I cried that night. As I had never cried before. I could not think of the cold, or my hunger, or my nakedness in the dark. I could only think of Izar. Hence, I could only cry. Eventually, I suppose, I slept. For when I woke, it was daytime and my head was pillowed by Izar’s stiff arm.

For those of you who think this sounds romantic…you must please adjust your thoughts. He had lain now for many hours in a puddle of urine and blood. He stank. My atuned sense of smell was telling me to run. I closed his eyes, gently, and then returned my thoughts to myself. I remember that I have been in this situation before. I force myself to think rationally.

He always wears two shirts so I peel the outer one off him along with his jacket. He wears leggings and thick, leather pants so I take the latter. I shy away from the stink of death as I pull the clothes over me. It is better this way, I think. Now, love cannot hold me back. Now it is just me, a werewolf.

I hope my enemies are running now…