CHAPTER 15
THERE WAS NOTHING quite like defeathering chickens under the night sky. Among distant, twinkling stars, the moon was only a sliver, taking a backseat to their bright glitter.
A crackling fire and brightly lit lanterns opposed the murkiness of the night, illuminating the surrounding area in clear detail.
Both Lenore and Fia sat outdoors, surrounded by equipment that aided in their butchering tasks.
Piles of chickens, with or without their feathers, were organized in separate crates, all planted near tables designed to process meat efficiently.
Water basins occupied one side, while the other offered a flat surface to work on.
Lenore had long since tied her silver hair up into a ponytail.
The nape of her neck appreciated the sweet touch of the cool air, while her body enjoyed the warmth of the nearby fire.
Her hands busily worked away at plucking the chicken’s plumage, keeping her eyes away from its head and scaly feet.
Patches of pale-pink skin showed through, the bird’s naked body a sight Lenore had known all her life, yet it felt foreign now as she took on stripping the plumage—a stage of death she had never witnessed before.
The initial surge of discomfort and fear was still fresh in her mind when she placed her hands against the first chicken, trembling as cold chills crawled up her arms. It didn’t help that the chickens were much different than the ones she was used to—these ones were wilder in appearance, their talons far more pronounced.
Her imagination had woven scenarios of the lifeless chicken’s eyelids suddenly opening, staring at her with its beady eyes.
But the eyes remained shut, and the scalded feathers detached as easily as dandelion seeds fluttered from a breath of air. By the fifteenth bird, Lenore’s urge to hurl faded to a faint feeling that came and went. Her fingers still hesitated near a chicken’s head.
Across from her, Fia worked away at a steady rhythm, each bird in her hands becoming featherless within minutes. From the moment Fia had instructed her until now, the pair worked in relative silence.
Lenore looked up, peeking over at Fia’s station. There was lifelong experience etched into the wrinkles of her hands, each movement she made skillfully refined. It was almost mesmerizing, observing an expert in their craft, enough for Lenore to overlook the grimmer aspects temporarily.
“Um—” Lenore hesitated.
“What is it?” Fia asked. Her eyes remained on her work below, not a moment’s pause in her motions.
“I just wanted to say that you’re excellent at what you do. And I’m thankful,” Lenore said. Amid her speaking, she pulled out a bundle of feathers. “I should be good now too, actually—in case you want to head to the party.”
“At the pace you’re working, you’ll be finished past midnight,” Fia replied.
“You’re in extra trouble if you end up with a chicken that somehow still has food in its system too.
One wrong cut and you’ll have a complete mess in your hands.
” She tossed a freshly plucked chicken to the finished pile next to her.
“I-I see...”
Arms crossed, Fia looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Still want me to leave?”
The heels of Lenore’s boots clicked back and forth against the ground. Shyly, she mumbled, “Please don’t go yet.”
An amused snort left Fia. Instead of fetching another chicken, she headed off to a different corner of the outdoor kitchen.
She squatted down and opened a cupboard.
Lenore heard glass clinking, the sounds of bottles gently hitting against one another.
Fia stood up soon after, holding an inky blue bottle that she then placed upon the counter.
She set out two cups, uncorked the bottle, and poured.
Taking both cups in hand, she walked back toward Lenore.
“Here.” Fia offered one cup to her. Upon closer inspection, Lenore saw smears of blood on the outer side of the cup, transferred from Fia’s hands. Lenore paused, unsure of what to make of the drink.
As if Fia read her mind, she remarked, “You know, our bodies can wolf down raw meat like it’s no big deal. A little blood won’t hurt you. It’s not alcohol either. Drink up.”
“Ah—well, alright,” Lenore said with caution. She accepted the drink, clasping it tightly with both hands. “Thank you.” As Fia downed her cup, Lenore’s uncertainty diminished when the old woman let out a satisfied sigh.
She lifted the sturdy cup toward her face, staring down at the clear, shimmering liquid.
The surface of the drink glimmered like a moonlit lake, rippling with gleams of white.
Lenore swallowed, realizing how parched her throat felt.
Carefully, she brought the cup closer, pressing it gently to her lips.
Her lips parted ever so slightly, and she took a small sip.
If she were in her wolf form, she was beyond certain her tail would wag fast—one of the greatest treasures of the world was right here, and it was in this cup.
