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Werewolf Killers - The Folklore of ClawFoot
Hello my Children, are you sitting comfortably? Well don't be! We are not alone, we should not feel at ease; indeed, we should be uneasy for They are amongst us. You think they won't reach our little corner of the Earth, but too late my Dears, for They are already here! Not in large numbers, not yet, but They are coming and they are Legion.
The Indian wolves have always been native to Maharashtra, even before it became part of the greater sprawling chaos that is Mumbai. There were many packs in the terrain back then, before urbanisation and Man's great takeover plan. The bare two-legs always sought more than they could hold and wolves fought for their territory. Wolves have always fought, and with the encroachment of Man and his cold seas called roads where nothing grows, Man came in his multitudes. He brought with him a change to his landscape and new farming ways. He cleared the brush land and forests to make way for himself and his creations. He introduced beasts we had not seen before and those cattle themselves started to decimate our terrain under the protection of Man. He brought chemicals that poisoned our habitats and when it did not eventually reduce our food chain, Man himself started taking our prey. We had no choice but to hide in the shadows and come out at night under the glorious full moon when man slept. We tried to live harmoniously with Man, but They were too many and too greedy. We stopped waging war amongst the packs in light of this common enemy. When our numbers became so depleted we eventually united and waged war on Man. He did what no other had ever done, he scared us into a wilful submission and we slumped further back into retreat. And we waited, and we watched. Wolves are very good at biding their time. We scavanged and survived. We prayed on their cattle and their domesticated pets....and eventually the inevitable happened...we prayed on Man himself.
Little cubs always knew of our folklore. In the shining pale glow of the moon, devoid of any heat but giving us strength inside, our Elders taught of the first of the Hybrids. We call her ClawFoot but in truth she was a simple village peasant girl who had wandered too far into our territory. What she was doing there we don't know, it is of no concern to us. The truth is she was a Man cub and we knew wherever Man went, death surely followed. They chased her and quickly brought her down and she was bitten, hamstrung and unable to run. But before they could kill her Men came with the orange dancing heat sticks they call fire. So scared were they those wolves ran, but ClawFoot survived and she was a fighter. Already we believe the wolf bite had given her wolf strength, and she dragged her bleeding body through the dirt towards the voices. We saw, we watched. Man took her and cared for her and she survived, but something in her had changed.
Over the years the wolf pack that had bitten her were based in Bor, near Wardha district, went to keep an eye on her, curious at what she became. She smelled different, more canine than human to us. They reported she lived still with people, but on the outskirts of their habitat and shied away from other humans. At night she would come out into the deep woods and hobble on her two legs, drinking from the streams and marking her way. And when the full moon was out, deep in the forests, she would look up and let out an angry howl. It was chilling to hear her, for it sounded much like a sister wolf, and they understood her depth of feeling and responded with their own distant howls. Her markings were more wolf than Man, and over time other wolves lost their fear of her and spoke almost reverently of ClawFoot and her strange ways.
She was the first they say, Mother to the Hybrid line. They say she murdered her male after he had provided her with a litter of Man cubs. He took one look at the litter and tried to kill them after they were born. But ClawFoot had strength he couldn't imagine, and she fought hard to save them. It was said he became their first meal, but we do not know the truth of this. For sure all wolves love meat, but we suckle our cubs on their mother's milk. Yet Hybrids are bigger, different....very unique. They were like us those cubs, covered in dark hair and yet certainly human in appearance. We once heard them call it Lycanthropy, but Man's words were always nothing to a wolf. We knew of their lies and deceit from the first. The cubs of ClawFoot weren't bare like her, they didn't seek peace and solitude like her, they sought a pack. They howled from that first night like the little hunters they were, and the wolves who'd been watching were very much as inquisitive. The Hybrids were given a name by man for their little newborn pack - they called them werewolves.
The tale of First Contact spread like wildfire thought the Indian wolves. It was said that at last came out future leaders to bring us to victory against Man. ClawFoot was still more human than wolf, and she raised her cubs to walk on two legs and how to speak human. There were four of them, two male and two female. As soon as they could walk they would change into ferral little hunters and run on all fours into the shadows of the forest. As they grew older they were accepted into Man's society and "tamed", they made them look and act more human. They forced them into captivity, and for a long while they stopped running wild. They had cubs of their own and we lost sight of ClawFoot's children. But we kept a watchful eye on the mother, for she was part wolf. We never interfered with her, but she knew we were close. She didn't try to make contact herself, for in some ways she hates and feared us; but reluctantly we think she admired and understood us too. It was a respectful standoff, and that is all we ever wanted from mankind.
