Ages and Agella his two very young forest wives are now sisters and girlfriends. One mother is another daughter and both are his. His Ferol is their common husband. And he was there, in the bath, had them both all night. They made love all night. And then he went to sleep, when everyone parted before him. All who howled with him to the moon standing in the sky before the storm. All in the animal skins of wolves. They looked at him as if they were their own. We looked with our yellow thirst for hunger and murder in the night. All women and men. Wolfs werewolves. The children are now his mother. That mother of the forest.

Soon hit heavy rain. And he went to sleep now alone, exhausted by the rite of reincarnation and wild uncontrollable passionate love. And the she-wolves both fled into the forest. They both fled to the forest Goddess. Leaving him in this bath is tired of merging with them and exhausted by uncontrollable love of a young converted wolf. He woke up lying on the floor in the guise of a man and trudged into the big same house, from which he was dragged here for the rite and lunar wolf sex.

- Women! - said Ferol aloud - These women! What to take with them! We dealt with him in the bathhouse and ran into the forest, for food, probably!

He remembered what the older Agella said. Something about the completion of the rite. Rite with him. That is not all. What more blood is needed. Human blood. Blood to the young wolf. Sacrificial blood and then everything.

Something was going on inside him. Something moved and revived there, wild and fierce, but for some reason this did not seem to be strange now. It seemed ordinary now and mundane. It seemed that it should be so.

Ferrol didn’t even realize that he was no longer completely human. And although he was fully aware that something was wrong with him now, he still did not fully understand all that had happened to him,

and could not now know that he would never return to normal human life. What became a part of this forest and of this swamp, like its this beautiful forest savior, and the mistress of this big old log house. Houses of the gray bloodthirsty wolf.

He was no longer a man. And I did not think like a person, but in my own way, wildly and wolfishly.

He heard the rain rustled outside the window of the big main now him in this swamp home. Now his family home. Houses young wolf. A wolf has not yet tried human blood.

He heard what was happening outside the windows of the house. Heard even in the loud noise of rain. I heard my fellows and sisters now. There in that forest in the swamp itself. He even understood them from a distance. He felt each one of them. They were all waiting for a new hunt. They were waiting for the victim. Each of them. They came here for this. To perform the rite and blood.

They were filled now in the pouring rain forest. They all crowded on its outskirts not far from the coast of the marsh. They waited and hid in the warm summer rain falling from the sky. In the noise of falling warm water. In the darkness of the pre-morning swamp forest.

Soon. Very soon everything will happen and will happen. The swamps will have a lot of profit. Their forest mother told them that, and they would quench their hunger after a long hibernation.

He was imprisoned in this wolf pack. It remains for a little, to taste human blood.

Ferol heard a voice. The voice of the forest Goddess. Now she is his mother. The mother he had been waiting for all his life. All your childhood. She was there in the forest in the swamp. She will still see him, and he will be with her and with these two wolves now. He will live here in this swamp pine and birch forest. Left a little. It remains to try the human blood.

Ferol rushed at a run, jumping off the wide porch of his old log house, and flew into the forest by jumping over the marsh bumps, listening as he went and sniffing the air. He was in his native element now. The elements of his forest.

She was called by his forest mother. His Goddess of the Forest.And he again rushed to her call. He rushed into the forest through a torrential downpour and a flash of lightning under the supervision of the ghostly shadows of two young she-wolves, who followed him on their heels, flickering between pines and birches. Past windbreaks in the swampy swamp.

He again reached the island on which, was his first transformation into a werewolf wolf. He was here again near the fallen

tree and swamp shrubs. Among the tall grassy wet after a shower of bumps. Among foamed mud and water.

Ferol fell between the bumps of pain piercing his whole body again. He fell near the white of all the tattered and wet from the rain of his last parachute of the pilot.

He grabbed it with his own hands and squeezed against a naked human body, bent over from painful convulsions, writhing in front of those who stood a little distance from him among the birches and marsh pines in the torrential forest. Under the supervision of two gray ghostly shadows similar to two wolves.

He screamed in pain and his body cracked from breaking the bones inside and turning muscles. In the throes of his human voice resounded throughout the district, gradually replaced by a wolf frantic and hungry, thirsting for human blood and flesh roar.

***

Vsevolod Artyukhov talked by the fire with his son Pavel. He sat next to him and several other partisans by the fire and led his father to a caring conversation about tomorrow's partisan attack on their village.

