Half-moon was a cold, and wet, and altogether miserable day, and the fact that David insisted on starting the ride out to the watering station before sunrise did not make it any better. Greg cursed softly, while he tried to rub warmth back into his fingers.

“Now what?” he asked his brother when they reached the trees. By now, the sun was up, and it was as bright as it was likely to get with those clouds.

“Now we wait,” David gave back calmly.

“Can we at least make a fire?” Greg sighed. He was not looking forward to camping out here, in the middle of nowhere, for a whole day.

David looked up into the sky. “We can go, hide deeper between the trees,” he finally said. “See if we can get a fire going.”

“You do realize that this is Rot country, right?”

“I was kind of hoping that you like me enough to defend me, too,” David replied, with only half a smile.

“No, I mean – it’s a lot easier to do that if I have at least a torch at hand,” Greg explained. “Cause if I transform in a hurry, I’m going to ruin my boots, and I don’t think anyone has a pair to spare that would fit me. And if I ride into town barefoot, I’m pretty sure the guards will ask questions.”

“Probably,” David agreed. “I mean, if that makes it easier for you, you can just turn right now.”

“I’ll give it until after lunch,” Greg decided. “I’m already getting hungry.”

David led the way between the trees, to a little clearing they had scouted out a few days ago. His older brother did manage to get a fire going, to Greg’s relief, and he moved as close to the flames as he could without burning himself.

“You aren’t scared of the fire at all,” David noted.

“Nope,” Greg said.

“It’s just strange,” David sighed. “I mean, you think you know about werewolves, and then you realize, you really don’t.”

“Maybe I’m just different,” Greg pointed out. “Or maybe the sane werewolves are all like me, and the only ones you ever killed were the other kind.”

David smiled wearily. “Sun, I wish that was true.” He shook his head. “Nice thought, though.”

“I think the Valoise know all about this,” Greg said. “About all of it. That not all the werewolves are these dangerous, murderous monsters they’re made out to be. And that we can fight the Rot.”

“I think you’re right,” David said.

“But if I am, then we need the duke. We can’t fight the Valoise without him.”

“Yes,” David said softly. He was quiet for a moment, and then said: “Let’s eat lunch.”

Greg was dying to ask what had happened between his brother and Duke George Louis, but in the end, he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his business.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Greg started to feel something. So he decided that if they weren’t going to talk anyway, he might as well transform right now.

“The Rot is about,” he told David, while he took off his coat. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“Headache,” Greg said. “Not really a headache yet, just – pressure around the temples.”

“Oh that. I’ve had that all day,” David said. “Never thought about it. That’s how it starts?”

Greg nodded and struggled out of his riding boots. David’s eyes never left him, not even when he was starting to take off his pants. After months of bathing only in streams with a crew of navvies, Greg wasn’t exactly modest, but his brother’s gaze was still making him uncomfortable.

When Greg turned away, David tended to the fire and said: “Sorry for staring. I’m just curious. What you look like, I mean.”

Greg smiled wryly. “Yeah, well. I’d like to know, too. Isaac described it for me, but, well. I’ve never seen myself in a mirror.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then glanced over his shoulder even though he had told himself he wouldn’t when he let himself crash into his other body.

David managed to hide his flinch pretty well, but Greg knew him well enough to recognize that flick of his head, the hunched-up shoulders that straightened out right away.

They just stared at each other for a few seconds, until finally, David said: “Well, that was something,” and got up to calm their horses, who were trained to fight werewolves, not stand around just watching them.

Greg let himself drop back onto the ground, like a dog that was told to lay down, and David settled down again, too.

“Does it hurt?” David asked.

Greg couldn’t quite suppress a shudder at the question. When he nodded, David looked down and away, pressing his lips together.

After a moment, David said: “If you want to go to sleep, that’s fine. I’ll keep watch, don’t worry.”

Greg would have liked to tell David that the wolf would likely hear anyone approaching long before the hunter did, but there was nothing he could do beyond flick his ears.

