Seven years later

Seven years later



From the woods, there came a sound. It was not the river trickling past the town of Shail, nor the cry of evening birds like owls. Nor even the howl of wolves or the yips of coyotes in the dark; no, it was still a bit early for those sounds. And the sound was different, not quite of the forest and not quite of the brown haired, green eyed boy who they emanated from but rather from the silvery instrument to which his lips pressed, as he played.

That boy was me, seventeen now the flute was something I had recently taken up. Any patron of music would easily be able to tell I still needed much more practice. My sharp screeching notes had a long way to go yet before they became the liquid keening of a nightingale, and that was putting it kindly.

I suppose the reason my playing was still putting banshees to shame had something to do with my mind not being fully present on the matter at hand.
Seven years buried in the past, replaying the same month over and over again, in my minds eye there really could be no hope for my playings improvement.
It had been the month I’d learned how to arm wrestle, carve, and gamble.

Mother never had forgiven me for taking up some of the more lucrative card games known to man. Despite my talent having kept us going during harder times, she still managed to nag me about it whenever I came home late. She would insist that sooner or later I'd get into more trouble than I could handle, and wind up dead like my father. I hated when she was like that, but father had been a cheat and a sneak from what people would say about him. One night he'd cheated the wrong sort of people and... that had been the last anyone ever saw of him. I guess her worries had some foundation to them and it probably didn’t help that I had gotten the money for her birthday present last year from one of my larger hauls. But, mother would be mother, and though she would never say it to my face, I got the feeling that she was quite pleased with how well I’d turned out. A carpenters apprentice holding down a steady flow of money to give mother some of the comforts that father, in all his criminal dealings had never even been able to dream of let alone provide. I’m sure I was not the only one who looked on that month with a gladness flooding through me. It was the month our lives turned around; changed for the better. And all because of the man in the last jail cell of Shail town prison, the man charged with the impossible. The man who’d changed my life forever. He was the reason for my being out here right now. It was here where he had left me before running off into the forest after I had sprung him from prison. The charges against him had been ridiculous and completely true at the same time. I remembered the night he’d left all too well, it had been here on this very riverbank that he’d left me amidst the oaks of this ancient grove. Setting me on the stump where I now sat. The flute that lay silent in my lap had no place here, but I needed some reason to be out at this hour. Not keeping the town up with my awful playing was a lovely excuse. I swear the new sheriff had been on the verge of putting me in the slammer for a night or two the first time I tried practicing at home, said it was something to do with accounts of my disturbing the peace. Not that the place would have held me; it was too familiar to me. This was due to spending a few years of my childhood there. Mother had gotten a job cooking meals for the prisoners, and having someone watch me had been out of the question at the time. So, the prison had been my play ground for a while. During this time, I discovered a number of things. Some of the cells had loose bars, and several walls were movable for the expansion or diminishing of cell space. I even learned how to move them. The locks were simple to pick any way. A talent which, had been picked up during my time there. I learned it from some of the inmates, and it had been great fun too.



As I listened to the sound of the stream trickling by, my hand strayed absently to the necklace of bear claws, which hung loosely about my neck. It had been his parting gift to me before he left. The claws, soft white ivory, glinted with something more than just the light of the moon. Like him, they were more than what they seemed.



The moon was particularly fat tonight as it mounted the zenith of its nightly journey. This was the reason I was out here it was at this time of night when my favorite night song played. Right on schedule, the first howl pierced the evening quiet. From the sound of things, it was far off, twenty miles or better. Several other cries responded to the first. These were closer but not by much, the closest was probably fifteen miles away or more. They never did get very close to Shail. But then, what person in their right mind ever did. With it’s terribly out of the way location and the lack of safe traversable highways to connect it to much of anywhere it was a surprise any trade ever passed our way at all. The blacksmith was what really allowed the town to continue to function as it did. The iron deposit so close to the surface and so near a water source was the only reason Smithy Thomas hadn’t already packed up his anvil and moved on to bigger and better industrial places “or so it was said.” He was the richest man in town by any one's guess and hired a number of the town folks when times were down to help him dig up the deposits paying them fair wages for their labor. He’d known what he was looking for when he staked the claim on the sight and a couple of people wondered why he didn’t industrialize his source and let others do the work while he got rich like other land owners in the cities did. He said it was because he liked a quiet simplicity of living away from the problems of society. I suppose he wasn’t all that crazy, we did have one fairly stable highway nearby. It was the river keening our little stream of a river connected to it, in the spring and summer and it was downright traversable, if you could manage the rapids or if your boat was sturdy enough. Even without a highway, the smithy would eventually cause Shail to grow big enough to need a road and then it would only be a matter of time until some one forged it. With the road would come more traders, new talents and crafts, as well as new problems. Brigands, Highwaymen, and that sort of ilk; that’s just how these things worked “or so I am told.”

