Chapter Two:Before the Change
Morning came softly in the forest.
Light slipped through the tall trees in thin gold lines, touching leaves, bark, and earth like gentle fingers. The air smelled of damp soil, pine sap, and old smoke from the night fires. Somewhere far off, birds called to each other, their songs low and careful, as if they respected the quiet of the tribe.
Ava woke before the others.
She lay still on her sleeping mat, listening. The forest always spoke first in the morning. Roots creaked beneath the ground. Wind brushed against branches. A distant wolf huffed, then settled again.
Home.
She sat up slowly and tied her dark hair back with a strip of leather. Her night clothes were simple a loose linen shirt and soft trousers, worn thin from years of washing. She slipped on her boots and reached for the wool cloak folded beside her mat. It was brown, heavy, and smelled faintly of smoke and pine oil. Her mother had woven it before the change.
Ava paused, fingers tightening around the fabric.
Amelia's hands had been human then.
She pushed the thought away and stood.
Outside, the village was waking. Small fires were being stirred back to life. Children ran barefoot between huts, laughter sharp and bright. A pair of giant wolves lay near the central tree, their bodies stretched lazily across the ground as elders leaned against their warm sides, talking quietly.
This was how mornings always began.
This was how it had always been.
Ava adjusted the silver necklace at her throat. The crescent moon bead caught the light, the runes faint but familiar. It rested against her skin like a steady heartbeat.
This will remind you who you are.
Her grandmother's voice echoed softly in her mind.
Ava breathed out and walked toward the cooking fires.
Charlotte was already there awake.
Her twin stood with her sleeves rolled up, red hair tied back with a strip of cloth. She wore a faded yellow dress, the hem stained with dirt and ash. There was a lightness to Charlotte, even this early in the morning, like the world rested easily on her shoulders.
"You're up early," Charlotte said, smiling. "Couldn't sleep?"
Ava shrugged. "Too many thoughts."
Charlotte snorted. "That's called being eighteen."
Ava smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You look tired," Charlotte said, glancing at Ava worriedly. "Bad dreams again?"
Ava hesitated. Just for a second,then shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep."
Charlotte studied her for a second, then nodded. "You worry too much."
Maybe. But someone had to.
They worked together in easy silence,
grinding dried roots into powder, the stone warm beneath her hands.The rhythm was comforting. Predictable. Safe.
Nearby, across the clearing, Liam worked with the other hunters in training, sharpening tools, repairing snares, checking bows. He wore a dark trousers and a sleeveless tunic, muscles flexing as he worked. There was dirt on his cheek, and his blond hair was tied back with a strip of cloth.
He looked up and caught her staring.
He smiled.
Just like that, some of the tightness in her chest loosened.
Later, after the morning meal, Ava walked with Liam toward the river path. The forest opened slightly there, sunlight dancing across the water as it flowed over smooth stones.
The sound of it was calming. Endless. Steady
Liam kicked at a pebble as they walked. "The chief says we'll expand patrols next month."
Ava stiffened. "Why?"
"Just precaution," he said quickly. "Nothing to worry about."
She stopped walking.
"That's what people say when there is something to worry about."
Liam sighed and turned to face her. "You worry too much."
"I worry because I care," she said quietly.
He softened then, reaching for her hand. His fingers were warm, rough from work.
"I know," he said. "And that's why I love you."
The words settled between them, heavy and comforting all at once.
"Rumors. That's all. Sickness in the outer villages. Probably normal illness."
Ava looked down at her hands. "Normal things don't scare elders."
He didn't answer.
The river rushed on, uncaring.
"Do you ever think about it?" Ava asked quietly.
"About what?"
"The change."
Liam hesitated. "Every day."
She nodded. "Me too."
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Liam still holding her hand, warm and solid.
"No matter what happens," he said, "you won't face it alone."
She wanted to believe that more than anything.
They walked close and sat by the river on a flat stone near the edge. Ava leaned forward and dipped her fingers into the water. It was cold enough to make her gasp.
She looked down and froze.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Dark hair. Pale brown skin warmed by the sun. Sharp eyes that missed very little.
And yet, when she imagined Charlotte standing beside her, the differences were clear.
They had been born minutes apart. Charlotte first. Same parents. Same blood.
But Charlotte moved easily through the world. She laughed louder. Loved openly. Spoke without fear. Ava had always been the quieter one, watching instead of stepping forward.
Sometimes Ava wondered if the moon noticed the difference too.
"Ava?" Liam said gently.
She looked up.
"I've been having dreams," she said suddenly.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Liam straightened. "What kind of dreams?"
She hesitated. She had never told anyone this. Not even Charlotte.
"I see the Moon Mother," Ava said carefully. "She talks to me."
Liam frowned. "Dreams don't mean fate."
"I know," Ava said. "But they don't feel like dreams."
He squeezed her hand. "You're carrying too much on your own."
She didn't answer. Because he was right.
Back in the village, a small crowd had gathered near the elder's shelter. Ava felt it before she saw it tension, sharp and uncomfortable.
A young boy stood in the center, no more than ten. His mother knelt beside him, hands shaking as she held his shoulders. The boy's eyes were wide, unfocused. His breathing came too fast.
"He woke up screaming," the mother said. "Said the moon was inside his head."
Ava swallowed.
The elders spoke quietly among themselves. One of the wolves nearby stood, ears back, tail low. Fear rolled off him in waves.
"It's too early," someone whispered. "He's too young."
The chief raised his hand. "It may pass."
The boy cried out suddenly, clutching his chest. Ava flinched.
It did pass.
After a long moment, the boy sagged against his mother, exhausted but human. No fur. No claws.
Relief spread through the crowd.
But Ava couldn't shake the image.
The moon inside his head.
That night, Ava sat beside her parents near the fire. Amelia rested her massive head against Ava's shoulder, fur warm and soft. Noah lay on the other side, eyes half-closed but alert.
Ava brushed her fingers through Amelia's fur, slow and careful.
"I'm scared," Ava whispered.
Amelia rumbled softly, a sound that meant comfort. Noah nudged Ava gently with his nose.
They couldn't speak.
But they understood.
Ava leaned into them, eyes burning.
She loved them. Loved the tribe. Loved the forest that had raised her.
She didn't want to lose any of it.
Above the trees, the moon rose.
Watching.
Waiting.
And Ava, still human, still whole, held her breath unaware that these quiet days were already slipping through her fingers.