Running through the woods frantically, George cursed to himself repeatedly for leaving work so late yet again. He tore of his clothes while he was speeding ahead, too panicked to care about how he'd relocate them in the morning. Finally, to George's relief, he reached the clearing in time, thankful that Mitchell had already strung the chicken round in a circle for him earlier that day.
George bent over, resting his hands on his knees as his lungs searched for air. Muttering reassurances to himself between breaths; desperate attempts to calm down before the transformation. The last thing the wolf inside him needed was more excitement. When his body eventually stilled, George took a sigh of relief before standing up straight with his arms resting by his side. He turned around.
"AGHHHHHH!" he screamed, "Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you looking at me..."
George looked down horrified and covered himself up with his hands. On the other side of the clearing was another man, maybe slightly younger than him, equally naked and looking straight at him.
"Sorry, man," the stranger began, "I didn't mean to frighten you! It's a nice spot you've got here. Very back to nature. It's ideal."
"Excuse me! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?" George shrieked, unable to hold back his discomfort with the situation.
"The same reason you are," he coolly replied.
A stony silence ensued as George shuffled his feet nervously. His last meeting with another werewolf hadn't ended so well. The stranger emphasised with his shyness and slowly made his way over to him.
"Here," he said as he offered his hand, George took it, "I'm Oz. You don't have to worry about fighting for turf or anything. I'm on my travels through Europe so I just need a place to change for tonight. That ok?"
George was about to answer when pain racked through both their bodies, as their spines began to crack and their organs started to shift.
"I guess it'll have to be," George whimpered, soon followed a sharp scream as he fell on all fours onto the ground. Oz was soon on his knees, noticeably biting his lip against the pain, only slight noises of hurt coming from him.
A few torturous moments later, the sounds coming from Oz were a lot louder, a lot more animalistic. A predatory grunting noise becoming exceedingly more aggressive. George dared to crane his now yellow-eyed gaze to look at him with bemusement.
"What the hell is that?"
Oz tried to settle himself, shaking his body, trying to calm the excitement within it. It soon became obvious though that it was futile, so he answered George's question.
"I think my wolf has a crush on your wolf."
George's yelp of surprise was muffled into silence as his lungs shifted, utterly paralyzing him with pain. The grunting became louder as both of them transformed; spines bubbling, legs stretching and hair ripping through skin. Humanity was swiftly slipping away, until all that was left was primal need.
The two wolves glared at each other, daring to make the first move. Oz's wolf pounced on George, blood pounding through his veins. The larger wolf struggled free and ran around the clearing in a clear game of cat and mouse. They chased each other merrily into the night.