As the chorus of calls and responses filled the night air, my mind once again hoped against hope that one of those night singers would pay a visit to me.

He probably hadn’t meant for me to dwell this long on his return but the fact was I missed Rolf he was the only real father figure I’d ever known and it was because of him that I was at the spot in my life where I now was. It didn’t matter that he was a werewolf. He had been more of a man than anyone else in Shail had and despite myself I wanted the company that I’d felt when I was with him. The local boys were company enough I guess. If a person wanted to be around small minded and near sighted individuals. The black smiths apprentice and son Danual was the closet and only real human friend I had. His father had educated him in things of the world that most of us country folk didn’t realize the value of. Mathematics, measurement, reading, writing, and a number of other essentials had been the repertoire of Dan’s schooling. Dan had taught me about some of these things too, which was why I had taken up the flute and all. But Dan was down with some weird disease right now, and no one was allowed in to see him though I’d made several attempts despite the fact. It was frustrating that he was prohibited visitors but perhaps it was for the best that the infection not be spread to others. Mother had said as much and she seemed to know best when it came to such things. She had a kind of knack for feeling out these things. It was a sort of “whoa that thing’s red hot don’t touch it” sense that would come over her on those occasions. I’d learned the hard way that she was never ever wrong in these instances. I still had the scar from the last time I’d gone and not heeded her warnings to prove it. And lets just say it was a very good thing that she new how to sew.

The slight chill in the night air caused a shiver to tiptoe down my spine, but perhaps it was the night song of the wolves with it’s unusual quality this evening that made me feel chilled. It was beautiful in an eerie sort of way as it played out its never repeating melody. I’d come to recognize some of the individual voices that sang in the song. I hoped one of them belonged to Rolf but there was no way to be sure. Some voices were closer than usual this evening several around the nine-mile distance. That had never happened before, and I was puzzled by the new development, maybe it was just disappointment that Rolf hadn’t returned like he’d promised. Then, as I was brooding over my loneliness there was a new voice in the night, to close to be real! I froze listening not daring to believe that it could be so close, and yet it was. Not even two miles off! Leaping up I ran toward the sound; it was so beautiful. On the other hand, maybe I was just obsessed, either way I ran toward the enchanting sound carried along on the legs that had come with the slight build I’d been born with.

Piping up with my own pathetically human responses I hoped this new vocalist would hear and find me. Yes, I howled in that night song too; Ok maybe I was more than obsessed. Crashing through the dense wood, passing through patches of moon light flitting down through the canopy above to rest on the ground below; I didn’t even consider how rash this may have been, running towards the sound of a lethal predator, making sounds to encourage him to come to me. Perhaps I thought the gift Rolf had given me still retained the potency of his scent, which he’d imbued it with. Perhaps my desperation to experience the company of another wolf had left my perceptions of suicidal behavior heavily suppressed. Regardless I sprinted on down along the river battling my way through the areas where the local vegetation grew more densely. Savagely bashing my flute against the leafy ferns that obscured my passage. That would work wonders for my playing to be sure. Rolf probably hadn’t meant for me to test his gift in this way, and should his gift have lost its potency, what more would there be between me and this wolf than a shaft of silver that wasn’t even real silver, “I don’t think I really cared.”

The wolf seemed to be coming in my direction as the sound was getting louder far faster than it should have were it just me running towards it. “Yes,” I thought triumphantly to myself. Maybe my attempts weren’t as pathetic as I’d thought.

When you’ve listened to the night song as long as I have you tend to discern distance and traveling rate by sounds alone.

Suddenly the howl changed from a howl to a yelp followed by a low set of whines laced with pain.

Tripping mid-howl I struggled back up and continued my running. The howl was panicked and whining; the creature was hurt!

Abruptly the cries stopped all together.

I made quickly along the bank of the river winding its way through the forest to where I had last heard the cry.

