@mccallofthewild
Deep into the long night, as the harvest neared an end, a presence crossed into the town of Beacon Hills. The Nemeton acted as a lighthouse for this force, while it was the rumor of a certain rare breed of werewolf that had sparked their decision to journey far from their home across the sea.
Three women circled the stump that had been a source of power for so many before them. One with free-flowing dark hair, another who looked to be her mother, and one with a hardened expression on her face. They spoke to each other in a language that’d been dead for quite some time, before the Nemeton had even been an inkling of a seed.
Now Hecate called upon her own power, speaking her will into the wind, letting it carry her spell to the one she searched for.
“He will resist,” said the maiden.
“And he will fight,” added the mother.
“But his destiny had been predicted, and it will be seen to fruition,” proclaimed the crone.
~
“Guys, I thought giving up a half-hour ago woulda’ given you both a hint that I’m ready to leave, but now I’m tellin’ ya. Let’s go.” Stiles was no stranger to long lacrosse practices, specifically when it was just Liam and Scott, but he was tired, “and we still need to get costumes tomorrow! I’m not going as a lacrosse player again.” He didn’t want to check his watch and see what time it was; Stiles knew it was late. But maybe a little bitching would get the wolves attention. “Doesn’t Liam have a bed time? Scott - responsible parent, tell the kid he needs his-”
Blown off his feet and onto his ass, the wind that knocked him back came out of nowhere (seemingly, nowhere). It was at this point that Stiles had had enough. “Okay, I’m heading back!” The gust of winds that had arrived disappeared just as fast, leaving behind a box for one Scott McCall, hidden next to his belongings.
