"Thirty-five werewolves. In the forest. Where I live."
"Yes."
"And the wolves I've been treating—"
"Pack members. People who got hurt and needed help."
"People." I rub my eyes. They're gritty, swollen. "The wolf with the infected bite last spring. The one who came back three times because he kept reopening it."
"Rhen."
"He has a name."
"They all have names, Mel."
"Of course they do. They're people. You just said they're people." My voice is climbing and I press my palms flat against my thighs. "Rhen. The wolf with the—Rhen kept reopening the wound because I wrapped it too tight, didn't I. He couldn't tell me because he was a wolf. He just kept coming back and I kept wrapping it the same way and scolding him for being difficult."
"He doesn't hold it against you."
"That's very gracious of Rhen." I push myself up. My back spasms. Water first, then food, then—no. Food first. No. Water. "The strangers. Who helped build my cottage. Four of them. Big men, showed up one morning, worked all day, ate my stew."
"Pack members. I asked them to help."
"You asked them."
"You needed a back wall. I couldn't exactly explain why I knew that."
"You—" I stop. Start again. "You sent people. Your people. To build my cottage. And they showed up and dragged logs and ate rabbit stew and I never—I never even asked their names."
I walk to my food stores. The bread is stale, dense. I tear off a chunk and shove it in my mouth. Best thing I've ever tasted. My jaw aches from chewing.
"Keep talking," I tell her through a mouthful. "I can eat and listen at the same time."
"What else do you want to know?"
"Everything." I take another bite. Chew. Swallow. "But start with—the shifting. The wolf thing. How does that work? Is it a choice? Can you just—whenever?"
"We can shift whenever we want. But the new moon forces it."
"Forces it."
"We shift whether we want to or not. For the whole night."
"That's—" I grab the water skin from the shelf. Empty. Right. I tossed it during the chaos yesterday. There's a cup by the basin. I pour water—still pink—stare at it—pour it out, grab the other water skin, the emergency one. Drink. "The new moon. Not the full moon?"
"Everyone gets that wrong."
"Everyone doesn't know werewolves are real, so I think we can forgive the confusion." I drink again. My stomach cramps around the water, not sure whether to be grateful or furious. "What about the full moon?"
"Weakens us. We can't shift during the full moon. Can't heal as fast. It's—it's our vulnerable time."
"The full moon makes you weak."
"Yes."
"And the new moon forces you to shift."
"Yes."