“You think you can hear better than I, huh?”

Greg yawned instead of nodding, and David laughed.

“Right.”

Greg did end up dozing off for an hour or two. When he woke up, David was still sitting at exactly the same spot, silently tending to his crossbow. When he saw that Greg was awake, he moved, as if he wanted to cover up his quiver of silver bolts, then stopped himself.

“Sleeping beauty is awake,” he said. “Good. I think the Rot is getting closer.”

Greg sneezed. He wondered whether his brother could feel the pressure on his head, or smell the sick, fetid odour of the Rot, or possibly both.

“Maybe we should start moving,” David added. “If I build the fire up enough to protect me from the Rot, someone might spot the smoke. And it’s going to be time soon anyway.”

David led his stallion, while Dolly just followed them like a dog. Greg smiled, as much as a wolf could, when he realized that they were about the same size, him and the mare.

Dusk was falling by the time they reached the edge of the forest, hidden behind just a couple of lines of trees and the underbrush. The stench of the Rot was weaker here. David seemed to notice it, too. They waited in silence and watched how their father, Andrew, and Nathan came riding up to the watering station, soon followed by Eyal, Isaac, and Gavrel who must have walked the whole six or seven miles.

Duke George Louis was last, riding on a fine black stallion, and just like David had predicted, he hadn’t come alone. The director of his company was with him, and so was Smith, to Greg’s surprise. And also Lane deLande in her full hunting gear, and a couple of soldiers.

When he saw them, David’s face hardened.

“Wait here,” he muttered and started to move almost soundlessly through the underbrush.

“Your Highness,” Eyal said in greeting and bowed rather stiffly.

“Mr. Levi,” the duke replied. “A rather larger group than I expected.”

“We could say the same thing, George,” David called, stepping out of the trees. “What happened to ‘come alone’?”

The duke’s face did something complicated when he saw David but eventually settled on a bland smile. “The Honourable David Feleke. What a surprise. Now we have five werewolf hunters. But no werewolf?”

Greg took that as his cue to also move out, not bothering to be quiet. He could see Lane deLande’s head jerk left and right, as she searched the tree line, and she had one hand on the crossbow that was hitched to the saddle.

Greg hesitated, hidden behind a large fir tree until Nathan moved his horse closer to the huntress. She never even spared him a glance. Just like Greg had expected, deLande whipped her crossbow around as soon as he stepped out into the open, aiming and shooting in one swift motion. Greg had no doubt that she would have hit him square in the chest if Nathan hadn’t locked his foot underneath hers, upending her in the saddle.

Her shot went wide, and before she could catch her balance, Nathan had knocked her off her horse completely. David was at her side immediately, taking the weapon from her.

“We were told you wanted to talk, Your Highness,” Bram said calmly. “Is that so? Because if it isn’t, please do not waste our time.”

“Of course,” the duke said after a second. “DeLande, stand down. I have to wonder, though, Lord de Courtenay, what your interest is in this matter.”

“It’s his son,” deLande hissed. “The werewolf is his bloody son!”

The duke frowned. “Is that so?” he asked. “I did not realize there was a ‘John’ Feleke.”

“There isn’t,” deLande growled. “His name is Gregory!”

The duke looked from Bram to Eyal, and back again. “Is that true?” he asked again.

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Eyal finally.

“I see,” the duke said softly. “But was he not present when we talked in my office at the company seat?”

“He was, Your Highness.”

“So, in other words, I have already talked to him,” the duke noted. “How very interesting. I never would have guessed of his affliction.” He turned to Greg. “So you have protected the crew not from werewolves, but the Rot?”

Greg nodded.

“Why did you do so?”

Greg tilted his head and frowned.

The duke promptly looked at Isaac. “Well? I was told you two could communicate. Or was that a lie as well?”

“No, Yer Highness,” Isaac muttered. “But, uh, he thinks that’s a stupid question.”

“How so?”

Greg rolled his eyes when Isaac glanced over to him.

