring the inquiring stares burning into me, I slowly made my way toward the side door near the prominent stage, which was The Henry’s best feature, and stepped outside.

Instantly the cool air seeped into me.  My jacket was inside, but the cold felt good on my skin.  Soothing.  My breath made tiny clouds in the air and I calmed myself by watching them float across the lit sphere of the street light, beautiful and tenuous before they evaporated into the night.

The alley behind The Henry served as a loading and unloading spot for that night’s band lineup, and a small group of guys were methodically unpacking guitar cases and spools of cable from the bed of a faded red pickup truck. 

I knew the moon was still too low in the horizon to see it from behind the buildings that lined the alley, but its presence was everywhere, filling in the spaces which the lights of the city usually left dim.  An unseen energy was building in me like a wave, matching the moon’s slow waxing.  I smiled to myself and leaned back against the wall feeling my main lightly brush against the rough texture of the concrete as I quietly took in the scene.

“Hey sweetie!” came a voice from beside me and I turned to see my oldest friend Jarred grinning at me from under a pile of thick black hair, pushed up high to play on top of his head.  “I thought I’d find you out here” he said, still smiling but beginning to move around tensely, deliberately shivering his shoulders to try and warm up.

I returned his smile easily as he finally decided on leaning against the wall next to me.  “They moved you guys into second spot, just before the headliner” I told him.

“What do you mean ‘you guys’?  Scout, you’re not backing out on me are you?”

I hesitated. 

“No – you’re not” he affirmed as if I’d agreed.  Well, technically I had.

“We’re doing the song you wrote.  You should sing it instead of me.”

“Guitar.  One song.  No spotlights.”  I offered, repeating our previous agreement.

“Done” he said seriously before letting his grin slowly break across his face again.

As kids, we used to make up songs all the time.   He was always the natural performer, though, dragging me along in his excitement to sing them for whoever would listen.  I loved him for it, but I was done letting people talk me into things.

“Jarred!  Dude!  Your keys…?”, called one of his band mates from the parking lot.

“I’m glad you’re back” he said shoving his shoulder into mine and pushing off from the wall.

“I am not back” I growled, mostly to myself, as Jarred ran to the parking lot to fetch his car.  It was our turn to unload.


Later that evening I strolled through the massive park that the city somehow contained.  It was late but the solace here made me feel more awake and alive than I had felt in days.  Griffith Park was my favorite part of Los Angeles, but it had been three years since I’d been here – or been anywhere in Los Angeles at all for that matter. 

Scenting the air I knew I was alone, and I shrugged off my clothes and the rest of my human form.  As the change came, I steeled myself, watching my hands appear to flee from me.  Pain ripped through my elongating arms.  Fingers began to fuse as my hands curled into fists and hardened into hooves.  My jaw lurched forward right below my eyes while my canines were becoming long sharp fangs.  My lips curled back angrily as skin rippled over the muscles that grew and stretched around my shoulders and hips. As I caught a glint of the red from my eyes in the smooth reflective surface of my hoof I reared back and flung my arms wildly in the air, and, as the momentary panic struck me like a shockwave pulsing outward from my center, smooth black fur exploded from my skin.  Finally, when the weight of my upper body stopped fighting gravity, my hooves planted themselves solidly and I sprung into the air and took off at a gallop.

The pungent scent of eucalyptus trees and recent picnics filled my nostrils as I galloped past the planted areas of the park.  Resisting the urge to sniff out the trails and markings various dogs had left behind; I headed towards the groves of native sycamore and oak that I knew lined the canyons and streams deeper into the park. 

I cleared my senses with an exhale that fluttered my nostrils into a snort as I reached a rock outcropping that overlooked the moonlit canyons and the yellow city lights of Los Angeles.  Perched upon that rock under a massive oak tree I scented the air. 

Warm woody smells greeted me as the small leaves and acorns under my hooves crunched.  The deep rumbling purr of a nearby bobcat suddenly stopped as I approached, and was replaced by a cautious growl as it tried to figure out what I was. 

In this form I could sense so much more – the smells became like eyesight, telling me where everything was that had been hidden to me.  And something else – I could sense other creatures, even the ones too far away to see or smell. 

The sultry solo that the moon had been singing to me all night became a symphony as the presence of so much life sang to me, and with my hindquarters crouching into an awkward stance I raised my eyes to the moon, threw back my head and answered.

The moonlight shone on my fur brightly, making it appear tipped with white hairs.  A soft flutter of wings drew my eyes up to see a single moth drifting over me, circling – deceived but entranced.  The warmth of familiarity I felt here was unexpected, and it warred inside me.  Getting a grip on myself, I shoved the bittersweet feeling aside – this place held too much memory.  Tomorrow I would get the information I needed.  Then I was out of here.

Continued here: Part Two

  1. February 9, 2010 at 1:58 am

    I originally posted this on my blog, and you did leave a really encouraging comment 🙂 But thanks for thinking of it again 😀

  2. Phil
    February 7, 2010 at 10:38 pm

    Hi Tiffany, I just reread this part before I read part 2. I was sure I left a comment the first time. I love the sensual imagery and the undercurrent of suspense.
    … On to part 2!

  1. June 19, 2010 at 5:03 am
  2. May 22, 2010 at 8:41 am

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