[Full Moon] Prologue [A Werewolf Story]

They said it was a wolf moon. A cold, glistening moon, hanging in the night sky, with only one day until it would be complete.
There were many legends about the wolf moon. These ranged from stories of dogs turning into wolves and wolves going berserk, to even darker tales concerning witches and wolf-men.
But what the villagers never realised was that it was the full moon itself that was most dangerous. Oh, of course everyone knew that this was, by legend, the night when werewolves changed into their true form, their wolf form. But no one believed those old stories anymore. It was the fourteenth century, after all. They were beyond most superstitions.
On this cold, windswept night in Northern Germany, the wolf moon shone on a tiny village, illuminating the earthy streets with unearthly silver light. Torch and candlelight shone from some of the larger houses, but the smaller huts, the serfs homes, were darkened. The keep at the top of the hill was bright with lights, and the faint sounds of music and laughter could be heard on the wind.
The night passed without event, the people sleeping or drinking as they chose. It was a night of celebration, for the lords daughter had been married off the day before.
But the villagers had more pressing work to attend to. Winter was coming on fast, and the game season was leaving just as quickly. There was much still to do before the first snows fell.
Down below, in the village, voices rose on the cold air as a golden dawn touched the hills. A small group of men, all ages, gathered around the tavern door, laughing and joking. On the edge of the group stood a young man, though he was perhaps closer to boy than man, who listened closely to a heavyset bearded man who spoke at the centre of the circle.
He stood rather tall, at around five foot eleven, though in their day and age, height was not readily measured. His tousled hair was dirty blonde, and fell in unwashed locks to his shoulders. His skin was fair, though darkened slightly by the tan of a working serf, though his family was of a slightly higher quality.
He was quite ordinary looking, if not for his height, and didn't seem to stand out from the other men of the hunting party. His eyes, however, set him apart. Somewhere, he must have had a Scandinavian relative, some Norseman who had accidentally wandered into Germany. His eyes, framed by long lashes far darker than his hair colour, were a pale ice blue, made all the paler by the grime and dirt of low living that covered his pointed face.
'Karle! Einsatzbereit?'*
The boy turned, and nodded to a gruff, bearded man who seemed to be in charge. 'Ja! Ich bin fertig.' He picked up his bow and quiver from the ground, and slung the mover his shoulder.
'Gut. Dalli, dalli!'**
The hunting party headed down the path and out of sight, the dawn light slowly illuminating the village as the last of the hunters faded into the trees. Karle gave one look back over his shoulder at the houses, and then turned and plunged into the forest, the more pressing matter of hunting taking over his mind.
The day slowly wore on as the men made their way stealthily through the woods. They bagged several rabbits, and had just downed a stag when the storm swept in. The beautiful weather from earlier that morning was gone in an instant, replaced by thunderheads and cold, driving rain.
'Karle! Where are you, boy?' The bearded man, Hans, pulled him close. 'Mein sohn,***' he said, 'I do not wish you to take sick. Here, come stay by me and share my cloak.'
Nodding, the lad huddled close to his father, glad for the warmth of his parent's rather formidable bulk. 'I do not like this storm, Vater.^ It is too sudden. It should not be happening, however close to winter it may be.'
'Ja. It is unnatural. But there is nothing we can do about it save sit here and wait it out. At least under the trees it is relatively dry. Think of your brothers, working the fields.'
Karle smiled slightly. He had never gotten on well with his two older brothers, preferring to stay with his father. In the same respect, he had never liked his mother. She had wanted a daughter, and tended to baby him. She used every excuse she could to remind him that he was not a girl, or that he was named after her least favourite grandfather.
The sky slowly darkened as the rain let up. The clouds finally moved away, the full moon brightening the dark sky. Hans sighed, and stood slowly, shaking the water off of himself like a large animal. The hunters, sodden and grumpy, stood as well, groaning as cramped muscles were again put into use.
'It seems we didnt get as much hunting in today as we would have liked,' Hans announced. 'But, alas, it is dark, and our wives and mothers will be wondering where we are. Let us at once return to the village.'
As one, they moved out, heading westward towards home. No one expected there to be any trouble, even when the lone howl of a wolf sounded in the distance. 'It is far off,' said one man, and they all shrugged it off.