“Because it’s the Rot, Yer Highness,” Isaac sighed. “Of course he helped us.”

“I see.”

Greg hardly even listened. The stench of the Rot was getting thicker, and he could hear something move in the trees behind them. He growled softly. DeLande promptly tried to wrestle her crossbow out of David’s grip, and the duke asked: “Now what?”

“We need to leave,” Isaac said. “The Rot is getting closer.”

“I thought your friend here could defend us.”

“That’s a bloody foolish risk to take, Your Highness,” Eyal said. “We have no protection here, and no idea how many creatures are on the way. He can’t be in two places at once.”

The duke hesitated a moment and then reached into his pocket. “I see your point,” he said and tossed something in Greg’s direction, a small amulet, as far as Greg could tell.

For a few seconds, everybody was very quiet, until deLande said: “Please tell me that wasn’t magical, Your Highness.”

“Just a weak charm,” the duke said loftily.

“Right,” David grumbled. “Well, that was officially the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do. Now, let’s get out of here.”

He turned towards the forest, but before he could go in to get the horses, Dolly and David’s gelding came breaking through the trees in a blind panic. The other mounts followed after them, carrying their riders away, but the duke was thrown out of his saddle when his stallion bolted. David went after the horses without hesitation, but he only managed a few steps before he slowed down and finally froze. Eyal, Isaac, and Gavrel didn’t even get that far. Neither did Lane deLande or the duke, but Greg was slightly less worried about them.

When he turned back to face the forest, the first Rot creatures were closing in on the point where the duke’s strange amulet had landed. They were fairly big, both about the size of a deer. They circled the amulet, like hunters closing in on their prey, but before either of them could get it, a third one appeared, probably once a wild hog, but misshapen now, covered in grey lichen. The three of them jumped at the amulet almost at the same moment, and then something strange happened: Instead of fighting over it, the creatures seemed to melt, flow into each other until there was only one creature left, as big as the three of them together.

The stink that came off the monster was so thick Greg could hardly breathe, and for a few seconds, even he couldn’t move a muscle. He could look around though, see the terror on the faces of David, and his friends, who could only watch on in horror, frozen by the power of the Rot.

Hollow, empty eye sockets fixated on Greg, as if this thing somehow knew, recognized, that he posed a threat.

Greg shuddered. He hadn’t been scared of the Rot, not since that very first night, and most certainly not in his wolf form. But he was scared now, scared not just for himself, but for his friends and brother as well. Only with effort did he manage to shake himself out of his stupor and glare at the thing. It reminded him of a bulldog – if bulldogs grew as large as oxen. It was stocky, and heavy-set, with four short legs, a huge head, and shovel-like jaws. Greg had no doubt that those jaws would have no issue breaking his bones.

He’d have to thank the duke for that later. First, though, he had to get them all out of here alive.

The creature charged, surprisingly fast on its stumpy legs, and Greg hurried to get out of the way. He could feel it passing like a breeze, almost brushing against him. The Rot-beast was carried past him but turned around much more agile than Greg would have liked, just to charge at him again.

The wolf part of him knew what to do. When the bulldog rushed past him, Greg managed to rip a piece out of its hind legs. The creature roared as if in pain – not that that meant much. Greg still wasn’t sure what the Rot actually felt, if it felt at all. The monsters might scream as if in agony, but they were never slowed down by injuries, and they did not tire.

Greg would have to rip this thing to pieces, one bite after the other, and pray to whatever god was listening that it didn’t get him first. If those jaws got a hold of his throat, they were all dead.

Once again, Greg danced out of the way when the rot-beast came at him, and he started to feel the pressure again, the vice-like grip on his skull that had him almost seeing double. If he had been fighting the three Rot creatures individually, it wouldn’t even have been a contest. Joined together like this, though, their power seemed to multiply, seeping his strength and making him sluggish. Greg was already breathing hard as if he had been running for hours.

The abomination was being more careful now, circling him instead of charging, waiting for an opening, or possibly trying to make him dizzy. It jumped forwards and raked at him with its claws, leaving three long, bleeding gashes along his ribs. In return, Greg tore another piece out of its hideous form.

