It's a full moon out. The land is bathed in silver, dark shadows clinging to the forest floor, and people huddle behind locked doors. Rightly so; the lycans will be out soon.
After they've hunted, I'll be on the corpse.
Maybe they'll get a big moose. I love them. So tasty and rich, and so much flesh to share with my normal raven cousins. Nothing quite like a big liver in the winter months, all buttery smooth good.
The first howls rise, near the hamlet. My mouth waters at the prospect of human flesh. They're so much more fearful than animals, so horrified at the prospect of death. Thinking they're at the top of the evolutionary charts gives them this entitled attitude that just adds to the surprise when they're attacked.
Changing to my corvid form, I take flight. Humans are so deicate, pink like pigs, but much more tender. Easier to kill. The lycans sometimes go nuts, shred them, leaving scattered gobbets of people flesh. Then me and my cousins have to hunt and peck for the best bits. It's still good, but it makes the feast too much like work.
Not that I'll complain about free human.
Maybe it will be a small boy they kill. I caw with joy. Small boys taste different; of budding youth and potential strength. They're best just before the testostrone kicks in and hardens their muscles.
I start flying faster, hoping the lycans kill a pregnant girl. The crunchy little fetus should satisfy my sudden craving. I can almost feel the peculiar snap of unfinished bones in my beak. Soft skull with squishy brains, and all the clingy fragments of womb. I can't wait.
The full moon is out, and it will be a good night.