He was numb.

He trudged through the forest, dragging his bare legs through two feet of snow. It was so cold, so quiet; not a soul for miles. He should have been concerned about frostbite or at the very least a little embarrassed of his nakedness. Those emotions weren't registering with him at that moment. He had no idea how he'd come to be naked in the middle of a winter storm. He couldn't even recall who he was.

Every little ounce of strength he put into remembering was ultimately wasted, so he decided not to think about anything at all. All of his energy went into his legs, driving him forward. He was so tired, and so… hungry. His goals were food and rest, and he didn't care how they were achieved. But he had to find opportunities first, so he pushed himself forward.

His fingers were turning blue, and looking at them brought up an unfamiliar memory of two children waiting on the sidewalk for the ice cream truck. He thought maybe one of them could have been him, but he didn't remember what he looked like as a child so he stopped thinking about it and continued onward. He could barely see for the thick sheets of snow that whipped horizontally around him. The wind cut at his exposed skin, and he found that his legs were actually warmer where they were, buried in the snow.

Lights in the distance, promising warmth and security pierced through the black and white of his surroundings. Then something caught his nose: the scent of something warm-blooded, close enough that he could already taste the meat in his mouth. Adrenaline suddenly fueled his movements, and he was bounding toward the aroma. Like a moth to the flame, he was relentlessly drawn in.

Irritated, Corey trudged through the snow, her younger brother, Collin, holding tight to her hand as they crossed the wide expanse between their house and the barn. Collin was shivering, scared of the dark and the cold. He threatened to tear Corey's arm off with every little noise that spooked him, but she said nothing. Even she was a little intimidated by the storm.

Taking her mind off of snow, she thought of the events that had led up to her being thrown out into the Tundra. Her wicked step-mother, Viola, had become concerned at the noises her pet cow was making. Corey was having a hard time figuring out how she could hear the damnable thing through the howling of the wind outside and the intensity of the volume on the television inside.

'Oh, Corey! You wouldn't mind going out there to check on her, would you? I'm so worried about her," she crooned in that awful, high pitched voice of hers. Of course, her father all but agreed. Just as she was pulling on her boots, big-hearted, eight-year-old Collin came downstairs and began to get bundled up as well. Scared as he was, he couldn't let her go out by herself.

"Who even keeps a pet cow anyway?!" Corey yelled, to no one in particular.

Collin looked up at her, smiling as he said, "Dumb ol' Viola."

Corey laughed, fondly squeezing his hand. "That's right, Collin. Dumb ol' Viola."

As they neared the barn, Corey was straining to listen for the animal. Instead, she heard growling, and a sickly squishing sound. Feeling fear claw at the back of her throat, she pushed Collin protectively behind her.

"But, Daaaad," Corey moaned. "What if there are wolves out there?"

"Corey, there aren't any wolves in this area," her father assured her, kissing her on the cheek.

"Collin, stay close to me, ok?" she instructed. He only nodded, becoming increasingly alarmed. "Whatever you do, don't make a sound." The last thing they needed was to alert the beast inside of their presence. Using her free hand, she gently unhinged the barn door and pushed it open.

The barn was heated, and instantly they were relieved of the piercing cold as they inched inside. There were a few lamps here and there, lending the space a dim orange glow. Bessie, the cow, was in the back, and it was hard to see her from where they were standing. Corey pushed Collin into a corner beside the door, and hushed him, prying her hand from his. Pulling down her hood and scarf, she was assaulted by the metallic aroma of blood. Spotting an old, rusty scythe hanging on a post, she grabbed it as she approached Bessie's stall.

When she was two feet away, suddenly the growling and the squishing stopped, replaced by… moaning? Deciding it was either do or die, Corey ran the last few feet, scythe raised. When she was at the entrance, she stopped dead in her tracks.

