Greg and Nathan returned to the inn. Greg had considered finding a hotel somewhere in the old city, but apparently, he was stuck. He was quite surprised when Nathan asked for a cot, too.

“You don’t need to hang around,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that Eyal will be willing to vouch for me.”

“And where would you have me go?” Nathan asked. “I’m not keen on riding down here from the old city every time the duke wants me.”

“Engineers get rooms at the main building,” Greg pointed out. “I bet they’d give you one, too.”

“And listen to them argue numbers all night? No thanks,” Nathan said. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve stayed at plenty of worse places than this.”

“And here I was thinking you all grew up in the same ivory tower,” Isaac interrupted.

Nathan threw himself onto his cot, arms crossed behind his head. “Don’t be silly, Isaac. The only werewolf who lives in an ivory tower is the one I won’t hunt. And hunters go wherever the prey goes. That includes sleeping where the prey sleeps.”

Nathan was right, of course. He, and Andrew, and most of all David, had grown up in the wild as much as in Deva or Heron Hall. Only Greg had always been kept behind. Maybe he wouldn’t even need a guard today and somebody who would vouch for him, if they had all trusted him a little more, let him come along a little earlier. If his first hunt hadn’t gone after the biggest pack in who knew how long.

“You’ll still need to find a place where the horses can stay,” he told Nathan as calmly as he could. “They can’t remain tied up outside for the next few days, and I doubt this place has stables.”

Nathan sighed but sat up. “I hate it when you’re right,” he complained.

Greg watched him go, then grabbed his knapsack. It was packed with the bare necessities needed to survive in the forest for a few days, plus his money.

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked when he moved for the door.

“I need to find Eyal,” Greg said. “I need him to vouch for me, or the company will have me locked up in the basement cells with the other werewolves.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Isaac asked. “Eyal’s in the refectory, last I saw him.”

“Thanks,” Greg said. To his relief, Isaac didn’t follow him. He had no intention to talk to Eyal. He liked the crew, and he loved all his brothers, but there was no way he would sit on his cot all day, listening to Isaac and Nathan joke about him.

The guards at the gate let him pass again, and as soon as he was out of their sight, he started undressing. He stuffed all his clothes into the bag, then rearranged the straps. Andrew had helped him fix them so that when he transformed, the pack still sat securely on his back.

His wolf-self barely noticed the weight, but the frustration he had felt as a human carried over, amplified by his transformation. Without thinking about it, he threw his head back and howled his anger out into the world.

The answer followed promptly: he could tell four different voices apart. Two carried a warning to stay away, one felt just like a neutral hello, while the third gave him an impression of “welcome,” of “come on over.”

Greg shook his head in annoyance. Of course, the first impression he gave to his fellow werewolves was that of an insolent teenager.

He stood there, stiff-legged and uncertain. He had chosen the forest because he had wanted to be left alone, but curiosity got the better of him. One of the voices had invited him, despite the mood his own howl had no doubt conveyed.

He set off at a swift run. The other part of him liked to run, wanted to eat the distance. The underbrush didn’t slow him down, and neither did the increasingly marshy ground. Every now and then, he passed the remains of a Rot creature, some of them as big as the creature that had broken Greg’s shoulder blade. He wondered if the other werewolves in the area would come to his aid if he had to face another one like that.

He should better work at making a decent second impression, after he had so thoroughly botched the first.

It was hard to judge how long he had been running when he finally reached a small pack. Three werewolves greeted him, all in their wolf-shape. Two of them were female, one male. He had no idea how old they might be as humans, but he knew just by meeting them that they had been werewolves longer than him. One of the female ones was only a little older than him, then came the male, and the second female was the oldest of them, which made her the leader. It had been she who had called him, Greg knew that without a doubt, and he would be allowed to stay as long as she decided.

All three of them seemed friendly enough, though, curious about him and the pack on his back. They communicated easily amongst themselves. Greg didn’t understand, which didn’t seem to bother them. He was swept along when they patrolled what he later realized was their territory. Their stretch of land to clean of the Rot, right at the banks of the Savre.

The actual work began late in the afternoon, and by then Greg was at least getting an inkling of what their body language meant. The older she-wolf gave the signal to start the hunt when the shadows grew long, and she led it, too. Between the four of them, even the bigger Rot creatures that climbed out of the swamps were no trouble.

