The Rougarou’s lament… The forlorn howl shatters against the face of the waxing moon, and as the rending pain wracks his body the old hags curse burns in his memory:
“Broken bones and rending flesh beneath the painted moon, the devil’s breath upon your soul, upon your chest his runes; through blackest swamp and forest gloom, the mark will hold it’s sway, in blood the consecration’s made whilst blest eyes turn away”
Transfigured by hate, he splashes through the murk and muck screaming in agony and fear, as his old life slips away, the Ghost Wolf rampant…