There was nothing to be seen, howling again I sprinted on panting heavily from the exerting, excursion.

Then rounding a bend in the river, there he was lying in a heap by the water.

He was light grey with a white under belly and throat. About three heads taller than me, he lay motionless accept for his breathing.

He heard my approach, his pointy wolf ears twitching at the new sound of my heavy breathing and laborious approach.

Turning his head and taking me in with one piercing look from those great big grayish blue eyes glinting of distrust. Winching, I gasped, across his human shaped chest was a dark gash, his paw like hand covering it in an attempt to stop the blood flow; it was a useless gesture though.

Baring his gleaming white teeth at me he began growling menacingly as I approached, he could definitely tell that it was not a wolf who had been answering his calls and he was pissed about the fact. A point made clear by the increase in the volume of the guttural sounds he was making as I came closer.

His threats soon became a whine of pain. He was hurt and he knew it.

Acting without thought I peeled off my shirt, the cool breezy evening air causing goose bumps to pop up over the entire course of my exposed skin. Moving to the water and dipping the ashen colored fabric in the river, ringing and re-dipping it once twice three times to wash my sweat out. I turned back to the large wolfen form behind me. Approaching him cautiously turning the grey linen into a makeshift bandage as I crossed the mulchy leaf blown ground that lay between us.

Offering my shirt to him at arms length. “He should at least be allowed to sniff and approve the offering, and me.” I thought “why not; he’d already called my bluff.”

I eased the shirt and myself a little closer to his curious muzzle as he began to sit up from the position he had been lying in; definitely a mistake!

His nostrils flared, eyes suspicious and wary, a glimmer more of the earlier growling returned. It looked as if he would attack.



I froze as he leaned his head toward my chest and throat, remaining still, letting him sniff me closer. I realized that I had not counted on being his dinner.

How stupid must I look right now, the scrawny twig of a young man that I was, holding out my shirt with a werewolf leaning toward my chest, to do what?

Take a bite out of me perhaps?

His cold wet nose brushed against my tan sun burnt skin. I shuddered visibly shivering with the onset of what I believe was fear.

Beginning to back away, he stopped me. his growling had subsided.

Having sat up further he placed his free hand behind me holding me in place! I waited for him to lunge, but he didn’t, instead fancying a slower kill I thought.

Leaning forward past my out held shirt he brushed his nose over my necklace this time and then. Rocking forward onto his knees having come to a full upright position he licked me slowly, from naval to throat. “This is it!” I thought, “This is how it ends!”

Then he just, backed off.

I was stunned.

He'd sat back on his heals and then his rear with a wince he started gesturing me to his side!

I blinked, having difficulty processing this new information, sighing I realized that I had been holding my breath and so I quickly took in a few deep breaths to steady myself.

It must have been my necklace that he’d caught a whiff of, because the facade of lethality had ended as abruptly as it had begun revealing how he really seemed to feel; it looked like relief, and I definitely shared in it.

Making a panting sound and ending it in a puff of air, he continued to beckon me to him gesturing to the wound across his abdomen.

hhhh pppp hhh e pppp hep?" He said “Help?” I asked. He nodded at my question. He wanted my help.

Looking down right tame and friendly the wolf smiled as I moved forward the rest of the way, or at least it looked like a smile. Coming to him, I wrapped the make-shift bandage around his massive chest, he lifted his paw like hand from over the wound just long enough for me to get the bulk of the shirt fabric over the area, before he pressed his hand back down on the spot, effectively keeping the bandage in place so the sleeves could be maneuvered and tied. Moving the sleeves over and under his arms which he raised obligingly. The unoccupied one going straight up, while the one that held the bandage in place moved to be almost, horizontal with his shoulders.

His arms were something to gawk at; muscular shape and refinement visible even with fur covering them. They were huge!

Moving under the raised left arm with the lower part of the bandage length in tow I then reached up to grab the upper end that I'd tossed up over the werewolf's shoulder. Bringing the two ends together, past one another and to a cross, I asked, him. "Is there slack for me to tighten it?" He had lowered his arms now and putting the one not busy with his bandage out to the side, he gave me a thumbs up. werewolves had thumbs?! For all this time I'd thought they weren't possible, but then I hadn't really gotten a good look at Rolf's hands that night when I'd freed him. Come to think of it I hadn't really been taking note of details like that at the time any way and it had been dark. Tightening the sleeves slowly I watched his hand for a signal to stop. It came with a wince and a whine. "Sorry," I said regretting having hurt him. Tying the shirt sleeves off behind his back to fix the bandage in place, I did my best to try and keep it snug.