It was ClawFoot's grandchildren who were the First Contact. They came to visit her on occasion, even when their parents did not or could not. They smelled of wolf too, but only in the night time. Like ClawFoot, who was elderly by then, they ran with her through the woods and forests. They looked more human during the day, like her, but at night under the full moon they turned into little hunters much like their parents had once been. They sprouted hair and claws, their canines grew into formidable weapons and their howls sent chills down our spine. We knew within those Hybrids there existed something more dangerous to Man than he would ever know. They were, in the beautiful pale glow of the moon, more wolf than human and we broke our reticence. Three wolves of the Bor pack came forwards to two of the grandchildren and put their muzzles up close. They smelled wolf but a spicy undertone akin to cardamom. The Hybrids didn't run or attack, they just stayed still to watch what the wolves did. A truce was born that night, but the Hybrids weren't born to hunt with the pack, they were born to find and lead it. The curious nature of each species got the better of them, and in the end as ClawFoot joined the Great Hunting Grounds one cold Winter night, it was the joint grieving that cemented their bond. Two distinct species came outside to grieve to the stars and moon as is our custom on any wolf's passing. And in this, a pack alliance was born. Common grievances were shared and understood whilst the Hybrids were in wolf form. The wolves of Maharashtra became united, and eventually respectful of these werewolf youngsters. They knew they would grow into fine adult hunters, and eventually lead the wolf packs to regain their foothold against Man. Together there would be a fresh war, a dirty battle, and Man would suffer at the wanton need for retribution. The Hybrids were killers in the making, and in truth I'm not sure how much of that was driven by wolf hatred of Man. But the dice were cast, and Man's safe and comfortable future was at an end.
So my Children that is the story of the Hybrids who come to our aid and lead us in our fight. Man is a plague, and the werewolves hate them as much as we ourselves do. But we must pity the Hybrids, for they must live amongst Man. During the day they endure all his trappings and awful lifestyle, but only at night can they be their true selves. On nights of the full moon they are at their strongest. They may run with us other nights, but those of the full moon give them the Bloodlust. They hunt to kill, and though at other times they enjoy pack company, let no wolf run with them on a full moon. For at that time the Hybrids are ferocious killers and will callously kill all creatures. Yes They are fearful of them, but so are we during the full moon. They know of the deaths, they have found proof, and we hear tell that even in their popular culture They have a fondness for them. But truly They have not seen. As They grow in numbers the few Hybrids there are get more wary. They may help us night times and run with the pack, even govern and guide it, but we never mistake that they are the Apex Predator amongst us. They lay waste to Man but do it in secret, and we must hide all evidence and keep their secret. If we are to win this war we must keep the pact with our fellow werewolves. So remember children, as you say your nightly howls, spare one for ClawFoot and her offspring, for they may well be our future. Our salvation. Now go clean your muzzles and paws and get to sleep. Sweet dream hunting.
© .Garry Saunders
The Indian wolves have always been native to Maharashtra, even before it became part of the greater sprawling chaos that is Mumbai. There were many packs in the terrain back then, before urbanisation and Man's great takeover plan. The bare two-legs always sought more than they could hold and wolves fought for their territory. Wolves have always fought, and with the encroachment of Man and his cold seas called roads where nothing grows, Man came in his multitudes. He brought with him a change to his landscape and new farming ways. He cleared the brush land and forests to make way for himself and his creations. He introduced beasts we had not seen before and those cattle themselves started to decimate our terrain under the protection of Man. He brought chemicals that poisoned our habitats and when it did not eventually reduce our food chain, Man himself started taking our prey. We had no choice but to hide in the shadows and come out at night under the glorious full moon when man slept. We tried to live harmoniously with Man, but They were too many and too greedy. We stopped waging war amongst the packs in light of this common enemy. When our numbers became so depleted we eventually united and waged war on Man. He did what no other had ever done, he scared us into a wilful submission and we slumped further back into retreat. And we waited, and we watched. Wolves are very good at biding their time. We scavanged and survived. We prayed on their cattle and their domesticated pets....and eventually the inevitable happened...we prayed on Man himself.
Little cubs always knew of our folklore. In the shining pale glow of the moon, devoid of any heat but giving us strength inside, our Elders taught of the first of the Hybrids. We call her ClawFoot but in truth she was a simple village peasant girl who had wandered too far into our territory. What she was doing there we don't know, it is of no concern to us. The truth is she was a Man cub and we knew wherever Man went, death surely followed. They chased her and quickly brought her down and she was bitten, hamstrung and unable to run. But before they could kill her Men came with the orange dancing heat sticks they call fire. So scared were they those wolves ran, but ClawFoot survived and she was a fighter. Already we believe the wolf bite had given her wolf strength, and she dragged her bleeding body through the dirt towards the voices. We saw, we watched. Man took her and cared for her and she survived, but something in her had changed.