Greg had no idea how long they danced like this, the Rot sometimes circling, sometimes charging at him, while he tried to get out of the way as fast as possible yet moving only as little as necessary, to save his strength. Sometimes he managed to draw the creature away from his brother and friends a little, but at some point, it would always break away from him and return to the stupid amulet the duke had thrown away. Often it would paw the ground around it, giving Greg an opening to rip another piece out of its flanks, at which point it would turn on him again, and he had to dart out of the way.

The next time they repeated this, Greg realized that David had moved, away from the amulet, so he jumped in the other direction into the trees, and when the Rot followed, he chipped away at it again, tearing another piece out of its flank.

It was starting to look decidedly lopsided now, which gave it a sort of waddle. When it charged at Greg for the umpteenth time, he mistimed his evasive manoeuvre, and those huge, heavy jaws smashed into his right shoulder, missing his throat by inches. He could feel bones break. Half-blind with pain and terror he snapped at the Rot again, biting over and over, struggling to stay at its side, out of reach of its not-teeth, but close enough that it couldn’t charge at him again.

They somehow both ended up tumbling over the ground, Greg howling with pain, but the Rot creature was screaming, too, as they rolled over the pieces Greg had torn out of its unnatural form. Greg managed to come out on top, harrowing what would be the neck in a real animal. The Rot-bulldog tried to buck him off, but Greg had found a solid piece in between all the fungus and vines, and held on for dear life.

The Rot thing jumped and threw itself at its side, trying to roll over Greg. He bit down even harder when it came up again, kicking like a wild mustang. Whatever it was he had been holding onto, he could feel it snap and he was thrown several yards through the air.

For a long time, he just lay there, waiting for the Rot thing to come at him again. Nothing happened, though. When he finally raised his head to look, the creature wasn’t moving, either. In fact, the oversized head had fallen off, laying a few yards away from the body, and the lower jaw looked like it had come unmoored as well.

While he was still looking, one of the legs seemed to dissolve, forming a small, spiderlike form that scuttled off to pick up the amulet and vanish between the trees. The rest of the thing never stirred.

Greg tried to get up, but his vision greyed out as soon as he struggled to his feet, so he collapsed again and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I hope you are satisfied with this demonstration, Your Highness,” he could hear Eyal say. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to repeat it for a while.”

Greg would have grinned about Eyal’s dry tone of voice if he had been in his own body. He didn’t much feel like presenting his naked, bloodied arse to the duke, though, so he stayed wolf.

“Quite satisfied, yes,” the duke said.

“You okay?” David said right next to Greg’s ear.

Greg rolled his eyes and managed to give a weak shake of his head.

“Right. I’ve found your clothes.”

Greg whined softly. Now that he tried, he wasn’t even sure he could turn human again while he was in so much pain.

“Greg?” David asked.

“He’s trying,” Isaac said. “Give it some time.”

David frowned and looked over towards the tree line, then he wordlessly got up and began to gather the pieces Greg had ripped out of the Rot beast.

“What are you doing?” Isaac asked.

“I’m making a fire,” David said. “Since he’s clearly not able to defend anyone right now.”

“Oh,” Isaac muttered and brought Eyal and Gavrel over to help.

When the fire burned brightly, the duke came over and sat down as if it was his campfire. DeLande followed hesitantly, never taking her eyes off of Greg.

“I want my crossbow back,” she demanded.

David completely ignored her. He was carefully examining Greg’s injuries, and eventually turned to Isaac: “Do you think there’s any point in trying to bandage this up?”

Isaac frowned. “Ye gonna turn human soon, Greg?” he asked.

Greg rolled his eyes at him but nodded weakly.

“Yeah, I’d wait,” Isaac said but scuttled over to take a closer look as well. “Damn,” he muttered.

Greg looked away while the two of them fussed over him. DeLande was still standing at the edge of the circle of light the fire cast, glaring daggers at him.

