Animal Urges

Upon awakening, my first sensation was of nausea.  The difference, from the prior three occasions, only discernible in degree.  Yet I did not have to open my eyes to know that, as before, I lay naked and covered in blood – hardly any my own – largely dried, especially around my face; eyes crusted shut, mouth tasting of blood, vomit, and I-dared-not-think what else.  Not to mention the other vile bodily excretions in which I lay.

Despite my being largely unconscious of how I came to be in this exact state, now for the fourth time, I was obscurely pleased to note that on this occasion I had retained adequate mental faculties to ensure I returned whence I had left my armour and weapons – conveniently near a source of water to cleanse the filth from my body.  That part of my pre-planning, at least, had succeeded.

As my other senses gradually returned, I became aware of the sibilance of nearby running water, to which I half-blindly crawled.  Evidently, however, I had not lost consciousness on a gentle beach, for the shock of frigid water abruptly replaced the alarming sensation of falling.  The luck of Sai being somewhat with me, the river was neither deep nor swift, but the slimy rocks prohibited decent footing as I flailed to the surface, sputtering and clawing at my eyes to open them enow to orient myself.

The shore was indeed an uneven wall of sharp rock, seemingly with no place of egress.  I began shivering uncontrollably, intensifying the aches in my joints, especially – unsurprising, given that I had just endured the transformation from human to animal and back again in but a few turns of the hourglass.  I managed to find a break in the jagged wall, enow that I could find purchase to drag myself over the slick edge and on to the clammy surface.  Catching my ragged breath, I paused a moment, fighting the nausea that threatened to spew forth yet again.  At least I was relatively clean.

The cold penetrating my bare skin induced me to move, thus I left the rocky shore for the slightly less discomfiting brush, commencing the search for my gear.  Soon covered in scratches and yet more fresh blood, I gingerly fought the surrounding scrub in my nakedness, trying to discern whence I may have stashed my effects.  Frustration mounting, I returned to a spot that, despite being at first repulsed by the smell, I was somehow instinctively drawn: a mound of leaves and detritus beneath a large oak.  I tried to hold my breath as I dug through the pungent odour of (I somehow knew) my own urine, to find the stashed gear.  Despite it doubtless being similarly fragranced, I donned it, making a fuzzy mental note to wrap it in leather or something next time, as well as to try to find a more accessible spot near water.

I knew why I had to make these nightly preparations; it had been my own choice, after all – a choice I was coming to regret.  Nonetheless, I had been under no duress at the time; I had voluntarily drunk of Aela's freely given blood four nights past in the Underforge, receiving the taint of lycanthropy into my own body.

Some of the Companions – the order of warriors in Whiterun that had recently admitted me – such as Kodlak Whitemane, their Harbinger, or leader, considered it a curse, and sought to rid themselves of the 'taint'.  Others – Aela, primarily – considered it a gift to be exploited to the fullest.  She had made it seem so attractive: to be stronger, faster; to experience the hunt and battle, not to mention sex, more intensely than any human could; in short, to be more alive!  I remembered being overcome by lust as we laid together that night, plummeting utterly into her intense green eyes as she urged acceptance of her other gift.  I found myself recalling, moreover, my wonder at how it could get any better.

I now knew it was all true.