Published on Short-Story.me 2013 Ironically, it was in Vulpecula, the constellation of the little fox, where the persecuted werewolves finally found safety—on a nameless planet orbiting a distant, faint, nameless star. Whether the location was reached by chance or design is both unknown and unimportant. What mattered were the six moons, one always full, which waxed and waned asymmetrically in the blue-back sky, permanently keeping the lycanthropes in their altered, feral state. *** *** *** *** *** *** The King of the Werewolves snarled, howled, and snarled again. ***