The duke seemed to follow his gaze. “Have a seat,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” deLande gave back, but the duke just stared at her firmly. After a few seconds, she dropped down onto the ground. “Fine.”

“Very good,” the duke said. “I’m going to assume that you can speak for your father and brothers as well, David?”

When David nodded, he continued: “Perfect. I have to say, I’m quite impressed with what I have seen here tonight. I would, therefore, like you,” he looked at deLande and David, “to start looking for other werewolves who would be willing and able to do what Gregory here has done today. I will, of course, pay double for a live one as what the Empire pays for a dead one.”

“How very generous of you,” David muttered, and Greg huffed as well. Nobody hunted werewolves just for the basic rate the Empire paid for every dead werewolf presented to a Valoisian official. It was the individual bounties, usually put up by the Church, that made the job worth the risk.

“This is insane,” deLande growled. “You cannot seriously expect me to participate in this madness? This – this blasphemy?”

The duke just said: “I am dead serious.”

Greg thought he could see deLande pale, pressing her lips together as if biting back more words.

“Do you think you can do this?” the duke asked, looking at David.

“In principle?” David shrugged. “Sure. But if we do find someone who doesn’t run for the hills screaming, where do you want us to bring them? Here to Eoforwic? Might be a little tricky to explain that to the guards.”

“Bring them to the New City of Eoforwic,” the duke said. “To the railroad company. Take the New Gate. I’ll have arrangements made to ensure you won’t be bothered by guards.”

David nodded. “I assume you want Greg to stay with the company? Because it will be a lot easier to win over a werewolf if he’s with us.”

“I do expect him to stay with his crew, yes,” the duke said. “However – the company is still in the planning process of the proposed line to Mannin, so I suppose they will be able to spare him, at least until next spring.”

He looked quizzically at Eyal, who considered the question for a moment. “We’ve got a short piece on one of the sidelines,” he said eventually. “But perhaps we can work something out. Will you keep this secret, your Highness?”

“Of course we will all keep this secret,” the duke replied.

“I was just thinking,” Eyal said, “that we, our crew, might have the best chance at finding werewolves. If we just put the word out among those navvies we know won’t run to the Valoise? It can be just another rumour about us – everybody knows you can’t trust werewolves, but if someone like Greg hears it? Maybe they’ll come to find us.”

The duke thought about that. “Might be worth the risk,” he finally decided. “Just be careful that it stays a rumour nobody believes in. Especially not the Valoise.”

Greg raised his head a little, growling softly, which made everybody stare at him, and then at Isaac.

“Uh,” Isaac muttered. “Ye know, I think he wants to say: ‘What about her?’,” he pointed at deLande. “She’s Valoisian, right?”

Greg nodded along.

“You don’t need to worry about her ladyship’s discretion,” the duke said calmly.

DeLande didn’t say anything but turned her back on them. Greg wasn’t sure how reassuring he found that. But at least this way she wasn’t looking at him when he finally managed to ignore the throbbing pain of his injuries enough to change his shape.

The duke watched with interest as David and Isaac did what they could for his injuries, and then helped him put on his clothes. “I was told only silver, fire, and magic could injure a werewolf even through a transformation,” he said.

“The Rot is magical,” David pointed out.

“So you were very lucky?” the duke said. “That he never got injured severely enough that he could not defend the camp the next night?”

“Maybe,” Eyal said.

“But most creatures are a lot less dangerous than that one,” Isaac added. “He’s fought three, or four, or even five of the smaller ones, the ones that formed that monster tonight, and he never had more than a few scratches. That magic amulet must have done something to make them stronger.”

Duke George Louis didn’t say anything to that. But after a while, he got up to drop some more wood into the fire. When he returned, he asked: “So, what do you reckon it would take to defeat several monsters like that creature?”

“Several werewolves, I suppose. Or maybe the Morgulon,” David said.

Greg managed a weak grin at that, while deLande turned around to glare at them.

“And who – or what – is the Morgulon?” George Louis asked.

