( CLOSED )

[strayed]

CHARACTERS: Cora Hale (strayed) & various.
LOCATION: The jungle around the (new) camp.
WARNINGS: Werewolves and violence!
SUMMARY: No memory means no control, means an angry werewolf roaming the jungle when the full moon(s) roll around.
NOTES: Closed for planned threads, hit me up if you want in!

[It starts early in the day. Just a restlessness, a feeling of discontent, no aim or direction. It makes her want to get up and do something, anything, but doesn't let her settle on what. It wouldn't be the first time, since arriving here. Her memories still linger somewhere out of her grasp, but she's learnt this about herself: she needs to move, to do. Idleness doesn't fit her, and so, to start, she doesn't question it.

But it grows. Like a burr under the skin, scratching and scratching. Frustration comes when the restlessness won't abate, no matter how many tents she helps construct or supplies she helps move. She snaps at a stranger, at someone just trying to work alongside her, temper turning sharp and lashing outwards. The sun climbs higher in the sky, then starts to dip back towards the treeline, and still the feeling only gets worse and worse, skin hot like a fever. They pack up tools for the day and someone asks are you okay? The shovel in her hands bends, strong metal warping so easily, and when she looks down there are gnarled, thick claws in the place of her fingernails.

I'm fine.

She goes out into the trees. It's the only way she can think to go, where she can even gather any thoughts past the surging anger. She'd wanted to hurt someone, to rip them apart. She still does. The claws on her fingers won't go away, not like they did that first night, at the crash. Is this the same? It feels like something inside her tearing its way out, but there's no sense of understanding, of knowing like there had been when she was speared through. There's only the anger, and fear of it. She doesn't want hurt anyone.

Something inhuman growls, low and dark, and she realises it's her, rolling low out of her throat. The momentum to move forward leaves her. She drops to her knees, forward in the dirt, fingers curling desperately in the soil. Something ripples, shivers through her skin. A release. A change. And there's nothing else, no way to hold on.

Her mind slips, overwhelmed by animal rage, two moons hanging heavy and bright in the dark sky above.]