Humanity views werewolves as though to be ferocious creatures of the night that are the homes of unsuspecting families. Eating the adults and stealing babies from cribs as a midnight snack. The only reason humans don’t go looking for werewolves is because they have this preconceived notion that they never existed in the first place. Just a mother’s tale to make the wee ones stay inside when it gets dark outside.

Humans survive on stereotypes. If a human ever meets a werewolf really, they’ll likely scratch their heads after screaming so much. Werewolves are a race born with the trait to transform into a wolf. The purer the bloodline, the more their transformation looks like a wolf. The more diluted the bloodline, the less they look like wolves, they look like the beastly figures in all the fairytales. A chaotic mix between human and werewolf traits. Long muzzles with one row of long fangs that can tear limbs and break bones, furry humanoid bodies with very long claws and wolf hind quarters for legs. The mixed breed may or may not have a wolf tail or wolf ears.

Although none of these versions of a werewolf are actually rampaging or uncivilized. Their society lives in high secrecy in these packs at every giant nation, and a lot of them are forced amongst the humans in their human guise. Only unleashing their beastly side in the wilderness. The only hiccups the werewolf packs are having constantly is being mistaken as bigfoot, yetis or even-insultingly-bears.

One of these nations is the great land of Northern Ireland, with lush greens and woodland enormous enough to shroud a few packs. Even with the rise of new technology being the year 1995, their existence is merely folklore at best. Drunken stories if anything.

Stories that a certain red-haired female with glittering yellow eyes eavesdropped on. Friends and family call her Idonea or Nea. Her simple small blue T-shirt with the logo of the Fish Trawling company she works at, ′Gregar’s Best’, barely fit her muscular form. The sleeves of her shirt clenched her broad biceps, suggesting that she needed to find a larger size soon.

That never worked. She relished the day she would find the proper size that wouldn’t make her look like a potato sack. And a potato sack she will look like, especially when her waist is small compared to the wide setting of her hips and thighs. At least pants are a lot easier to get, she is always stuck with cargo pants of the same black color since she loves to keep her style simple. With boots that are just as black as her pants to destroy the last bit of her femininity.

Often, her attire attracts the wrong side of attention. With an uprising of homophobia, the people here think of her as what they term a ′dyke’. It took some time to understand the term, and this misconception of her looking more male when in reality she doesn’t care about her appearance.

In fact, her shoulder-length wavy hair is always kept in a ponytail. However, the few people that actually talk to her will comment that her face is very attractive despite the permanent scowl. High cheekbones, with smooth tan skin from working outside, trimmed eyebrows, and plump pink lips.

Back to her eavesdropping on two drunken males loudly muttering, drinking her usual Kilkenny Irish Cream Ale. So far, she had downed about six of them with no adverse effects, asking herself for the hundredth time what was even the point of wasting the money. Because it tastes good.

Her jeweled ear perked up at the drunken conversation. Having no other forms of entertainment, she couldn’t help it.

She watched the males from the corner of her eye, making sure to feign indifference every few seconds.

One of them looked like they had just got out of work from the office, a loose tie around his neck and a dress jacket was strewn on the back of his seat. He was helping his drunken self with nuts and hard scotch.

“Me mum used to tell me that werewolves have bloodshot eyes and stinky maw that reeks of death-“The other male, a seafarer by the looks of it, was so red in his face he might pass out. He wore a comical yellow fishing hat used to protect him from both sun and rain. Mostly rain because Northern Ireland...

“Bah! You keep telling me stories about werewolves! Tell me something new old”-The business person took on a couple of mouthfuls of nuts before finishing-“friend.”

They were terrible stories anyway. She snorted under her breath, attracting the bartender’s attention. When the bartender asked what was wrong, she shook her head and waved him away. It’s better that she kept herself on her lonesome instead. She never found solace in any of their company. After all, she is not human but a werewolf. The very same werewolves that the seafarer talked about constantly.