“She’s a legend,” David said. “She doesn’t actually exist.”

“Yes, it does,” deLande said.

David rolled his eyes when the duke looked back and forth between them, eyebrows raised. “The Morgulon was this werewolf, who was captured by a circus when she was a really small child. Ages ago.”

“About thirty years ago,” deLande corrected.

“Before I was born, in any case,” David continued. “No one knows what her real name was, or if she even had one. Father says the troupe claimed that she had been born a werewolf. Well, they presented her as their main act, rolled in a giant cage, and then this little girl transformed into this huge puppy. People said it was the cutest thing on earth.”

“Blasphemy,” deLande hissed.

“Father says it made hunters really unpopular for a while, so the Valoise decided the circus had to leave and couldn’t come back to Loegrion for five years. I guess they toured the rest of the Valoisian Empire in the meantime.” David shot a glare at deLande. “Until after five years, when they were back, an arsonist set fire to the circus, to kill a child who most certainly had never hurt anyone.”

“My father,” deLande said through gritted teeth, “attempted to kill a monster. To protect people from their own stupidity, because that child would not stay a child forever!”

“Well, he killed a bunch of those people he was trying to protect,” David shrugged. “The whole circus burned down, and it’s seriously unlikely that the Morgulon escaped. Léon deLande kept looking for it, though.”

“He saw it,” deLande growled. “He saw it escape and then he saw it murder my mother! He hunted the monster until it murdered him too. But I’ll find the creature and make sure it burns properly.”

David rolled his eyes. “Well, anyway, the Morgulon became this legend among hunters. Whenever someone can’t fulfil a contract cause the werewolf outsmarted them, it’s always the Morgulon. The Morgulon can never be caught, and probably become invisible, and stuff like that. What I was trying to say is that it’s probably impossible for one werewolf to defeat several creatures like the Rot monster Greg killed tonight.”

“That at least is true,” deLande muttered.

Greg closed his eyes when silence fell around their fire. “I don’t suppose anyone of you brought any food?”

About an hour later, Lane deLande’s grey stallion trotted over to their little campfire, nuzzling his mistress like a faithful dog. As soon as dawn tinged the clouds pink, Andrew, Nathan, and their father also returned, leading Dolly and David’s gelding with them.

“This is going to be fun,” Greg muttered, as Andrew and his father hoisted him onto Dolly’s back. Since he could barely hold himself in the saddle, Andrew climbed up behind him and grabbed the reins. Dolly huffed a little annoyed at the additional weight but didn’t seem too bothered by it.

The duke took the horse Andrew had rented in the city, with the promise to have it returned. He left with deLande, both of them clearly in a hurry to get away.

Andrew nudged Dolly into a sedate, ambling walk which still sent waves of pain through Greg’s back and arm at every step. Andrew wasn’t particularly helpful: “I guess I shouldn’t let you take Dolly again. Every time I do, you seem to wind up breaking something.”

“Just be glad I’m not bleeding all over you,” Greg grunted.

“Actually, I think you are,” Andrew said. “Great. I’ll have to burn this shirt. And you’re wearing one of my shirts, and I’ll have to burn that too. Thanks a lot, man.”

Greg tried to see what Andrew was talking about, but the pain that shot through his shoulder made him stop.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “Must have split open again when I got in the saddle.”

“How long will this take to heal?” Andrew asked.

“As long as it would take you to heal from this,” Greg muttered.

“I’m pretty sure that I would be at least unconscious if I was bleeding like that,” Andrew said. Louder, he added: “He’s going to need a doctor. Anyone want to come up with a story of how the hell this happened?”

“Factory accident,” David said at once.

“Factory accident, really? That’s the best you can come up with? How are we going to explain the bite marks?”

“We know a doctor,” Eyal said, who was walking alongside them. “Someone who won’t ask so many questions.”

Greg gave up on trying to hold himself upright and allowed himself to lean into his brother’s chest.

“There you go,” David said.

