The first time is the hardest.

It is a saying that covers much.  Sex, murder and everything in between.  The first time is the hardest – yet it gets easier.  Except when it does not, or should not, get any easier.

The first time is the hardest…

It was all he could think of as he ran through the woods, throwing hasty and frightened glances back over his shoulder.  His eyes, normally a deep, soulful brown were already shifting to an amber hue.  In the sky above, the moon was full, round, mocked through thick branches of trees by occasionally peaking out from behind clouds fat with un-shed rain.  He needed to run, to hide - as if he could hide from himself.  At least he could outrun the others, the wanderers, the gypsies who had tried to help him.

As it was often in tales of horror and the macabre, so it was in real life.  Too much watching what trailed behind left one vulnerable to what came from the front.  Stupid, amateurish, rookie mistake – tripping over an exposed root and going headlong into the blanket of late-fall leaves that covered the forest floor.

Caleb groaned once as his head struck and rebounded from hard-packed soil.  He started to claw his way back to his feet, but what was the use?  The mages had been unable to help.  The curse was too strong, they had said, fear thick in their eyes and voices.  They had spoken of the horrors of what would come with the first change.  They told him of the beastial hungers, the desire for flesh, the eagerness for destruction.  It could be controlled, they claimed, and must be if he were to stave off being a monster.  if the will of the man was stronger than that of the beast.  It could be done, but it would be hard.

The first time is always the hardest, and Caleb feared that he had no strength left to fight.

The moon peaked out again, and his muscles felt as if they were on fire.  Every joint popped rapidly in succession, every bone began to ache as if they tried to bend in unnatural ways.  He itched all over, the feeling of millions of ants crawling just beneath the surface of his skin.  He tugged at the loose-fitting t-shirt, ripping it from his shoulders.  Then his jeans.  Before he could reach his shoes, they split from his elongating feet.

A wicked thirst suddenly ran through his body, as if he had not sipped water in days.  And the itch, oh gods above and devils below, the itch!  It was maddening.  He simply had to scratch himself all over.

A whimper slipped past his lips, more atavistic growl than human cry, spittle flying from his lips.  Fingers tore at his skin, pulling great chunks that had begun to slough free, revealing thick, wet fur beneath.

Something was wrong.  This was not right, this was too much, too powerful - too soon.  Their magics had done this to him.  A bite should have changed him.  Their cures did not work.  Something had twisted inside, twisted the curse, made it harder.

The first time is always hardest.

The man was gone and left only the beast, having emerged from the old, dead skin of the flesh cocoon it had been concealed within.  The man was dead, and the beast had clawed its way to life.

Oh, the man would return – but so would the beast.  And next time would be easier.  And the time after that, easier still, until man and beast were one frightful juxtaposition.

The first time is always the hardest…but it gets easier with time

Name: Caleb Macawi
Hair: Black | Black with Gray flecks | Black and Gray
Eyes: Dark Amber (originally Hazel) | Dark Amber
Height: 6'2" | 7'0" | 12'5"
Weight: 190 lbs | 275 lbs | 1,520 lbs
Noticeable Scars: A scar along his left hip, right above the Adonis belt.  There was also a long set of gashes on his back, where claws had ripped into his skin.

Darkly tanned and quiet, few people know what to make of Caleb at first glance.  Perhaps it is the cunning look of a hunting animal in those rich, expressive eyes the color of amber.  Perhaps it is the way those eyes seem to glow in dim light, to see more than most, to peer within the shadows.  Maybe it's the quiet way he stalks more than simply moves, as if constantly hunting.

Some people find him disconcerting, others comforting. None would begrudge his capabilities as a protector or soldier, a hunter and guide of wilds that man has long abandoned.

And the wilds are certainly a place Caleb seems to belong.  He has the quiet presence of a predator - often unseen until he needs to be.

And just like the wilds he calls home, his presence often hides more than it shows.

Currently, Caleb is happily employed by Jules Leveau, owner of Sáj and Caleb's best (and maybe only) friend.