Full Figure Moon- October 2018 (Patreon)

Noatuk was still unsure about what he was doing. He didn’t understand what the shaman of his tribe meant by tonight’s full moon being different than all the others. The way he spoke, it made it sound like the moon wouldn’t be like this for a lifetime. As the shaman’s apprentice, Noatuk had been trained in the ways of the elements, at least, for the past few months. As the smallest in the tribe, he was not suited to be a hunter or a warrior, and the shaman was the only one who would take him. The tribe ranked by merit and strength, and the scrawny wolf lacked both. But tonight, the shaman promised, things would be different. Tonight the moon would glow red with the blood of their ancestors, and, if Noatuk was deemed worthy, they would give him unspeakable power. 

The last moments of daylight faded away as Noatuk finished the preparations. A sacred circle had been drawn with ash, and offerings for the ancestors placed at each of the four directions. As the shaman had instructed Noatuk, he knelt in the center of the circle and began to meditate, calling on the subtle powers of the elements to summon the ancestors, if they were willing. The scrawny wolf, sacred armbands hanging off his skinny arms, barely enough room on his narrow chest to apply the sacred markings, remained absolutely still. Then, he felt a tug of energy, and opened his eyes, his jaw falling open.

The moon hung low in the sky, just beginning its nightly journey. But instead of the serene white that usually lit the night sky, it was blood red, and bigger than he had ever seen it. Was this it? Was this the power of the ancestors, calling to him?

“I… I’m here,” he said in a small voice. He cleared his throat, and tried to speak louder. “I’m here! Ancestors, I beseech you! I hope to prove myself a worthy vessel of your power.”

A cacophony rang in Noatuk’s ears, the sounds of multiple voices speaking at once filling his head. It took moments for them to start to make sense. “...so scrawny and wants to be our vessel?”

“What harm could there be?”

“We should just wait for a shaman who seems less frail.”

“Ah yes, so many that do the rituals are strong of body and spirit. We cannot be so picky.”

The young wolf held his head, rubbing it as the voices argued. “Ancestors? Please, I came only to ask...ask for your blessing! I wish only to be found worthy.”

One prominent voice rang out over the others. “It has been too long since our blessing has been given to anyone. And with the moon rising as it is…”

“But this one cannot possibly make use of what we offer.”

That strong voice picked up again. “And it will be too long before we have another chance. Our blessing will go upon this shaman. We will make a proper wolf of him. Young Noatuk, you will have the blessing of your Ancestors.”

A smile broke over the wolf’s muzzle as he jumped up, bouncing a bit in joy. “Yes, yes! This is fantastic! Thank you so much, though how exactly will this work?”

“He doesn’t even know how this works,” another voice cried out.

“Oh you don’t even know how it works, you dolt. Hush! Young pup, so long as this moon shines down upon you tonight, you will be filled out our power. May it help you in finding your place.”

Noatuk blinked softly before rubbing his neck. “Yes, under the light of the moon… I more meant what exactly will hap-” he was cut off as his body felt like pins and needles were being pricked all over him. It reminded him of a particularly nasty encounter when he was a pup and had a run-in with a porcupine. It was setting him on edge, and slowly his breath was rising heavily into a panic.

“Now it begins, pup. Let our blessing change you, help you. Do not fight it, embrace the gift of those who came before.”

His breathing began to slow as the young shaman concentrated on the voice, trying to calm himself. The sensation was fading and being replaced by something else, a feeling he couldn't quite explain. It felt as though something was welling up inside him, pushing to get free. Reaching up to rub his chest, Noatuk gasped when he felt his fingers brush over firm mass. Looking down his eyes widened as his sunken chest was filling out, muscle spreading under his fur. His eyes were drawn to his arms where his armbands no longer hung limp, but were starting to hold around biceps and triceps that were actually visible.

“This...this is real! The power is real!” The young shaman’s tail began to whip around behind him before he let out a howl of excitement. Breaking from the ritual site he rushed for a nearby pond. He managed to stumble a few times, his thighs now thicker and fuller, forcing him to adjust his movements to manage them. Even as he raced under the light of the moon he was growing, an inch here, a pound there, his body filling out.

Skidding to a halt by the water’s edge he looked at his reflection. Gone was the reedy pup, in the water stood a true wolf. His chest had puffed out into two slabs of muscle, standing proud as he experimentally bounced them. Touching one of his biceps he marveled at how solid it felt, grinning as his armband was beginning to feel tight. Looking back down hen noticed one oddity. Many of the warriors of his tribe had slim middles, but his own was pushing out. Pressing on it experimentally he cocked his head when his hand sank into softness. “Is this a mistake?”

“No, young pup. We offered a blessing of prosperity. That prosperity takes on more than just a single form, but it is all a part of our gift.”

It took only a moment for Noatuk to feel his belly push out a little more against his palm, that layer of fat thickening. Still he could not argue, his smile returning as he gave his middle a pat, his Ancestors were generous. Looking around the shore he found a large rock, prying it from the mud. At one time it would have taken him considerable effort to lift a stone as big as his head, but now it barely felt heavy at all. Heaving the stone through the air he laughed as it crashed into the water.

Instinct began to push the wolf to enjoy the moonlight, his feet kicking off the ground as he rushed into the woods, loincloth fluttering against his growing thighs as he howled once more, the sound deeper as his chest expanded. Every minute under that shining moon was ecstasy for the shaman, the well of power inside him bubbling and churning as his body grew and shifted. He remembered feeling his armbands snap off at one point, unable to hold around arms that were thicker than his thighs had been after the beginning of his blessing. At one point hunger drove him to hunt, astonishing himself when he brought down a stag on his own. Even the strongest hunters in his tribe only hunted from afar, none could say they brought down a deer with their bare hands. A small fire crackled as he cooked, devouring his whole kill so nothing would be wasted. It was an easy feat as his belly had been growing as well, bouncing with each step he took through the night. He would have to regale his teacher with the tale of his hunt, as well as managing to rip away a large beaver dam that had been disturbing the flow of the river near the tribe’s settlement. Several warriors had been trying to dismantle it, but it had taken him mere minutes to break through it all.

Still the moon only sat in the sky for so long and by the twilight of dawn even the blessed wolf was beginning to tire. Trudging toward his home he let his tail wag, his night had been wonderful. His steps were slow, ponderous due to how thick his legs had grown. They were like oak trunks, rolling around each other as he stomped through the woods. At some point his loincloth had ripped off, but he was left decent by the swollen mass of his belly. Noatuk’s gut wobbles as he walked, shaking softly as it spilled downward past his waist. Fat padded his frame, but did little to disguise the powerful mass under it. His chest bounced as he grinned, thumping a fist against one of his full, thick pecs. By now he would easily outweigh the warriors, his chest broader than most of their shoulders and swollen enough he had to lean forward to see past it. New armbands would be needed, his arms bloated with muscle and some fat, the former very noticeable when he clenched his fist, making his bicep crash against his chest. Certainly he had the makings of a warrior now, but for such a gift he could not abandon his calling. The tribe could do with having a very swollen shaman.