“Right. And what do we tell the guards?” Andrew asked.

“George Louis said to take the New Gate and that he’d take care of the guards.” David shrugged. “He seemed really eager to keep Greg, so I reckon we can take his word for it.”

There was a moment of pause while Andrew gently wrapped one arm around Greg’s waist to hold him in case he slipped. Then he asked: “Not to sound too worried, but do we have any idea what werewolf blood does to human skin once it has soaked its way through a shirt?”

“Sorry,” Greg muttered.

“I think the only one we need to worry about is the werewolf right now,” his father said.

“Unless you’re bleeding, too, in which case things might get interesting,” David added. “But that’s why you got him, and not me.”

“I would have taken him, too,” Nathan chimed in. “Just saying.”

“Sure,” David said. “But I bet Andrew is more comfortable. Since he has better padding than you do.”

“You mean since I’ve got some muscles between my skin and bones?” Andrew asked.

“Not just muscles,” Nathan snickered.

“You’re just jealous, bony-arse.” Andrew paused. “Hey, man, tell me if you are passing out on me.”

“Jus’ tired,” Greg muttered, slurring the words together. “No – no reason to s-sound s’ alrmd.”

“Just tired, sure you are,” Andrew grumbled. “Where can we find this doctor?” he asked Eyal.

“We can take you there,” Eyal said. “He might not talk to you without us.”

“I think we need to pick up the pace,” Andrew said. “He’s bleeding like a slaughtered pig.”

So David pulled up Isaac onto the horse behind himself, Eyal rode with Nathan, and Gavrel with Bram.

Greg let his head fall back until he was curled up against Andrew.

The banter stopped as they picked up the pace, as fast as the horses could go with the added load. At some point, Greg lost consciousness. He had no idea how they had passed the gates, or how people on the streets had reacted to seeing them, eight men on just four horses. When he came to, he was laying in bed, back at the hotel, his wounds stitched closed and wrapped in clean bandages. His father was sitting next to his bed, staring into nothing.

“Hey,” Greg muttered hoarsely, which made Bram jump a little before he smiled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said.

Greg blinked. “Morning? How long was I out?”

“The doctor gave you something against the pain, which also made you sleep through the day and the night.”

“Oh,” Greg muttered. “Great.”

“What, did you have plans?” his father asked, smiling wryly.

“Sort of,” Greg sighed. “I need to figure out where to go on full moon.”

“You’ve been staying in the forest, haven’t you?”

“Yes, well,” Greg said. “That was before it was cut in half by the railway. I don’t want to get run over by or attack a train. Also, I’m not really comfortable knowing that deLande knows that I’m staying in the forest.”

“Good point,” his father said slowly. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Right,” Greg muttered. Full moon was always a source of anxiety, but now it felt like his first time all over again. The first full moon with his family here, and in the know.

“You don’t want us to help?”

“No!” Greg hurried to say. “Just – I don’t know how you can help. I was going to leave early, turn wolf, run for a day or two to put some distance between myself and the city. But now…” He shrugged with his good shoulder. “How bad is it, anyway?”

“Your shoulder blade is broken,” his father said. “The doctor was really surprised about that part, says he has never seen that happen before. Several of your ribs went, too, but his biggest concern was an infection, especially when Eyal told him that it was the Rot that did this.”

Greg shuddered. “Great. Something to look forward too.”

“It all looks fine so far,” his father reassured him. “But he’ll be back later today to check.”

They all came in over the next couple of days to check on him, not just the doctor, but also Eyal, Isaac, Thoko, and half the crew dropped in to see how he was. On the fourth day, Greg was heaved onto Dolly’s back again, and they left Eoforwic. Bram had found a place for them, an old estate at the edge to one of the small villages surrounding Eoforwic, which he had bought. Neither the land nor the main building was in great shape, but it had a large, deep, and sturdy basement that was accessed not by stairs but a ladder. So Greg could spend full moon night down there, and all his family had to do was pull up the ladder and close the trapdoor.

Getting down there was not fun.