Zorba came out of the thicket and stood to catch her breath. The first winter snow was slowly covering the forest floor, and her paw prints. Her soft silver silken fur shielded her from the early cold, not that she needed any shielding; winter was her season.
She turned and looked towards the path she had run on. She was sure she had lost the hunter. She felt victorious. Nevertheless, she wanted to be a little careful. She looked ahead and marched on with graceful steps, her ears twitching at every little sound. She leaped on a rock and went farther into the forest, the silence of the winter twilight enveloping her as she slid in to merge with the trees. She lay down under a tree to rest. She had to wait for a few more hours for magic to happen. And happen it did!
A few hours late into the night, she opened her beautiful grey eyes and looked up at the sky. The clouds had shifted and the shimmering moon cast it’s light down on the jungle floor. And there it was! The distant howl. Music to her ears! She had been waiting for this very moment for many moons. The music of her people. of her soul mate. She squatted on her hind legs, looked up at the moon, as though for inspiration and let out a long melodious “Awooooooooooo” in return to his call. She was victorious at last! She had made her mark and transformed him. The hunter had become the hunted, her soul mate for many lives to come, and in turn the Prince Werewolf of all of the Southern Woods.