A surge of wild, feral joy washed over him. He felt an insatiable hunger, not for bread or dried meat, but for the thrill of the hunt. He needed to run. He needed to kill.

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So she had made a choice. She had worn the suit one final time—not to hunt, but to lead the pack to an abandoned deer trail on the far side of the mountain. Then she had pulled the suit off, folded it gently, and walked home on two feet.

“One more night,” she told herself. “Just one.”

This requires an exoskeleton. "Stilts" are attached to the wearer's arms, extending the length of the forelimbs to match the hind legs. The hands are encased in paw-shaped caps, and the wearer leans forward, mimicking the gait of a wolf.

He stood up, but not on two legs. He was on all fours. He looked down at his front limbs. They were powerful wolf paws, covered in thick grey fur. He was no longer Elias the trapper. He was the beast.

He turned toward the cabin door. With a powerful leap, he threw his weight against it. The heavy wood splintered, and the iron bolt sheared clean off. He burst out into the night, a silver streak against the white snow.