Hello :) This is a concept that I've been developing in my mind and on paper for a while now, before having the courage to release it into the world for your inspection. It's my first original plot idea for a long time, and I haven't attempted anything with supernatural elements before, but I'm doing my best to research and sculpt the story into something I can attempt to be proud of.

The inspiration for this idea came primarily from the Japanese anime movie Wolf Children, which I absolutely adore. Without wanting to give too much away, the story that will follow this one will be a cross-over of Wolf Children. This story was the one that popped into my head first, and in fact I wrote out the plot of that story before I even started this one, but I wanted to develop this first story in order to provide more backstory and detail to the one that will succeed it.

A theme that I wanted to incorporate into this story is intolerance, prejudice and fear. In this world where werewolves have been persecuted into extinction, I hope to bring to people's thoughts reflections of our own world, where sadly so much hatred for each other still exists. I hope I can do this theme justice, although if anyone has any suggestions or help to offer, I'm very happy to talk.

Overall I hope you enjoy this story. It's one I'm working very hard on, and hope to turn into a work I can be proud of. Enjoy :) x

In a world where humans and werewolves had lived unwillingly side by side for centuries, the poison of prejudice, intolerance and hate has finally overflowed, leading to the persecution and extermination of the werewolf population in their native homeland of North America. Despite preferring a peaceful life amongst their own in the wild, many werewolves were forced by the unstoppable spread of industrialisation to adapt to live in towns and cities alongside humans. This unnatural setting and hostile reception from the humans only fanned the flames of hatred spreading fast among the land. Hunting and killing of werewolves became more than just noncriminal, it became expected. By 1902 the human population of America had declared all out war on their werewolf neighbours. They were too different. They had to go. For a human to openly support the wolves was to outcast yourself, to shroud yourself in distrust from those around you as a supporter of the beasts that many humans blamed for their problems. Their pack settlements in the wilds of America slowed progress and industrialisation, their desire to hunt rather than farm threatened the livestock industry, and worst of all, their ability to change at will into a snarling animal was a threat to the safety of humans. Or so they said.

10 years of constant persecution and killing later, and by 1912 the wolves of North America were gone. They were now reduced to myths; stories to pass on. Men would brag of their role in the decimation of a once proud and peaceful people. Children would hear of how their ancestors slayed the beasts to make their world a better place.

But far away from his homeland of Wisconsin, in Southampton, England, the last wolf plans his return home...

Jack Dawson stared in awe at the mighty ship in front of him. The R.M.S Titanic, the largest ship ever built. And boy, was she big. Jack could scarcely understand how such a monster could be built by tiny human hands. Her enormous black and white body gleamed in the April sunshine, her four enormous funnels preparing to smoke their way to New York. The Southampton dock was swarming with people, even though the departure wasn't until tomorrow. Crew, docks men and observers crowded the area. Some with a job to do, but many were simply locals who couldn't resist coming down to the dock to simply stare at the magnificent vessel before them. But Titanic was more than a sight to behold, she was Jack's way back home.

He had to get out of England, as soon as possible. It wasn't safe for him here anymore. It was never safe anywhere, once someone had begun to grow suspicious about who he really was.

As a werewolf, Jack had known his whole life that most humans distrusted and even despised his kind. He'd barely escaped with his life when his pack had been slaughtered by hunters, nearly five years ago now. His pack, from close to Chippewa Falls in Wisconsin, had been one of the last to remain unscathed from the neverending violence against the werewolves in America. They had lived a happy, peaceful life in their small village settlement, and rarely sought to interact with the humans of the nearby town. Jack had never known any of his pack to cause any trouble with them. Not that that stopped them from wiping out his whole family. Jack still barely understood how he had managed to flee the carnage alive.

Orphaned at the age of 15, he'd spent several months fleeing for his life across America, keeping to the wild as much as possible for safety, before managing to sneak on board a cargo ship bound for France in New York. Werewolves weren't native to Europe, although the Europeans generally shared the same distates for his people. However, they were less educated in how to recognise a werewolf in human form, and so Jack decided he would be safer across the sea. For years he'd roamed across the continent, exploring, in fact even enjoying the places his travels took him to. Out of habit, he still tried to associate with people as little as possible. Discovery could easily mean death. He'd had a close call in Paris, when a woman he'd been sketching a portrait for noticed that his nose occasionally twitched. "Zey say zat ze werewolves used to do zat when zey smelled something strong, how funny!", she had laughed. Jack couldn't help it. The woman was drenched in so much perfume that it was almost painful for his powerful sense of smell. His startled expression rather than laughter at her comment had caused her to give him curious looks for the rest of the portrait, which he hurried to finish as quickly as possible so he could get as far away from her as possible. He left Paris that night.