Over the years the wolf pack that had bitten her were based in Bor, near Wardha district, went to keep an eye on her, curious at what she became. She smelled different, more canine than human to us. They reported she lived still with people, but on the outskirts of their habitat and shied away from other humans. At night she would come out into the deep woods and hobble on her two legs, drinking from the streams and marking her way. And when the full moon was out, deep in the forests, she would look up and let out an angry howl. It was chilling to hear her, for it sounded much like a sister wolf, and they understood her depth of feeling and responded with their own distant howls. Her markings were more wolf than Man, and over time other wolves lost their fear of her and spoke almost reverently of ClawFoot and her strange ways.
She was the first they say, Mother to the Hybrid line. They say she murdered her male after he had provided her with a litter of Man cubs. He took one look at the litter and tried to kill them after they were born. But ClawFoot had strength he couldn't imagine, and she fought hard to save them. It was said he became their first meal, but we do not know the truth of this. For sure all wolves love meat, but we suckle our cubs on their mother's milk. Yet Hybrids are bigger, different....very unique. They were like us those cubs, covered in dark hair and yet certainly human in appearance. We once heard them call it Lycanthropy, but Man's words were always nothing to a wolf. We knew of their lies and deceit from the first. The cubs of ClawFoot weren't bare like her, they didn't seek peace and solitude like her, they sought a pack. They howled from that first night like the little hunters they were, and the wolves who'd been watching were very much as inquisitive. The Hybrids were given a name by man for their little newborn pack - they called them werewolves.
The tale of First Contact spread like wildfire thought the Indian wolves. It was said that at last came out future leaders to bring us to victory against Man. ClawFoot was still more human than wolf, and she raised her cubs to walk on two legs and how to speak human. There were four of them, two male and two female. As soon as they could walk they would change into ferral little hunters and run on all fours into the shadows of the forest. As they grew older they were accepted into Man's society and "tamed", they made them look and act more human. They forced them into captivity, and for a long while they stopped running wild. They had cubs of their own and we lost sight of ClawFoot's children. But we kept a watchful eye on the mother, for she was part wolf. We never interfered with her, but she knew we were close. She didn't try to make contact herself, for in some ways she hates and feared us; but reluctantly we think she admired and understood us too. It was a respectful standoff, and that is all we ever wanted from mankind.
It was ClawFoot's grandchildren who were the First Contact. They came to visit her on occasion, even when their parents did not or could not. They smelled of wolf too, but only in the night time. Like ClawFoot, who was elderly by then, they ran with her through the woods and forests. They looked more human during the day, like her, but at night under the full moon they turned into little hunters much like their parents had once been. They sprouted hair and claws, their canines grew into formidable weapons and their howls sent chills down our spine. We knew within those Hybrids there existed something more dangerous to Man than he would ever know. They were, in the beautiful pale glow of the moon, more wolf than human and we broke our reticence. Three wolves of the Bor pack came forwards to two of the grandchildren and put their muzzles up close. They smelled wolf but a spicy undertone akin to cardamom. The Hybrids didn't run or attack, they just stayed still to watch what the wolves did. A truce was born that night, but the Hybrids weren't born to hunt with the pack, they were born to find and lead it. The curious nature of each species got the better of them, and in the end as ClawFoot joined the Great Hunting Grounds one cold Winter night, it was the joint grieving that cemented their bond. Two distinct species came outside to grieve to the stars and moon as is our custom on any wolf's passing. And in this, a pack alliance was born. Common grievances were shared and understood whilst the Hybrids were in wolf form. The wolves of Maharashtra became united, and eventually respectful of these werewolf youngsters. They knew they would grow into fine adult hunters, and eventually lead the wolf packs to regain their foothold against Man. Together there would be a fresh war, a dirty battle, and Man would suffer at the wanton need for retribution. The Hybrids were killers in the making, and in truth I'm not sure how much of that was driven by wolf hatred of Man. But the dice were cast, and Man's safe and comfortable future was at an end.
So my Children that is the story of the Hybrids who come to our aid and lead us in our fight. Man is a plague, and the werewolves hate them as much as we ourselves do. But we must pity the Hybrids, for they must live amongst Man. During the day they endure all his trappings and awful lifestyle, but only at night can they be their true selves. On nights of the full moon they are at their strongest. They may run with us other nights, but those of the full moon give them the Bloodlust. They hunt to kill, and though at other times they enjoy pack company, let no wolf run with them on a full moon. For at that time the Hybrids are ferocious killers and will callously kill all creatures. Yes They are fearful of them, but so are we during the full moon. They know of the deaths, they have found proof, and we hear tell that even in their popular culture They have a fondness for them. But truly They have not seen. As They grow in numbers the few Hybrids there are get more wary. They may help us night times and run with the pack, even govern and guide it, but we never mistake that they are the Apex Predator amongst us. They lay waste to Man but do it in secret, and we must hide all evidence and keep their secret. If we are to win this war we must keep the pact with our fellow werewolves. So remember children, as you say your nightly howls, spare one for ClawFoot and her offspring, for they may well be our future. Our salvation. Now go clean your muzzles and paws and get to sleep. Sweet dream hunting.
© .Garry Saunders
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