In the stall, Bessie had been slaughtered. Her throat was torn open, blood pooling generously around her head. Her body had been so savaged that her rib bones were now visible, strikingly white against the dark red of the gore around them. In the center of it all, curled up like a kitting in a blanket, was a man. His blue-tinted skin was streaked with blood, his mouth and hands completely red. His black hair was matted against his face, and she couldn't tell the difference between Bessie's fur and his own stubble on his chin.

She should have screamed. She should have thrown the scythe at him. She should have run as far as she could, called the police, gotten her father. Something other than just standing there, like she was currently doing.

Before she could decide, the man's eyes fluttered open, piercing pale blue, and he mumbled weakly, "Help me." Then, before her very eyes, his skin began to darken, and his bones were bending and cracking into a new shape. Within moments, the man became a wolf, his eyes locked on hers, still pleading, still human.

It was at this time she noticed Collin standing behind her, breathing hard, and he whispered, "Cool."

Corey was shaking violently, and the scythe fell uselessly out of her hands. Collin, surprisingly calm, began to advance towards the wolf. She made a feeble attempt to hold him back, but he just shook her off and kept going. When Collin was standing in front of him, he stroked the beast's head, undisturbed by the blood coating his gloves. Suddenly, the wolf began to tremble, and then came the familiar popping sound. Miraculously, he was human again.

Corey came to stand beside her brother, now offering an old blanket she'd found nearby to the man. Still unstable, he took it with quaking hands, and wrapped it around his shoulders as he stood up. Instinctively, Corey took a step back, pushing Collin back as well. The man towered over both of them, but somehow he seemed small.

"I'm so tired," he said, almost a whimper.

"What's your name?" Corey asked.

He was quiet for several moments, showing obvious strain. And then he said, "I don't know."

Corey raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I can't remember anything about myself, not even my name," he explained.

"That's not going to get you off the hook for killing my step-mom's pet cow," Corey informed him.

He looked at her like she had a third eye. "Who keeps a cow as a pet?"

"Corey said that earlier!" Collin interjected, smiling.

Corey shot him a look of daggers, and then turned her attention back to the stranger. "So what are we going to do with you?"

"Get me away from all this blood before I change again, maybe?" he suggested.

"I thought you said you couldn't remember anything?"

"I don't, but I think I know by now that this has something to do with it." Gesturing toward the mess behind him, his face was deadly serious. He began shaking again, and his knees hit the floor. "Please, move!"

They both cleared the way, and he bolted for the door of the barn. He stopped a good ten feet away from the building, his hands on his thighs, taking deep breaths. Corey and Collin shortly appeared behind him, watching him. They were both quickly freezing again as the cold permeated their coats. The wolf-man seemed unfazed by it, but his quivering could have been the result of a combination of the storm and the threat of his oncoming transformation.

"We have to get inside!" Collin yelled. The weather was getting worse by the minute, and since Corey had come outside the ground had gained at least an inch's worth of snow.

The stranger made as if to start walking back to the forest, but Corey grabbed his arm.

"You can stay with us," she said firmly.

"Why? How can you trust me?" he replied, skeptical.

"I can't, but I also can't leave you out here to freeze to death either."

Deciding not to question her logic further, he obediently nodded, and the trio started toward the porch. When they were all standing by the back door, they conceived a plan to get the man into the house without anyone else seeing him. While Collin was busy pushing him toward the adjacent driveway, Corey went into the house to inform the rest of their family of Bessie. When he was safely stowed away under the tarp of their father's '68 Mustang, Viola came screaming out of the house, with her daughter, Charlotte, and their father struggling to keep up with her. Quickly, Corey pulled her brother and the wolf-man into the house, instructing Collin to take him up to the attic.

"Watch him, Collin, and be careful."

He nodded solemnly, like a soldier with a mission of dire importance, and ran up the back stairwell with the man following close behind. With that taken care of, Corey strode back over to the barn to take sweet pleasure in Viola's pain. I'll have to thank him later…