CHAPTER 9: THE HABITAT

The canteen's familiar hum faded behind Amavas as he stepped out into the waning sunlight. His shift was over, the mundane routine a stark contrast to the wildness simmering beneath his composed exterior.

Each step away from the college lightened the weight of his human guise, replaced by a primal yearning he could never fully suppress.

Following a winding path that delved deep into the forest, his senses sharpened, attuned to the symphony of nocturnal life awakening around him.

The first chirps of crickets heralded the approaching twilight, leaves rustled with the stirrings of hidden creatures, and the air thrummed with the promise of the rising full moon.He moved through the forest with a familiar ease, a sense of homecoming filling his heart.

He had returned to these woods only two weeks before, after centuries of wandering, drawn back by a pull he couldn't explain. Each step, each rustle of leaves, each scent of damp earth evoked memories long buried, reawakening a past he had tried to forget.

The path led him to a secluded clearing, where his dwelling nestled beneath the protective embrace of a giant banyan tree. The crude structure, woven from the forest itself, exuded a primal energy that resonated with his own.

Amavas busied himself with his evening routine, gathering firewood, preparing a simple meal of foraged berries and roasted nuts, and tending to the small herb garden he maintained near his dwelling.

But as darkness fell and the moon ascended in the sky, a sense of unease settled upon him. The shadows seemed to lengthen, the forest sounds taking on an ominous edge.A wave of nausea washed over him, a familiar sensation that heralded the impending transformation.

He retreated to his dwelling, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The transformation was swift and brutal, his human form twisting and contorting, fur sprouting, bones cracking, and his senses erupting in a symphony of heightened awareness.

When the moon reached its zenith, Amavas emerged from his dwelling, no longer a man but a creature of the night. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, scanned the forest, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scents of the night.

The primal urge to hunt, to run, to howl surged through him, a symphony of instinct and desire.Driven by restless energy, he loped through the moonlit forest, his paws pounding against the soft earth.

He first visited the fences of Rosewood, circling the entire college as if marking it as his territory. Standing still for a moment, he lifted his head and let out a loud, resonant howl that echoed through the night. Then, with a swift turn, he sprinted back into the depths of the forest, disappearing into the shadows.

Then he revisited the familiar haunts: the ancient trees that had witnessed his transformation countless times, the hidden streams where he had quenched his thirst, the rocky outcrops where he had howled his defiance to the moon.

The forest held memories both sweet and bitter, a tapestry of joy and sorrow that had shaped him into the creature he was today.Yet, beneath the surface of this wildness, a deep sorrow lingered.

The scars of his past, though hidden beneath fur and muscle, were never far from his consciousness. The weight of his solitude, the burden of his existence, pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the darkness that resided within him.

Exhausted from his nocturnal wanderings, Amavas returned to his dwelling around four o'clock as the first rays of dawn were just a few hours away.

His form shifted and changed once more, the beast receding, leaving behind the man, weary and burdened.

Sleep came quickly, but it was not a peaceful respite. Nightmares, a recurring torment, plagued his dreams: images of blood and moonlight, of snarling beasts and terrified screams.

He awoke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. The darkness of his dwelling seemed to press in on him, suffocating him with the weight of his past.

He needed solace, a connection to something that could anchor him to the present. He moved to a hidden niche in the wall, his eyes filled with pain from thousands of years. A moment later, he emerged with a small bundle wrapped in cloth. With trembling hands, he Carefully untied the knot and unfolded the contents: a collection of worn birch bark scrolls, their inscriptions a testament to a lost heritage.

He traced the delicate carvings, their meanings and stories etched into his very being. The scrolls spoke of a tribe deeply connected to the forest, their leader a wise and benevolent man named Chandra, and his wife, a woman with an affinity for all living things.

The narrative was a thread of sorrow, a shadow of a tragedy that had forever altered the course of his life.A flicker of pain crossed Amavas's face, a fleeting glimpse of a wound that time had not healed.

The scrolls held the truth of his past, a truth he guarded fiercely, a burden he bore alone. The events of that fateful night remained locked away, a haunting memory that resurfaced in his dreams, a reminder of the darkness that resided within him.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of warmth remained, a reminder of the love and connection he had once known. As he sat there in the silence, the forest outside seemed to offer a silent embrace.

The moonlight, filtering through the leaves, bathed him in a soft glow, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there is always a glimmer of hope.

Amavas clutched the scrolls to his chest, closed his eyes, the weight of his solitude a familiar feel, a shield against a world that could never truly understand the depths of his being.

Drawing comfort from their familiar touch, he let out a sigh and carefully rolled up the scrolls. His touch was a mix of reverence and sorrow as he placed them back in their protective wrapping, silently promising to honor the legacy of his past while embracing the solitude of his present.