It’s a good thing mother had made me wear a long sleeved shirt today. She had said I’d be needing it, in that “all-to-knowing” sort of way that came over her when she was completely and absolutely right beyond question or reason.

At first I had thought that she was loosing it.

It being a midsummer day and promising to be a scorcher at that. And as I had predicted it most definitely was a scorcher. I'd taken off for work, tying the shirt round my waist for most of the day wondering why I had listened to her I'd only put it on after the sun had gone down. But now it was all to clear, a little sun burnt, I was very glad I had listened.

The shirt had been made for some one far larger than me any way, and had it not, it probably wouldn't of cut it as a bandage.

Stepping back having fastened the bandage in place I examined my work.

One had to marvel at the creatures back; this wolf could crush me to a pulp easily if he wanted to. I was sure glad he didn’t. The werewolf groaned bringing me back from my dark repose.

Were there multiple wounds? Had I missed one? Personally I didn't like the idea of having to give up my pants. The shirt I could part with easy but there are just some regions of modesty where a person has to draw the line. If some one saw me like that. Heck if anyone saw either of us together we were dead!

Running a more thorough examination, I finally asked him as he looked a little confused at my antics "does it hurt anywhere else?" He shook his head.

Other than the gash, he was in peak physical condition.

In amazement I glanced down at my chest.

It had worked just as he'd said it would. Rolf’s gift had actually made the difference between my life and death.

Stranger still, I had a remote feeling that I would not have minded if he had bitten me.

But now that I was alive with a werewolf on my hands no less, how was I to help him!

I recalled mother doing something with a needle and thread when I had seriously cut myself the last time I didn’t listen to her warnings. But I had none of that stuff with me here which she’d used to help me!

We’d have to move.

“I can’t do much for you here” I said realizing how pathetic this bandage was as I looked closely at his front.

Dull maroon was all ready bleeding through the dampened fabric!

“Can you walk?” I asked. Not sure what I’d do if he couldn’t.

The wolf looked at me askance but finally, nervously he nodded and made to rise.

Flinching back down the wolf moaned with pain.

“What? Do you need to lean on me?” I offered.

He nodded, eyes pinched closed against the pain.

Easing under his good side, his left side, since the wound went diagonally from right breast downwards ending just beneath where the left breast began.

I pulled his arm over my shoulders and braced to rise. His arm alone was as thick as a fifteen year old tree trunk “on three.” I grunted “one, two, Three!” with a heave we were both up.

He leaned heavily on me at first near causing me to fall over. Pushing back savagely I struggled to steady us both. Finally regaining some control over his legs, the weight eased up some, and we began stumbling together through the brush towards town.

It wasn’t far thank the good lord, but we came fairly close to collapsing in a heap several times.

The second time might just as well have been that, seeing how I was almost crushed under my wolfen charges massive form his blood stained bandage smearing crimson over my chest and back as we tried to get up. During this time my damned flute took its vengeance on me for using it more or less as a machete jabbing me in the side of the gut. "Uh,"

I swore when Dan got well I was going to have him melt the retched instrument back into the lump of tin it was.



I lived on the out skirts of town fortunately and mother was already long since asleep when we arrived. Still I let us in the back just to be safe. some how a frontal street-side entrance seemed a little to open, more like inviting trouble; If one person saw us that's all it would take. opening the back door I entered first, turning sideways so the wolf could follow. his nose perked at the smell of the place and he looked around curiously as we stood in the back of the house looking out on the front room dining space and sitting space. glancing to the left he tested the air and I felt his tail slapping against me as he had located the kitchen. "Come on" I said surprised that he thought more with his belly than with his head "My rooms over here." I said.

It was my workshop area slash bedroom.

The furnishings consisted of my worktable by the door a four legged rectangular piece with a chair and the beginnings of my newest commission also there was my bed which was on the far wall length wise to the window which looked out on the forest without. Next to the bed was another commission this one close to completion.

As if it were just the icing on a cake, the room was strewn with wood savings and saw dust, which was why my room was a place mother seldom ever ventured.

I made for my bed quickly sitting my furry patient in a sturdy chair I’d made recently it still needed a bit more smoothing out but it’d do.