Suddenly, there was a cry from the back of the group. 'Wolf! It is a wolf!' There was a collective gasp, and then they circled, weapons at the ready.
Karle put an arrow to the string, and drew it back, ready to shoot, though it was near madness to try and kill a wolf with a simple arrow, much less in the dark.
The creature came forward, the moonlight shining on its wet, silvery fur. It was much larger than any wolf had a right to be, and Karle shivered. There was something unnatural about this beast. He shot, and knew that his aim was true. The wolf howled, and writhed, trying to bite the arrow out of its flesh. Karle held out a hand, and caught the knife that was tossed to him by the handle, and stepped forward. Two other men joined him, their knives at the ready.
The arrow had pierced the animal very near its heart, though Karle wasnt sure it had been a direct hit. But it was lying on the ground now, breathing shallowly. He was sure that if he could get close enough, he or one of the others could cut its neck.
The remaining huntsmen held their breath as Karle and his two companions carefully neared the wolf.
There was a shout, and agonized cry, and then a dying squeal from the wolf. Then, there was a gasp, and Karle fell to the ground, his eyes fixed on what had been the dead wolf.
Hans approached his son carefully, and then gasped as well.
Where the wolf had been lay a dead man, an arrow in his chest and a knife wound at his throat. Karle was sitting on the wet grass next to it, his pale eyes wide. Then Hans saw that his son was cradling an arm that was bloody, and a look of shocked recognition crossed his face.
His son had been bitten by a werewolf.
......
The fever raged in Karle for nearly a week before it broke. No one knew whether he was going to survive or not, for with that fateful bite had come infection and a horrible sickness. He was delirious most of the time, and his mother would have almost nothing to do with him. In his few moments of wakefulness, he was almost sure he had heard her tell his eldest brother that she would rather let him die than have him in the house.
After the third week in bed, Karle rose and dressed himself, unable to bear being in the house of his mother any longer. His limbs were shaky, but he was able to walk. Throwing a cloak around himself, he made his slow way to the bowery, where his father sat turning wood.
'Mein sohn!' Hans stood quickly, throwing aside the piece of ash he was working on. 'It pleases me to see you on your feet again.'
Karle laughed mirthlessly. 'Anything to get out of the house of my mother,' he said, sighing heavily, and swaying on his feet. Hans looked concerned, but didnt say anything, knowing his sons determinedness.
After a short while, he looked up from his feet, and asked, 'May I work for you? I have to do something with my hands, lest I go mad of boredom.'
His father nodded wordlessly, and led him to the table. 'Karle, my son, you may work all you please.'
......
Nearly a year had passed since the bite. His arm had never fully healed, the scar staying angry and red. Though only the huntsmen had known of the bite, they told the story to their wives, and the word spread quickly.
Karle, who had once been looked upon as a gifted and promising boy, was now glared at, and shunned. They had refused to believe it at first, until the full moon had come and gone without a trace of the young man. Their fears were further proved when the seventeen-year-old appeared to grow no older. The strangest change, perhaps, was way his eyes changed. They were a gauge to his moods, growing paler as his mood fouled, and darkening during those rare times that he was happy.
When he could take it no longer, Karle approached his father yet again. 'I am eighteen now, he said. I wish to leave this place.'
Hans regarded his son carefully. 'I can see that there will be no convincing you to stay,' he said finally. 'So I will give you your inheritance, and set you free of this town.'
Karle nodded to his father, the look in his eyes all the thanks his father needed. 'Please tell no one of my leaving,' he asked, almost begging. 'Let them figure out on their own that they have driven me away, and let them tell their stories. I want to become a mere legend, so that someday I may return and hear of myself mentioned by some grandfather.'
Hans smiled. 'Very well. I will not even tell your mother, if that so fits your whims,' he said.
Karle smiled for what seemed like the first time in months. 'Dankeschn.'^^ Then he turned, stepped out of his fathers shop, and was never seen by them again.
End Prologue.
Translations:
* "Ready?"
** "Come, come!"
*** "My son."
^ "Father"
^^ "Thank you."
End Translations.

I'm not asking you to rate, but do so if you wish. Please do, however, message me if you have any suggestions or constructive critism for me. I'm always open to proofreading! Chapter One will be up soon.
Also note that the prologue is the only part that will be set in the Middle Ages. Things will get interesting very quickly, I promise!