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Irian sat at his desk, chin resting in his palm as he stared out the window.

The world outside glowed unearthly pale under the steady gaze of the full moon. The tips of the trees glistened silvery grey as the faint breeze disturbed the topmost leaves, lower down shadows stirred, rustling mysteriously beneath the canopy.

The night was anything but silent. A thousand creatures rustled and scurried and scratched their way across the forest floor. High above the treetops, the occasional winged creature was silhouetted by the moon’s brazen glow. All of nature’s denizens were afoot tonight.

Irian sighed. What was the point of being a shifter if there was no pack? If you never ran with the full moon?

He could run by himself, he supposed. But the whole point of the full moon run was to find connection – connection with your wolf, connection with your pack.

But there was no pack. He might as well do as he sometimes did – shift in his bedroom, and spend a few hours curled up as his wolf on the bed. Perhaps he’d do that later. Maybe. It seemed pointless.

The lonely cry of a mopoke rang through the forest.

With another sigh, Irian turned away from the subtle siren call of the moon, picked up his pen and returned his attention to his books.