The bartender heeded her wave, making a small comment beneath his bearded breath. Words to show what this town truly sees of her, “Weird loner...”

It has gotten hard to ignore such comments with ears as sharp as her own, all she can do is distract herself with the idle conversation between the two blokes.

“That’s because me own brother saw one snatch his sheep up north. Nasty buggers.” The seafarer exclaimed, but when his friend only shot him with an impressive disbelief expression despite his full cheeks, the seafarer caved. “Fine! I’ll talk about something else.”

“Thank you” sighed the middle-aged businessman.

Thank you, she thought to herself, relieved that she didn’t have to sit through another terrible retelling of a werewolf. These humans never get their description right, even after so many years. Her life experienced most of Ireland’s timeline and they still don’t know how to get her kind right.

The seafarer took his shiny hat off, exposing his receding white hairline that matched his very long beard. Leaning in with a deep frown, “There is this strange seal...One that keeps stealin’ everyone’s fish.”

Idonea nearly dropped her cup of beer, the mention of a fish stealing seal reminded her of a couple of occurrences a month ago while trawling with her crew. A rather large harbor seal got caught in their net and ate a rather large portion of their catch. This seal was oddly large for its species, and the markings of its body made it stand out from the rest. Silvery white wet fur with blotches of black more prominent around its muzzle and receding further down her eyes scanned its body. Flippers as dark as the sea and a very prominent white belly, button eyes that appear to be more purple than black. Such a strange looking seal alright, but at the time she was more focused on getting rid of it than actually deciphering what she saw.

That damn thing didn’t even slow down its feasting when she prodded it with a poker. None of the humane methods worked. The only time it moved was when one of her crewmates threatened to shoot it with a pistol.

The way it watched the pistol, frozen in place, made her empathetic towards the beast. It was smart enough to understand that it was in danger, and she was too kindhearted to allow her crewmates to shoot. Stopping her crewmates. Thankfully, this stirred this beast to move on eventually. And since then, she has only seen remnants of the seal’s activities. Missing some fish here and there but never got caught again.

Her memory of the beast caused her a few mixed feelings. Being a beast like herself and ostracized by society caused her to feel more empathetic than she should be. Though she remembered getting her ass chewed by her boss for it and it brought on some feelings of rage too. After all, her boss did dock her pay for the minor mutiny. She chugs the rest of her drink, demanding more once done. Her anger gets the better of her and deepens the scowl on her face. It’s not like the damn thing will ever show gratitude for saving it.

“Yeah, so what?” The businessman chews on the nuts and swallows, only stuffing more in his mouth like a chipmunk. “Seals eat fish.”

“It’s not just that... This seal knows the ins and outs of this harbor and even waits till everyone is preoccupied to thieve on everyone’s haul.” He lowered his voice to a whisper; she could still hear it with her enhanced ears. “I witnessed its thievery meself. Damn thing swam off with a bucket load of me best pollack. Then the next day I found the bucket back on me stall with no fish. Its behavior and intelligence are so strange...this one might be a selkie.”

Selkies!? Seriously!? Her face contorts, fighting down a laugh. Although she is a mythical creature, selkies are far more unlikely to exist.

At least with her kind she had an evolutionary trait that happened due to isolation in a forest, as some of the more knowledgeable wolves would say. A being that takes the form of a selkie by wearing the skin of it is as far-fetched as aliens. If they ever existed, she’d be the first were-person to know.

Pure crazy talk.

“Stop pulling my chain, Alf.” His friend stops his drunken munching just to glare at him. ,“You mark all of your equipment with your name and address...even spoons if you could. Someone must have just found it and properly returned it, you drunk.”

“Hmph!” The seafarer sat straight up then, turning his bearded face away like a child.

Idonea gulps another mouthful of beer to try to ease her annoyance. This kind of lying always irks the rather serious she-wolf, it wastes her precious ears and time when she could actually focus her attention on what’s on the tube instead.

Of course, she changed her opinion when the businessman started speaking again.