Three days ago, in London, Jack had made the terrible mistake of letting someone provoke him. He'd been sitting in the corner of a pub one evening, sketching a particularly interesting old man at the bar. Jack had always enjoyed drawing, but since his life of hiding had begun, he'd found sketching to be a great way of distracting himself from the stress and discomfort of not having had the chance to shift into wolf form for a while. Something about the hypnotic glide of the pencil and the intense focus of capturing someone on paper helped relax his tense mind and forget about his aching night was particularly hard. London was so crowded, overflowing with people, that he hadn't found anywhere safe enough to shift for almsot a week, and the aching in his bones and mind was tormenting. Around him, several drunken youths had decided to call out taunting comments about the fact that he was drawing in a pub. Somehow their beer-infused minds had decided this was hilarious. Jack gave up trying to concentrate on his sketching after about half an hour, packed up his sketchpad and left. Tonight of all nights, he wasn't in the mood for jibes.

As if his night wasn't already bad enough, the drunks had decided to follow him. Jack paced quickly through the deserted cobbled backstreets, trying to ignore them for long enough that they'd run away, but they didn't. They continued to call after him, and combining with the tension already boiling inside him from having not shifted, Jack was finding it hard to control himself. He breathed deeply, tried so hard to stay calm, but when a stone was thrown hard at his back, he snapped. He couldn't help it. He didn't even notice that he'd shifted at first. All he knew was that he was taking a running leap at the young men who were taunting him, and then he had one of them pinned to the floor under his paws. Paws? Oh shit... His moment of confusion was enough for the man to scramble free from under him, and the two men took off back down the alleyway, running for their lifes and screaming for help.

Now he'd well and truly blown it. He'd always been so careful, so reclusive, hardly ever arousing suspicion, and now he had not only shifted right in front of two humans, he had tried to attack one. Jack shifted back as quickly as possible, quickly slipping back into his clothes before sprinting off into the night as fast as he could. He didn't know how long he ran for, or where he was going, but by the time he stopped he was in a completely unknown part of the city. His heart raced, his mind screamed at him for being so stupid, his consience told him to leave, tonight. Such was the life of the last werewolf in flight for his life. Another day, another land to flee.

Later that same night, Jack had stowed away on a post train heading for the coast of Southampton. Hidden amongst the many huge sacks of mail, he'd dozed and listened to the chatting of the two men in the carriage. They were discussing their destination. Not only was this post headed for America, but it was to journey there is style, on the largest ship in the world, and newest Royal Mail Ship, the Titanic. Jack was curious. He'd heard people discussing this in London. She was supposed to be pretty impressive, but ships had never interested Jack much, except for when they were taking him to a new unknown place.

Jack's mind began to race with escape plans. He knew that getting out of Britain would be hard. The ongoing coal strike was severely limiting ship voyages, and of course this blasted country just had to be an island. Escape routes were slim. The more he heard the men talking of the Titanic, the more it dawned on Jack that this ship may be his only way out of Britain for quite a while. Although the thought of returning to America was bittersweet. Part of him ached for his homeland, with it's wild sprawling forests and prairies, but America also brought danger. He would have to live carefully, more careful than he had this side of the Atlantic. A large part of him would miss Europe, but an equally large part of him was also anxious to return home. Perhaps it was time. But this almost entirely depending on whether or not he could find a way onto the Titanic. Still, he'd snuck onto ships several times before. Surely this one would be just as easy. And with that thought, he nestled down amongst the mail sacks to sleep.

The train jolting to a halt awoke him. Jack took a moment to gather his senses and remind himself of where he was and what he was doing, before raising up from behind the mail sacks to carefully check if anyone was around. The carriage seemed to be empty, for now. He had no idea where the men had gone, but he didn't truly care, as long as they didn't spot him. With slow, silent steps, he made his way out of the pile of mail sacks, and slipped out of the carriage door and out into the golden sunrise.

The light was harsh on his eyes after a night in the dark of the mail truck, but he soon ajusted. All around him the station was bustling with people, all rushing around with somewhere to go, something to do. Crowds always made Jack feel uneasy. Force of habit. But sometimes a crowd is the easiest place to go unnoticed. Trying to look as natural as possible, he slipped into the stampede of people and made his way through the station and out into Southampton.

Seagulls, sea breeze, and the air filled with a strong salty tang. Yup, this was the coast alright. It was the morning of the 9th of April. A whole day before the Titanic was due to leave, according to the information he'd overheard last night. A day to work out how to sneak on board. Surely it couldn't be that hard.

OK, so maybe it was hard. The queyside was too crowded. There were crew and docksmen everywhere. And the ship itself was so huge that items were hoisted on board by crane, with very few simple gangways to sneak along. Even then, the gangways were sloping upwards. No way to slip inside unnoticed. Damn it. After a long time spent simply staring at the ship wracking his brain for a solution, Jack finally gave up with a sigh and turned away. There was still time. He would think of something.