"I'll be just a moment," I said reassuringly as he looked at me like I was abandoning him here. If looks could speak his was saying "Don't leave me!" with much desperation and anguish in it. "I'll be back," I said. He didn't look convinced.

Rushing to the kitchen a stone floored L that looked out into the dining space and the back garden through another window, I set to work fetching what mother had used on me when I’d sustained a rather ghastly cut on my arm, back around the time I was twelve just starting out as old jacks apprentice at carpentry.

Setting a kettle with water to boil over the constantly burning kitchen fire, I went for a bowel in the cubert by the back window. Also, gathering up needle and thread from our sitting room that was on the frontal street side of the house next to the main fire place (we had two.) Locating several salves in the pantry I made my way back to the kitchen where the water had begun to boil.

Lifting the kettle from the fire, I poured it in the bowel and rushed back to my workshop with my supplies closing the door behind me making sure it was locked, just in case mother did happen to wake; that would be disastrous.

He was waiting on the chair where I’d left him. When I came in he'd been looking around like a curious child in a new and unfamiliar place although I don't think a curious child's nose would have been near as active as his was. Looking up he started wagging his tail relieved that I'd returned and happy too.

Setting everything on the worktable, I moved my work chair over next to his, then I moved everything over to set on it. The bowl of hot water in the middle the two jars of salve in front of it the towel over the chairs back.

Turning to tend the werewolf, I went to the back of him untying the sleeves before unwinding it. The blood soaked bandage “my shirt” came off the wolfs chest, sounding sticky as it peeled away. I new it was toast. I would have to toss it.

Short a shirt though I would be I could manage, mom wouldn’t notice, I hoped. Grabbing up the towel from the back of my work chair, “that was actually meant for bathing” and dipping it in the now, warm water, I went to work cleaning the cut.

At first, the wolf protested blocking my towel and eventually grabbing my wrists in his massive paw like hands to hinder my progress, “apparently I wasn’t as gentle as I’d thought I was” his hands engulfed mine! Breathing in deeply I began to realize on a new level how dangerous this guy could be if he got angry, sighing out letting my sudden hint of fear leave with it I focused on what had to be done.

Looking him in the eyes I said, “I need to clean it if you’re going to heal.” Giving him an apologetic look, a frown that bordered on a grimace and sorry eyes.

Reluctantly he gave in releasing my wrists. I had to work them a bit before putting them back to work. being as careful as I could, I set to work wiping the gash “gently this time,” dabbing and wiping where it was necessary apologizing every time he moaned or bit back a yelp. Messy work is what it was, towel and water both, turned bright red pretty fast. Putting the towel aside in he bowel along with my shirt I picked up one of the jars, it read "Numb Weed."

Dabbing my fingers into the jar I scooped up about a tablespoon or more and smeared it on the wound. Mother had used the same salve on my wound.

I remembered it numbed the area for hours. He relaxed in posture, proof of this fact. (It was also having that affect on my finger tips better wipe them off...) I wiped my hands on the red towel, the numbing effect ceasing it's spreading. “Maybe I should have used the salve first.” I said it under my breath, but he caught it and nodded giving a sarcastic look that said "Hmmm, maybe you should have used that first." I wanted to tell him to shut up but decided to hold my tongue in case he decided to continue with a sarcastic act of vengeance. I must of smelled of fear because he tested the air and put a hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze of reassurance. "I wouldn't hurt you," his look said. Relaxing myself, because I must of tensed up I closed the jar of "Numb Weed."

Now for the hard part.

“You might want to look away for this,” I said stringing a needle quickly, before he could protest further. He didn't look to happy about what I had planned as the realization began setting in that I had to sew him shut. He looked like he'd protest until, I poked him with the needle where the salve had been spread. he hadn't felt a thing "don't think about it" I told him "that's the only way I'm gonna be able to get through this too." looking away the wolf, tried to distract himself.

I was no surgeon but I wasn’t incapable mother had insisted I know how to make my own clothing and the slash was stitched shut within the hour.

