Luna Talbot was twenty-two and working a summer conservation job in northern British Columbia when something attacked her in the woods. She remembers very little of the encounter beyond enormous teeth, an impressive amount of blood, and waking up in a hospital with injuries everyone agreed should have been considerably worse. Three weeks later, under a full moon, Luna discovered that recovery had come with an undocumented side effect.

For several days surrounding the full moon, Luna transforms into a towering seven-foot werewolf. The change is dramatic, uncomfortable, and thoroughly inconvenient, but one thing it does not change is Luna herself. She doesn't become feral, lose her memory, develop an uncontrollable desire to hunt people, or wake the next morning wondering what she's done. She's still Luna. She's simply much larger, much hairier, and suddenly equipped with an impressive collection of teeth.

Now in her late twenties, Luna works as a watershed and habitat field technician in British Columbia, spending much of her time surveying streams, wetlands, forests, and restoration sites. Lycanthropy has turned out to have some unexpected professional advantages. Her transformed body is enormously strong, difficult terrain becomes considerably easier to cross, and her senses are good enough to notice things she would otherwise miss. Unfortunately, field schedules are rarely designed around lunar cycles, work boots don't survive transformation particularly well, and explaining why you require several consecutive days of unusually flexible PPE remains awkward.

Luna has had years to adapt, and these days treats being a werewolf less like a supernatural curse and more like an unusual logistical condition. She keeps track of the moon, plans around transformations when possible, and owns clothing specifically selected for its willingness to forgive sudden changes in circumference. Full-moon cycles are more likely to involve snacks, movies, and staying somewhere with sufficient headroom than rampaging through the wilderness.

Her boyfriend adjusted surprisingly quickly. Luna worried considerably more than he did about whether he'd be frightened of her transformed body. Instead, he discovered that seven feet of warm fur makes an excellent place to sleep and now spends several nights each month as the little spoon. Luna considers this simultaneously adorable and deeply unfair.

Practical, outdoorsy, and quietly good-humored, Luna doesn't romanticize what happened to her. Given the choice, she probably wouldn't have volunteered for lycanthropy. But it happened, it's part of her life now, and she sees little value in treating herself as tragic because of it.

The shedding, however, is objectively terrible. 🐺🌕