Food was delivered the next morning, and here, too, a strict hierarchy was followed. The first one to approach the cart was a single she-wolf. Greg was watching with his new pack, and even over the distance of at least several hundred yards, maybe half a mile, Greg could feel her power, like static in the air. After her came a male wolf, strong but not even close to her. And then Greg’s pack was moving.

Greg could understand Marianne a lot better after that meal of cold, raw beef. At least it was fresh meat, not just old offal.

Food at the inn probably isn’t much better, he reminded himself. And at least out here, nobody laughed about his “refined palate.”

The pack returned to its territory and settled down on a dry, sunny spot of ground. Greg dozed off quite happily.

Nobody came to get him. Greg wasn’t sure what to make of that. It wasn’t that he minded, not exactly. It was nice to be left alone, to be allowed to make the decision to stay in the forest. Still – it was unexpected.

And he was maybe a little disappointed?

If somebody had come to get him, he would have turned them away. There was no way he would stay at Eyal’s heel like a good dog or let himself be escorted by Nathan and his loaded crossbow, even if it was purely for appearance’s sake.

But he hadn’t expected Nathan to understand that. Or the rest of the crew.

Of course, it was perfectly possible that nobody dared to enter the Rot-infested swamp to come and get him.

Time flowed strangely when he was in this shape. When he woke up in his human body, it seemed both a very long time and very shortly since he had made the decision to stay in the forest. It had been three days, Greg realized with a glance into the sky, where a narrow crescent was paling in the sunrise.

He could have forced another transformation, but this close to new moon, it would have been really painful. He didn’t see the point. Instead, he pulled his clothes out of his pack, got dressed, and went over to a clean little creek for a drink.

When he returned, at least two of his new packmates had turned human as well, the guy and one of the women. He was a small, wiry man somewhere in his mid- to late thirties, Greg guessed. She was older, in her early fifties at least. They both had wolfish eyes, even in this form, and the multi-coloured hair that gave so many werewolves away. He had the very pale skin of the native Loegrians, she the darker bronze tone most of the Valoise shared. Still much lighter than Greg’s own dark brown skin, of course.

They both didn’t seem to mind Greg’s inquisitive looks, despite the fact that they were stark naked.

“Bernadette,” the woman said, offering Greg a hand. He introduced himself as well.

“Boris,” added the guy.

“Fleur should be back in a moment. She’s shy,” Bernadette said.

When Fleur returned, she was dressed, and brought clothes for the other two as well. Greg had no idea where they had hidden them.

Fleur could pass as human in this body. She had long, glossy black hair, and otherwise might have been Bernadette’s daughter. Greg guessed that she was about his own age.

“What happens next?” Greg asked once the others were dressed.

“We go get food,” Bernadette explained. “I hope you’ve got a knife? Good. We’ll get ourselves some nice roasts. That’s going to take all day. If we’re lucky, the night remains dry, we don’t really have a den. Nothing happens until new moon is over. Afterwards, they’ll hopefully start on their railway, but I have no idea how that’s supposed to go.”

“Let’s go?” Boris asked.

“Yes, let’s,” Bernadette agreed. “Some of the new people have no respect at all,” she added. “Not you, Greg, you’re fine. Others. Stepping out of line on new moon, cutting in front of their elders. Not in front of the Morgulon, of course, nobody’s that daft, but still.”

They started walking, and Bernadette asked: “You’re new, aren’t you? Where did they hire you?”

“Oh, um, no,” Greg mumbled. “I was the first, actually.”

“The first what?” Bernadette asked.

“The first werewolf who hired up with a crew of navvies,” Greg explained. “On the line to Sheaf.”

“No way,” Boris said. “You’re barely, what – a year old? And wasn’t the first one called James? How did you convince them to hire you?”

“I didn’t tell them I was a werewolf until the Rot showed up. Once I’d saved their lives, they were eager to keep me around,” Greg said. “The crew I worked with, they invented this werewolf named John.”

“Sheaf’s fairly high ground,” Bernadette said slowly. “Dry ground, too, Rot probably wasn’t too bad, was it? Only the little creepers?”

“Yes,” Greg said. “Certainly nothing like around here.”

“Oh, it’ll get worse once we’re farther away from the city,” Boris said cheerfully.

“So, you heard about ‘John’?” Greg asked.

“Why do you think we’re here?” Boris asked. “Everyone who knows anything knows about John,” he added. “Every werewolf, I mean.”

