The forest is quiet tonight. Too quiet. Even the crickets have gone silent—like they know something I don’t. I can feel the weight of the moon pulling at my blood, whispering promises of power… and recklessness. I won’t hunt tonight. Not because I can’t, but because I remember the last time I let the fury take over. Shattered boulders. Broken trees. And afterwards? Just emptiness.

Sometimes I wonder if the humans who betrayed me feared my claws or the loneliness that sharpened them.