She lowered the drink momentarily, savoring the unfamiliar taste in her mouth.
It was refreshing, the flavor akin to a honeyed lemonade mixed with the crisp coolness of autumn’s air.
“It’s delicious,” Lenore admitted. She took another sip, far longer this time.
Then another, until she practically chugged it all down.
Her thirst barely quenched, she asked, “May I have some more, please?”
A corner of Fia’s mouth lifted. “Your eyes are wide as saucers.” She offered her hand, an outstretched palm to take back the empty cup. As Lenore handed Fia her cup, Fia said, “What you drank was moon nectar, something all werewolves love.”
“Moon nectar?” Lenore echoed her words into a question. Gingerly wiping her lips, she asked, “Is it exactly what it sounds like?”
“Mm. There’s a whole magic to collecting it, but yes, you’re drinking the essence of moonlight.
It’s not gonna make you feel as refreshed or strong as when the moon is out on display, but it’s a good treat.
” Fia stepped away and returned with a freshly poured drink and the half-empty bottle.
She leaned back against the table, arms crossed as she watched Lenore drink down the refill with sweet relish.
“Long day for you, eh?”
Lenore lowered the nearly finished cup onto the edge of the table.
“... Long is an understatement,” she replied after a moment’s pause.
The words spilled out before she could stop them.
“I never thought I’d have a day where I’d learn to turn into a…
” Her free hand gestured helplessly in the air.
“A wolf,” she murmured. “And go running around in the woods to find animals to eat, hold a dead rabbit in my mouth, and now process meat when they still have their feathers and organs intact.”
Lenore glanced at the table where her current chicken lay. A primal part of her considered the raw meat a delectable sight. Her stomach grumbled.
She bit her lip, squeezing her cup tightly before she blurted out, “And the worst part is, even when I was feeling sick from handling all these chickens, I—” she gulped. “They somehow look... appealing just as they are? All the meat I’ve seen so far is making me hungry all the time.”
Fia cracked up, the crow’s feet by her eyes accentuated when she squinted in laughter. “Sounds like a regular slow day to me!”
Lenore looked up at her. Mulling over Fia’s words, she let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. You did come into the butcher’s with a bear over your shoulders.”
Fia’s laughter fell to a few chuckles. A lopsided grin lingered on her face when she said, “You’ll get used to it. All of this. Even if you aren’t a naturally born werewolf, you still received all the instincts of one.”
Lenore nodded. It was comfortable talking to Fia, more so than she had initially thought. In a soft voice, she asked something that had been lingering in the back of her mind for so long. “Is there anyone here like me?”
“No. You’re a rare case nowadays.” Fia answered. “It’s a myth that every werewolf can turn somebody into one.”
The forest hushed around them, the silence weighted with apprehension.
Then, in a solemn voice, Fia said, “You’ve been turned by a Lucyn.” She took the bottle off the table’s surface, taking a long swig from it. Her gaze turned upwards to the dark abyss above, bottle lowered as she murmured, “They’re the ones that have chosen to worship the moon deity.”
Lenore’s head jerked up, eyes wide as her blood ran cold. “Worship? The moon?”
Fia glanced at her, her lips pursed together.
“Werewolves are meant to work in balance with the moon. To use the light of the Moon’s Sovereign’s power to thrive in the night.
” She swirled the last remaining liquid in the glass bottle, her eyes watching the whirlpool that was produced.
“But not long after, some werewolves hungered for more. They believed that the blessings given were only a fragment of what they could receive. So they turned to the moon, giving their hunted offerings to the cold rock above.” Fia’s eyebrows lowered, her expression growing more solemn with each passing word.
“Of course, it attracted something—someone. A creature—a demon, who knew how to harness the moon’s power. ”
When Fia paused in her words, there was nothing but the sound of crackling fire, sputtering and hissing as the glowing flames flickered their light across the women’s faces. Lenore waited with bated breath.
“It gave great powers to those werewolves,” Fia continued.
“They got a boost to their strength. Ravens attracted to the corrupted magic within them would follow their bidding. The frost of the cold moonlit nights imbued itself within their claws. Whether it be a bite or a scratch, they could transform anyone into a werewolf.”
“A frost to their claws...” Lenore’s eyes darted to her right sleeve. But instead of her arm, a chill crawled up her spine. “They can do all of that?”