The air is warm, the night is young, with the moon full again. A change occurs, inside him it stirs, giving birth within. No longer has he a face, its been replaced, with a long fang infested snout. Claws push thru fingertips, of his shredded skin he strips, the beast is dying to get out. The hair on his neck, is no longer a speck, as its covered with thick dark fur. With the moon on the rise, theres a blaze in its eyes, the calling has now occurred. Micah Singleton, 1995 1st part of 4