At night, the wolf howls at the waning moon. Behind her, the wind rustled through the dark branches of trees.
The people who heard her howl claimed that she was Tsook-kui, a woman of their tribe who had been enchanted into the body of a wolf after grieving the prince of the realm. Hurt and angry, he had bid the local shaman transform her. The shaman warned the prince that once such a spell was cast the consequences would be irreversible. He urged the prince to reconsider; to wait for the anger and hurt to ebb. But the passionate prince refused. He demanded, with fury blazing red hot in his eye, that the shaman perform the spell, and at once. And so the beautiful young woman was cast into the form that plagued her. Somewhere in the depths of her soul, she knew that there was another being at war with her wolfish self. She felt the incongruence, the tug of another world she had once known, and with this almost intangible unhappiness would howl at the moon, her only companion in the dark, lonely night.