The Merciless Moon

The wolf ran, the rain-soaked undergrowth squishing beneath his paws. From the trees behind him, the baying of hounds and shouts of men could be heard. They wouldn't have much difficulty following the wolf's trail in this wet weather, or simply by the thorny bushes that kept snagging fur from his pelt.
Still, the wolf ran from the hunters, though a part of him relished the thought of turning around and feasting on those who thought to catch him. His blood was a siren wherever the moonlight broke through the canopy, singing of the hunt he could have, of how the thrill would be sated with sweet flesh.
The wolf tried to stay out of the moonlight, for he knew exactly how weak he was.
He ran, not from fear of the men and their hounds, but from the terror of what he might do under the moonlight.
Those men had names and faces that would surely be familiar in the glow of dawn. The wolf couldn't risk being near them before that time. He was monster they hunted, the monster that could harm their families and destroy their herds.
He was the latest moon-bathed monster of Morrison Glen, and was determined to defeat this curse.
Yet even as his determination gave strength to his paws, the wolf felt horror gnawing as he noticed the trees thinning. Not too far ahead, a curtain of moonlight framed the end of forest, and only clear farmland awaited beyond.
The wolf couldn't go out there. To enter the moonlight, to be serenaded with its siren song without reprieve, would be the death of him.
For though he was cursed to be a wolf now, he knew in that foggy sun-bleached part of his mind that he wasn't always a wolf. The part of him who would recognize his hunters was chained there, and it was only while he stayed in the shaded darkness of the night that a portion of that nearly forgotten creature could sway him away from the hunt.
That part knew he didn't want to become like the other monsters of Morrison Glen, more so than he already was.
So the wolf stopped in the darkness just before that curtain of moonlight, ears twitching at the sound of his pursuers drawing ever closer.
He could not go forward without losing what little sanity he still held, but there was no way to go back without encountering the hunters.
Lifting his head, the wolf gave a mournful howl to the merciless moon, knowing that in the coming moments, either he or his hunters would die.
And he didn't know which would hurt him more.