He spent the day simply wandering around the town, not really going anywhere in particular. He found a large street of shops with several benches lined along it. He took the opportunity to sit and sketch a while. New town, new people to draw, he consoled himself. He'd hoped that the relaxing habit of sketching would enable his mind to come up with some bright idea of how to get on board the ship, but alas, nothing came. By evening, he was frustrated and annoyed. Escape still seemed far out of reach.

That night, like countless others before, Jack sought refuge under a railway bridge. Bridges weren't so bad. They were shelter, at least. Most people avoided them at night, mainly for the sake of avoiding people like him trying to get a few hours' sleep. Not that they were particularly safe places either, but his sharp hearing and sense of smell meant that he would almost always be awoken before any danger got close enough. Almost always.

The next morning, Jack was awoken by the almost deafening sound of a ship's horn. God, that was loud, he thought to himself, rubbing his eyes awake. Around him, a small group of children were running along the cobbled road to get to the queyside. Along the road, the Titanic's towering funnels could be seen above the rooves of the houses. Jack stretched himself awake and began to make his way back along the streets to the ship. Breakfast would have to wait. There were bigger things to worry about for now.

The docks were several times busier than they had been the previous day. Every inch of pavement was occupied with the feet of hundreds of people, the thundering hooves of many horses, and even quite a number of motor cars. Jack had never liked the idea of motor cars. Hideous metal contraptions that reeked of smoke and metal and took up too much space on the roads. What was wrong with two feet or a horse?

The intimidatingly large crowd was too overwhelming. Jack sighed hopelessly as he tried to organise the endless sights and sounds before him. This was chaos, albeit very organised chaos. He could clearly see that no one was getting through any door of the ship without a ticket. Not that he could ever afford one of those.

Defeated, Jack turned in the direction of a bar at the end of the quayside. At least he could console himself with some breakfast from the several coins he'd earned yesterday selling portraits.

The bar was a smokey haze of men in various states of sobriety and drunkeness. Jack sat himself at the furthest corner of the bar, and was about to call the bartender to order something, when an interesting conversation from behind caught his sharp ear.

"Alright, any more bets? Come on lads, play like real men, or are you just going to make it too easy for me?"

A poker match. Now Jack was curious. Of the things he'd learned from humans, poker certainly was one of the most interesting. He never truly understood why some people felt the need to put their possessions on the line for a simple card game, but winning the goods was always fun. Jack was good at poker. He had a talent for reading people's faces, and he could almost smell the fear of a bluffer.

He stole a closer look at the goods on offer on the table; coins, a watch, a penknife... and a crumpled piece of paper. Which happened to bear the White Star Line logo, and a picture of that oh-so-large ship that just happened to be sitting outside.

Jack's heart skipped a beat. A ticket. That crumpled piece was his ticket home. For all he knew, if could be his only way home. He needed it.

One of the men at the table, a cocky-looking Swede, by the sound of it, caught him staring at their poker table and called over "Fancy your chances at winning, lad? I could do with some fresh competition"

Jack couldn't quite believe his luck. An outright offer to take that Third Class ticket. It was fate, surely.

"Sure" he said confidenly, striding over to the table. "Count me in"

Cards were dealt to him. Not the worst I've ever seen, he thought to himself.

"Any bets?" said the man who invited him. Jack dug into his pockets and threw into the pile the few coins he had left. The Swede snorted at his offering, but continued regardless. So the game of a lifetime began.

Half an hour later, and the four other men at the table were wrecks. Jack could have smelt their sweat if he was still sitting at the bar across the room. Pathetic.

He stared the Swede right in the eye, emotionless. After prompting, the man lay his cards down for Jack to see, a smirk on his arrogant face.

"Darn it... Two pair" Jack sighed, feigning disappointment. It was always more fun that way.

"Ha! I knew I'd still be unbeaten. Alright boys, it's been fun, but I've got a boat to catch"

Before the man could reach out to scoop up his winnings, Jack lay down his own cards. Full house.

It was remarkable how quickly one man could change from smug to furious. Just as Jack was scooping his winnings into his pockets, he looked up to see a fist swinging at his face. A lightning quick dodge was all that saved him from an unfortunate facial bruise. He grabbed the Titanic ticket and ran. Forget the money, that ticket may as well have been gold dust to him.

Stealing a quick look at the clock above the bar, he made a dash for it. Five minutes to get on that boat...

He practically flew through the crowds of onlookers along the queyside. He dodged horses, cars and people galore as he raced to the Third Class gangway. They were just beginning to disconnect it. Perfect timing. He quickly shoved his ticket at the startled officer before leaping across the gap and onto the Titanic.

Jack kept on running. He was so happy he didn't think he could stop. He raced through the cramped corridors of passengers until he found his way up onto the deck. In the bright April sunshine, he stood up against the railings of the grandest ship in the world and waved England goodbye. He had no one to wave to, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that after so long, he was going home.