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Damien looked into the blank stare of the Werewolf without fear, surveying the appearance of the creature thoughtfully. It was tall, at least two feet taller than him. It was humanoid for the most part and had two, long arms that were almost as long as he was tall and bulging with muscle. Instead of the wolf-faced look that most legends believed that Werewolves possessed, it was a monstrous combination of man and beast. Vaguely did the facial structure remind him of actual wolves.

It was coated in dark black fur that kept the creature warm in the colder months of the year and protected it from small bladed weaponry. Except for silver. Silver could probably cut through the hair and tissue of this creature without trouble. And, not for the first time, Damien questioned if this was exactly how he looked in his Werewolf form. Likely. All Lycanthropes resembled each other to uncanny degrees with coloration being the only noticeable difference.

Where as the Werewolf in front of him possessed sickly golden eyes, his were the same color as fresh blood. Where as this Werewolf had rather dark black fur, his was somewhat faded in appearance. Hell, the one that had attacked him all those years before was white and had bright emerald eyes. Werewolves sharing coloration was as likely as someone possessing the same name, though. It wasn't impossible.

Damien pushed aside that thought and looked back at the campsite; a mile east of his current position. It wasn't hard to pinpoint the bright amber glow of the fire in the distance, especially with his enhanced eyesight. A smile appeared on his face as he thought of his companions and the Weaponians. Then the cheerful expression dropped as he looked back at the only other creature in the clearing. He couldn't help but feel somewhat sympathetic at the sight of his brethren.

It was dead. As was the fate of all Lycanthropes when someone knew of their condition. Lycanthropes were thought of as mindless beasts that didn't even deserve the very air that they breathed. Insulting but true. Most of the Lycanthropes in the wilderness were those that failed to conquer and control their disease for their own betterment. He was lucky that he possessed the inherent willpower needed for such a thing.

All of his bestial instinct was kept locked in the darkness of his subconscious, contained where the youth was able to control the desires of his inner animal.

Damien questioned if his companions knew about his situation and the difficulty that he faced with every transformation. In Werewolf form, his tainted blood sang the right tunes and made him question his sanity at times. It made him balance on the delicate threshold between killing his friends and protecting them. His willpower was the only thing that stood between them and his natural instinct in that form. Did they even know of his inner turmoil or did they figure that such things came naturally for him?

He was quick to doubt that they realized the difficulty of keeping in control of himself when his Werewolf form was needed. None of them were Lycanthropes and simply couldn't understand that which they've never experienced. Although that Mage; Dragomir Ionescu, came rather close to understanding. If he wasn't mistaken, Werewolves were just another subject of debate and study for people that planned to pursue mastery over the Arcane arts.

Any of the others with talent for Magic could understand, now that he thought more on his companions. Have any of them reached that point in their studies? It was possible. He wasn't sure, though, as the ones with talent for the Arcane went to a completely different school than him. He went to Cedar Hill; a place that excelled in sports over academics.

"If they don't know and come to realize this on their own or from outside interference, will they abandon me in fear of being killed if I lose control? They don't seem like the sort of people that would resort to such traitorous actions but one can never tell what goes on inside the minds of others." The young Lycanthrope spoke to himself, his voice light to prevent any eavesdropping.

Damien looked away from the corpse and at the stars in the sky, wondering if he was over thinking the insignificant matter. It was understandable as he was being forced to do something that he rarely did in Ation city. He had to place his faith in other people, something that he'd stopped doing so willingly when he started going to school. After all, if you make the mistake of placing your trust in the wrong people, they'll use you and leave you to rot when they've finished getting what they want. Or at least that was his experience in Ation.

By Alduin, he couldn't even remember all the allowance money he lost in making that very mistake.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard someone approaching him from the east. Likely one of his companions. It was the snow-white hair that revealed that person as Judal Delacroix. A look of confusion was quick to cover the Lycanthropes face as he pondered the reason behind this unplanned visit from the apathetic teenager. Judal never crossed him as the sort of person that was friendly enough to specifically look for someone to strike a conversation.

And then the young man saw the collapsed Fuuma Shuriken that he was lugging around. Celeste Leerman.

Judal passed him his Weaponian partner and left the clearing with intentions to return to camp for the night. It seemed likely that the woman had requested him to bring her to wherever her partner was. Celeste usually received what she was asking for because of her attitude, one that nobody wanted to willingly deal with. He would've brought the Weaponian with him if he didn't consider this as a private matter. "How could you leave me on the floor like that?!"

He was amused by her question, regardless of the fact that her tone of voice left his ears ringing. "I had private matters to attend to," the raven-haired teenager replied in kind.

Celeste was prideful, bossy, short-tempered, and overall unpleasant. Hell, he was beginning to suspect that her faults outnumbered her pleasant traits... but that didn't change his opinion of her. As far as he was concerned, he enjoyed her company and her personality in general. It was new and refreshing for him. And when he saw the motherly side of her around children? He was convinced that Celeste was the sort of person that he could see himself falling for at some point.

A woman that could keep him in line and out of trouble? Check. A woman that could fill in the role as mother almost perfectly for any children he may have with her in the future? Check. A woman that was competitive and won't hesitate to fight for what she believed was hers? Check.

Yes, he could see himself falling for Celeste. If only the obvious reason why he didn't wasn't there. Namely; the fact that she was currently a Weaponian with no humanoid form. It didn't even occur to him that he'd never seen her Human form. For all the Lycanthrope knew, she could've been the most repulsive person that ever walked the continent. The reason that thought never crossed his mind? He simply didn't care.

Damien cared nothing for appearances. After all, he himself could transform into a grotesque mixture of man and beast. Why should he care about physical appearances so long as he enjoyed her personality? If she was beautiful, it was just icing on the cake. "Hey, stop thinking so much! I can see smoke coming out of your ears, fleabag."

A twitch appeared over his left eyebrow at that last comment.

"Take us back to camp, fleabag. I still need my beauty sleep." Celeste remarked in her usual prideful tone.

With one last sigh, the raven began walking back towards the area of the campsite with Celeste in hand. In the clearing that they had left, Damien left his musings and concerns with the Werewolf corpse. Nobody in his team would learn of them nor did he plan to inform them... because... because they were his problems to deal with and his alone. They had their own problems to deal with and he planned to keep it that way.

As Damien entered the campsite, gone was his looks of confusion and his concerned frowns. All that remained was friendly smiles that left the others feeling happy themselves. Infectious. Just like the blood that coursed through his veins. Just like the disturbing thoughts that raced through his mind every time he was forced to assume his Werewolf form. Just like happiness when he thought on his potential mate and the future that they could lead together.

His problems wouldn't plague him again for some time.