The Beast in Me

I  controlled my hunger as we camped the next night, although I could no longer avoid thinking about certain realities and posing myself some difficult questions.  I fully understood what Aela had meant, and why she was enthusiastic about the life.  Now that we had been separated for a time, I was able to mitigate my bedazzlement of the graceful Huntress, but I knew that the beast in me held certain attractions regardless.  It was indeed everything she had promised – yet more.  Which was, by Stendarr, the dilemma.

I had not actually killed an innocent humanoid, but then, what defined 'innocent'?  Certainly, ere last night none that I had fed upon had heretofore sought to harm me directly, although any number of them could have, given the chance.  Was it simply, then, justification for murder – killing humans, orcs, elves, and other humanoid races – by telling myself they were deserving of death anyway, as bandits and other flotsam whom had either attacked me first or would if they had opportunity?  I told myself it was not; it is not wrong to 'clean up' bandits and other detritus, especially if one is charged by the local jarl to do just that.  It was no different from getting rid of wolves, giants, vampires, or a dragon that also threatened innocent folk.

I especially despised bandits, primarily I suppose because they, unlike wolves and other predators, chose to prey on the weak and innocent.  Even vampires were only following their nature, were they not?  As did werewolves?  The problem was that I knew it was almost inevitable that I would be unable to count on scavenging corpses forever.  Then, could I rely on finding a nest of bandits or a coven of necromancers when the hunger became too much?  Could I govern the beast in me?  What frightened me the most is that I may do harm to innocent folk or, worse, my compatriots.  I very much wanted to ask Aela about it – how she and the rest of the inner Circle restrained themselves from murdering others of the Companions whom were not werewolves, or even innocent Whiterun townsfolk.  Nonetheless, for at least two reasons I did not wish to see her again for the nonce.  One was that she would, I suspected, not be completely truthful with me, but more so I did not trust myself to be near her and not simply believe anything she wished to tell me regardless.

I stowed my effects near Lake Geir before taking beast form (the delicious pain!) and loping tirelessly along the Treva River, whence I shortly came upon Treva's Watch once more.  We had scouted it earlier and decided not to attack, as it was already near dark – but I knew, deep down, that my argument against attacking the bandits there and then in human form along with Vilja and Lydia was because I wanted the pleasure – yes, I can admit it – all to myself.

Although they had foolishly left their gates open, I attempted stealth, but was unsuccessful; nonetheless, as I tore into a lookout I learned that my speed precluded any need for stealth.  He raised the alarm, yet only two others came at me, with pathetic boasts such as, "I'll rip you apart!"  I slaughtered them all with little trouble, fed, approached the entrance to the keep proper.  The still-human measure of my mind very briefly pondered that I seemed able to do certain things as a beast – for example, open (unlocked) doors – while other 'normal' tasks, such as searching for loot and rifling bodies, simply did not even occur to me; my focus as a beast was the immediate cycle of hunt, kill, feed.  Regardless, I knew my friends and I would be back the next day, when we could ransack the place at leisure.

What I did not count on was my travel mates' reactions – or, for that matter, my own.

"Mother of the Ice!" hissed Lydia, as we rode through the entrance.

  Our mounts, halting abruptly just inside, began exhibiting a collective desire to flee the horrific scene.  I had not noted the carnage I left behind the night before; the three corpses were in almost identical positions: on their backs with their chests torn open, contents strewn about.  I made a mental note to tear the bodies apart next time, as I had the last one I caught two nights past, which should prevent any such diagnosis. 

  Vilja, a degree paler, if that were possible, gasped.  "Oh…  Oh, no.  They… look like… like they've been eaten!"  She appeared to be swallowing her bile.  "And this one – where is her head?"

  For some reason I was disturbed more by her response than anything else – for example, the fact that I was responsible for the butchery – as the blonde had not displayed any squeamishness thus far in our adventures, in spite of encountering, perhaps even inflicting, much worse.

  I shrugged off her observation.  "Probably wolves.  Let us take the horses outside anyway, and you can stay with them if you wish."

  She refused, but I should have insisted.  The interior of the fort was worse, and of course, no one would believe that 'wolves', or any other predator, could have gotten inside and done the same thing to those half-dozen-or-so bodies, one of whose face was virtually gone, as if peeled off (I vaguely recalled sitting atop someone and 'slapping' them with both clawed hands).  Thus, Vilja was not able to continue looting, and I trow that even Lydia was grateful, for once, that I had assigned her to the other Nord girl and thus had excuse to leave as well.

  I knew I was in for more disturbed looks, if not questions.