They all wanted to know more, of course, so Greg told them in more detail how he had been bitten and had to leave Deva, how he had joined Eyal’s crew, and a lot of what had happened after. He didn’t tell them that he was noble himself – born noble, at least, not that it mattered anymore. It had been nice to pretend, at Castle Blanc, but the faster he accepted that it had been just that, pretence, the easier the future would be to bear. He managed to talk of his father and his brothers as if they were just people he used to know, employers perhaps, and not family, and Bernadette and Boris didn’t dwell on them. Fleur hardly spoke at all.

“So you never actually met the Morgulon?” Bernadette asked.

Greg shook his head. “I’ve never been a wolf this long,” he mentioned. “Are you usually...”

He trailed off.

“We noticed,” Bernadette said, smiling kindly. “Takes some getting used to, but you’ll get the hang of it. I’m not like some, I like being human just fine, but it’s just not practical for the forest.”

“You’ve been a werewolf for a long time, haven’t you?” Greg asked.

“Over ten years now,” Bernadette said proudly. “Calder is a little older than me, but you wanna stay clear of him, he doesn’t like company. Terrible grouch.”

“You know him?” Greg asked.

Bernadette shrugged. “We all sort of know each other. All the older ones, I mean.”

“How old is an older werewolf?” Greg asked.

Bernadette paused. “I met the Morgulon almost five years ago,” she said. “Boris here, he was only four when he met her, too. She sort of – comes to find you.”

“Oh,” Greg said. “I thought she stayed in the mountains.

“Well, yes, obviously,” Bernadette said. “Up in the mountains, or north of Mannin. It’s the only place where we can live, Greg. It’s different, there, hardly any people. Much less danger of running into anyone on full moon, and if you do get to a village, there’s even a chance you’ll get some charity. But his dukeship had us drafted like soldiers.”

“So, the Morgulon knows all of you?” Greg asked.

“The older ones of us, at least,” Bernadette said. “I don’t think she told anyone, though. I think that’s why we have so many people here who are your age, or even younger.”

Greg nodded thoughtfully. Maybe Eyal had been right, maybe he should try his luck somewhere north of Mannin. If George Louis didn’t force him to protect the other line, too, across the mountains.

“We heard a rumour,” Boris said. “About land up north for everyone who helps out here?”

Greg shrugged. “Werewolves can’t own anything. Let alone land.”

Silence fell among them at that cheerful thought, until they reached the place where the food was dropped off. The werewolves moved much closer together, now that they were all human.

All except the Morgulon, who dragged off a whole calf. Greg and his new pack walked away with several very nice cuts of pork, and there was bread, too, this time, and some carrots. Bernadette knew where to find the very first wild onions. A few hours later, they had a very nice roast indeed.

The fire was Greg’s job. The other three seemed extremely glad to leave that to him. They did spend the day around it, talking about how each of them had been bitten, talking about the railway.

“This other duke,” Fleur asked, surprising them all. “What does he offer?”

Greg thought about the hut Marianne had called a castle. He had thought she had been cynical when she did.

“Don’t know, exactly,” he said slowly. “I’ve met one werewolf who got a little hut, at least. Cause they don’t need to move around so much, to protect farms, I guess.”

“Might be worth trying to jump ships then,” Boris said. “A hut would be nice.”

“With a real bed?” Fleur asked.

“Yes,” Greg nodded.

“Damn,” Boris muttered.

“We’ll stay for summer,” Bernadette decided. “We’ll see what the situation is, then.”

Greg felt himself nodding along.

He could always return to Heron Hall, keep his family’s lands safe. What would that feel like? Once again staying behind while everyone else came and went? He’d be a lord as long as he stayed home, and a monster anytime he left. Would that be better, to stay in the golden cage? Or was he better off getting used to the forest floor?

He’d wait until summer was over, too, and see what he felt like then.

Bernadette smiled at him. “I knew I was right about you,” she said. “You’re a pack animal, just like me.”

Greg tilted his head and looked at her, confused. He didn’t realize that he had used the werewolf’s gesture for “what do you mean?” until her smile widened.

“Some of us are happy alone,” Bernadette explained. “Some are real loners. Me, I can’t stand it. I’ve always needed a pack. And you can feel it, too, can’t you? How right this feels, being with others of your own kind? Humans just can’t replace that, just you wait until after full moon.”

Greg had no idea what she meant by that last remark but didn’t say anything. He thought he could maybe feel a little of what she meant about the pack, though. Something about this just felt right.