- You looked at both and did not move away from me during the battle one step - he said to his own son Pavel - Understand me?

He nodded understandingly to the boyish young head in response to his father and was silent. Sitting by the fire already in the stepping on the forest, the oncoming evening darkness.

Above them stood the moon in the sky, and the fire cracked at his feet.

They pressed their shoulders tightly to each other pressed by other partisans looked at the flames, rushing around in the cold air of the surrounding forest people.

It became noticeably not summer-like cold. Seen before the rain.

- Take this - the eldest Artyukhov gave his son from the coal the baked potatoes taken out - Eat, go and get into all that I am telling you now. Tomorrow there will be no one to learn. Tomorrow we will drive the Germans out of our village. We will help our troops. Tomorrow - he fell silent, thinking about something and looking at his son.

- Well, let's father teach, teach guy! - someone answered, podzadoriv Artyukhova senior - He is with you and so smart guy - said the partisans sitting next to them, not familiar to Vsevolod - we already had a conversation with him already, while you were away. And they realized that the guy needed. So do not be afraid of the father for him, will not let you down.

- Let me down or not, it is up to me to decide - Artyukhov senior replied displeasedly - And what I say, I have to listen.

- Yes, I understood everything father! - Pavel answered indignantly. - I understood everything. I will do everything as you say! I'm not small already!

The partisans laughed and began jokingly telling Paul and supporting him in a dispute with his father.

- Ok, enough - Vsevolod answered quietly - Not a step away from me and everything - he repeated, looking at his almost already grown-up son, and stopped, like everyone else, looking at the burning bright big heat bursting bonfire.

At this moment, the villagers came up with Timothy Kozhub Artyukhov. The younger brother killed by his males policemen are now elders Seraphim Kozhuba.

- Hi Vsevolod - he greeted the elder Artyukhov - How are you?

- Just hold on - Vsevolod answered him - He recently buried his wife in the village. Right in front of the Fritz. And where to go once they stand there. It was unpleasant to take her in front of these creatures throughout the village to the cemetery, and where to go.

- So Glafira died? - Timofey continued sympathetically inquiringly to the conversation. Sorry for your woman. She hurt you for a long time, I know. Sorry.

- Yes, I dragged the winter, and in the summer I died here, added Vsevolod and stopped talking, hanging his head and hugging his impoverished son too

Timofey Kozhub took out a metal iron flask with alcohol from his pocket before the eyes of other partisans. He took it and silently, sipped from a flask and gave it back to the owner.Timofey also kissed and also fell silent, looking at the bright fire blazing in flames in front of them in the dark.

Artyukhov pulled a cigarette from the bosom from his bosom with a tobacco shag and a piece of tattered old stray newspaper and rolled the roll-up roll. He set fire to her from a burning fire and lit it. Self-garden spread a pleasant fragrant smell around the campfire. Timofey also got out, only already cigarettes. Trophy German. He leaned upright vertically to the foot of the PCA and lit it too.

“I can’t believe it,” Timothy Kozhuba said again unexpectedly. “I can’t believe that my brother betrayed me.” He betrayed all of us - he looked at the entourage of people and at the elder Artyukhov - I was told about this later when he was killed. Maybe even now for the better. I do not even know how I would have behaved now if I had met him. Even ashamed before their comrades Vsevolod.

He wanted to fuck, apparently, sympathy from a fellow villager and understanding in his face. But Vsevolod Artyukhov was silent and looked into the fire.

“I don’t know Timofey, what to say to this,” the senior Artyukhov also unexpectedly answered. “The war denounces a lot and presents many unexpected things. I myself am amazed at what happened and only found out about it here, just like you.

“And now I’m thinking about his wife, Maria,” Timofey Kozhub replied to him. “What is she like there in front of the villagers.” Or maybe she was with him at the same time, then I will not forgive her for that either - the younger Kuba said again.

“Don't blame her Timothy,” Artyukhov Sr. answered him. “She is already punished already.”

“I don’t blame him,” Timofey Kozhub answered. “We would have to be in our village tomorrow, otherwise the rain will ruin everything.”

“Or maybe it won't spoil,” answered Vsevolod Artyukhov. “Maybe the nature is just as well for us,” he answered to the younger Kozhub in rhyme.