RYKER
The sky starts doing it around four in the afternoon.
That thickening. That quality of light that is not quite gold and not quite grey, the weight the air takes on that has nothing to do with weather. I have felt it every full moon since my wolf came in at fourteen, and I have never once gotten used to it, and I have never once wanted to. A man who gets used to the full moon is a man who has stopped paying attention to what it does to him, and knowing what is happening inside you is the only real advantage you ever get over anyone. I built my whole personality on that principle. Ask anybody.
I am on the training yard wall when it comes in.
Through the soles of my feet first — that low vibration, the one that arrives hours ahead of the moon itself the way thunder sends its scouts ahead of the storm. Then up through the chest. Then the wolf. Shifting. Restless. Leaning his whole weight into the leash three hours before the moon has even cleared the trees.