Last stitch in place I tied off the thread in a tinny series of knots. Straining to see what I was doing by the limited candle light the full effects of the effort began to weigh on me. Exhausted I sighed with satisfaction. "The hard parts over," I said with satisfaction. Looking down at my work as best he could the werewolf brought a paw up to feel the spot where his chest had been sown back together it still bled but not enough to be more than a nose bleed, the flow had been staunched most impressively. He looked up at me a look of wonder in his eyes. Satisfaction and pride bloomed in my chest warming my heart. Now for the finishing touches. Putting on the second salve and replacing the old shirt with an actual bandage this time, (a sheet I'd cut up for the purpose.) I was confident that his chest would repair in its time.

“Let’s get you to bed now,” I said, offering him a hand up. He took it and caught me when I fell into him not really needing the help. If anything it was me that needed the help but I had to be strong. "Here, sit down, you'll sleep in my bed." Having him sit down on my bed, I bent to lift his feet into the bed having him lie down. His feet were more wolfen than his hands resembling a dogs paw only much larger and broader like a mans foot. Like with when he stood up I think he lifted his feet and legs more than I did, turning in the bed to lay on his back as I lifted his feet into the bed. He filled it from head to foot board. The bed looked small in comparison to him his filling it out a testament to this fact. I'd always thought of it as quite large, too large for me in fact. As it was He still made grateful sounds placing an appreciative hand on my shoulder and giving it another squeeze of reassurance that my efforts were appreciated, panting out a word that sounded remotely like thanks as I pulled the blanket up over his chest it only went to just under his belly but surely the fur was plenty warm.

Despite his inability to speak all that well it felt good being in a werewolf’s presences again.

Perhaps caring for a creature who could consume me while I slept didn’t register as suicidal with me and my heavily suppressed concept of it, it hadn't even been all that alarming when he'd engulfed my hands. Maybe it had but I wasn't about to let myself agree that it had.

It was good to watch him falling asleep closing his eyes. Smiling to myself I thought with some irony of how similar and yet different this was to the past, he wasn’t Rolf but his presence made all the difference in the world.

Reflecting on the events of the evening, I paused when considering what I'd done for the wound. It had been surprisingly shallow; and sewing it shut hadn't taken as long as I'd thought it would. It had looked longer than it had actually been. The blood must have given the illusion of severity, and damage making things seem worse than they were. Finding it to be not as bad gave me great relief, for I was thoroughly spent this evening.

Putting things back where they belonged I nodded dangerously close to the edges of unconsciousness. Barely remembering putting things back some how I got things back where they had originally been with no blood to give away their having been used.

It’s a wonder I made it back to the chair where I’d sat my furry patient down for working on. Vaguely I realized the bowel with the towel and shirt in it still sat on the work chair "had I forgotten anything else?" Oh my shoes. I pushed them off of my feet using one to push the other off, that felt better...

Flinching awake for I'd lolled into unconscious briefly I looked about, out of sorts with my surroundings already.

He was looking at me funny. The werewolf, in my bed, my grogginess amusing him, he gave me what I think was a pitying smile, or was it a hungry one...

For a moment, I entertained the thought of what being a chew toy might be like remembering with some strange delight the feeling of his tongue on my bare skin.

Was he actually going to taste me?(Was I loosing it...)

I still was not sure on this line of thinking when he reached out with both arms, sitting up to do so, and pulled me into the bed with him. lying back down he took me down too. To tired to care either way, though I did put on a bit of a struggle. For his benefit or perhaps for mine, I gave in and let myself be maneuvered into the bed. His warm furry body next to mine felt good, but I still wasn’t sure of this.

The leather of his paws brushed against me as he re-situated the blanket over me. This felt weird hadn't I just tucked him in?...

It was not until he rapped an arm over me pulling me up against his chest with a pleasant satisfied sigh that I finally relaxed fully, and began to appreciate the soft fur of his belly against my back compared to the coarser fur of his arm pushing my chest into his.

His hands fascinated me in my half-awake state of mind. The smooth leathery surface of his paw pads with soft fur coming up between their edges the light prickling of the five claws resting on my skin, I sighed.

Snuggling closer I allowed my body to shape to the contours of his, not knowing why mind you, this behavior being highly irregular and not the least bit normal on my part, but that didn't matter tonight, sleep gnawed at me, and I let it have it's say and sway.

Slipping into a peaceful slumber for once knowing all to be well and as it should, I drifted into glorious oblivion.

How a werewolf sleeping with a human teenager is as things should be is beyond my ability to explain, but maybe it is just part of the suppression on my comprehension of suicidal behavior what causes the prey to sleep in the arms of the predator.