I won't turn though. Not tonight. I'll be with the moon. Right? I'm not going to be a vargulf.

[As though he has any say in it whatsoever. The if is if he becomes a wolf at all. There is no certainty. Instead of gratefulness there's fear.

Roman takes the glass of water in both of his hands. He's surprised there isn't steam coming off of the contact. First drink is like he's been wandering a desert. The second he's fixing to drain the glass. Water doesn't make him feel like there should be something in his stomach. The beer makes him feel sick and empty. How weird to be hungry and motion sick at the same time.]

It keeps bleeding. Maybe we should cauterize it.