I once heard... About the wolves and their keeper

Bloody Lunas don't happen often.
The moon is tinted red, and there's a halo of ominous fog around its full face. But I once heard of a country where they happened often, and it was never a good sign,or at least for one man.

They say howls could be heard far off, like a warning, and within a few days a beautiful woman with a head turning gait would visit the town. No one can recall a unique description, the stories bounce back and forth, and details are changed. But they say her hair was thick and shimmered silver moonshine, and her skin as pale as warm milk. Her eyes were piercing grey and her lips were blood red, although accounts have stated the opposite.
She had no voice in her slender body, or at least no one ever heard her speak, or even breathe.

The morning after every Bloody Luna, a pool of blood would be found in the main square of the town, bathing remnants of what looked like flesh, ripped apart to thin slivers by beasts of size or number that could only ever be imagined.

Not until the townsfolk gathered and checked would they know who had become a raw soup of wretched flesh, lying in the cold sun.
It was always a man. And always one who would never be missed.

They say the wife of one of the victims saw her, this omnipotent vigilante, while she sat on her window sill the evening after, her bruised eye healing slowly, her broken jaw recovering painfully.

They say she saw her, but only her silhouette against the light of the moon, and in her hand she held several golden leashes. The leashes shone with the sparkle of stardust, and some have said that they were made of stars themselves to explain how every month a star would disappear from the night sky. The end of each leash bound a great white wolf that walked tame in her shadow, but only in her shadow.


It is said, it seems, that every time she is seen leaving a town, there is another wolf in her pack, bound to her by gold, forever in her service.