“Well, at least our town’s star is coming back from vacation...today.”

Her heart thumped hard, very aware of who he was talking about. There aren’t many stars that resonate in this harbor town except this one. A man by the name of Leasdich Brennan or, better yet, the Soothsayer of Kilkeel.

He had his own radio station that a lot of sea voyagers would tune in to during their voyages. She had started to follow him too every chance she got; his voice was always so angelic, even through the glare of radio static.

He also has very good taste in music, and many times he has composed his own songs and shared them with the masses. Not one of his songs lacked quality even when he had his hands full manning this radio station on his own. He was a singular musician, often singing the tunes of either happiness or sadness.

It was like he was trying to reach out to someone. Talented and well liked, it was odd that he hadn’t pursued higher stardom and kept his likeness a mystery. Claiming that his family lives on an island and he has obligations to see them every now and then. Idonea lived there for seven years. Twice has this man vanished, each one six months long.

Her fanatic side wished she’d run into the mystery radio soothsayer, but every time she tried it was like chasing her own shadow. He was better at keeping his whereabouts hidden, just like she was good at keeping her werewolf lineage a secret.

“Oh. Better tune in tomorrow morn then! He never misses a morning when he is back!”

She checked the watch on her wrist and nearly choked on the swill. It’s already two in the morning. And the radio broadcast at five. She can’t stay here.

She hurriedly paid the bartender with cash and rushed right out. Not even finishing the last beer she brought. It isn’t worth it if none of it could get her drunk.

Again, she caught someone saying, “That lass is always on her own, you know...”

This did make her shoulders tense just a fraction but, she decided there was no point in being offended. This is the life she wanted most.

Her boots thudded right out the door of ”Sweaty Joey" pub, exposing herself to the dreary cloudy night that it was. Thankfully, the town made sure to invest in some overhanging lights. But even those are hardly helpful, as misty as the night is. Her yellow eyes adjust in the mist, finding her way through its streets.

She followed along the pier since it was dark. The ocean was as dark as the clouds, only glittering when some lights reflected off it. For what it is worth, this was actually a nice night for Northern Ireland. The chill in the air reminded her that it was the end of fishing season, which meant more time for herself. Perfect!

Her werewolf traits give her some tolerance for Ireland’s cold, dreary weather. She actually enjoyed it. Whenever this place snowed heavily, she’d let her wolf side out and traverse the woodlands freely. Nobody here is out unless they are hunters, not a common profession for a seaport. Not so surprising.

Another really integral trait for a wolf like herself is her very keen sense of smell. So great that she can tell when the proceeds go bad before anyone else. Though the stench of fish did take some time for her to get used to, she now liked the smell of it while it was still fresh.

Werewolves can’t be picky. She thought pragmatically. Her fists shoved in her pockets to keep them from the chill. She wished to change into her wolf form here. That way it wouldn’t take so long to get to her apartment.

Ireland doesn’t have native wolves. The last one was killed off over 300 years ago. She would cause chaos if she turned now, so she settled with just her human legs power walking the streets.

The further she walked, the lonelier the night felt. It was so late that nobody was up. A single female might actually be in danger under these circumstances, but she wasn’t weary. Her greatest strength is that, her strength. She can easily overpower any giant male.

Her old packmates used to gripe that she was too rough in their sparring. She found that no one could realistically take her on and used that excuse to get out of her annoying pack.

Her pack leader used to press her to get a mate and sire more purebreds. To return the werewolves to the way they used to be, wolves that can commune with humans.

It annoyed her so much that anyone that dared to come up to her to form a mate pact was met with fists instead.

Bastards. Her sour mood returned full force, even letting out a small guttural growl in her chest. It has been a while since she last saw her pack. And they don’t travel outside Sweden.

Then a sweet scent invaded her nostrils, one that distracted her enough from walking. The scent tickled something primal in her brain, one so underused that when she felt it, it coursed through her body and distracted her common sense to it...