I have an unfamiliar yet overwhelming urge to pick up the jagged stone wedged between the roots of a giant oak nearby and hurl it at something. Anything. Preferably an object that would splinter apart with the satisfying sound of wreckage. I think that would be cathartic enough, but I can’t exactly go through with it right now. My paws don’t really function that way, and I’m not about to just transform back to human at this point. It would be less than ideal, since I’m hiding. Well…sorta.

Okay, so I guess I’m “keeping a lookout.” Still means I gotta crouch in the shelter of the obnoxiously thick branches of whatever kind of wild weed-bush-overgrown crap this is in front of me so I won’t be seen. I’m pretty sure it’s not poison ivy, even though I can count three leaves. It’s much too large, and there’s some kind of purple flower peaking through the stems. I need to sleep. I’m not usually this on edge, so I’m well aware of the fact I’m just being paranoid and that the bush is likely harmless. It certainly smells good. It carries a scent similar to freshly laundered sheets. I swear if I get poison ivy on my ass again though, I’ll completely lose it. More so than I already have. 

I’m the only one in my pack who always reacts awfully to that stupid plant. Rash for miles. Itchy everywhere. Ugh. The other werewolves can “super-heal” it away before the oils even have a chance to fester. How nice that must be.

My unfortunate allergy is linked to personal complications with my power. Or, more specifically, my near complete lack of ability to heal from the most basic shit that even humans can easily overcome. It’s a problem I’ve been dealing with my whole life. Every single thing that happens to my body is a much bigger deal than it should be, and I just learned exactly what’s wrong with me. Tonight.