The second time he awoke completely, almost suddenly, feeling surprisingly refreshed. He sat up almost without effort, and noted that not only were his bandages gone and his wounds fully healed, but somehow the healer had found a way to flush most of the magic-neutral metal from his body. He decided it was better that he'd been asleep, for that.
His cage, on investigation, contained the nest of pillows he slept in, a chamber pot in the far corner, and a tray of breakfast, which he was very glad to see, beside a large woodbound book lying near the cage door. He helped himself to the tray first; it was well-laden and he welcomed every morsel, except the sausages. Afterwards he spent several minutes stretching out and generally enjoying the feeling of being healthy, clean, and well-fed all at the same time.
The cage was in an old stone vault, only one story underground. At the front of the room, flanking the open doorway to the stairs were a set of counters lined above and below with sturdy cabinets. In the light from the staircase doorway he could make out a stoppered bottle of ink and a scattering of papers atop the long table in front of the cabinets on the left. The only other light source in the room was the small pair of windows just above ground level, on the far left of the room. The shape of the ceiling kept them from his view, so he couldn't tell if they were grated, or paned -- at best they lent only an ambient glow.
At least it's not damp, Sulos told himself, and sat down to examine the enormous book that had been left with his breakfast.
It was blank, every single page.
He was still flipping through it in confusion when he heard the healer enter the room again.
"Feeling better?" Oleth asked.
"Yes, thank you," Sulos answered, shut the tome and held it upright in his lap. "What's this for?"
"That's for you," Oleth replied, sorting and stacking the papers left on the table.
"For me?"
"Yes; the magical and physical effects of zoanthropy are easy enough for me to study, but to learn anything of it's psychological aspects, I'll need your help."
"Psychological?" Sulos echoed. "Oh yes, that reminds me -- why the luxury suite?" he asked, indicating the cage. Oleth sighed.
"I know you won't like it, but it's for your own protection as much as ours. The bounty on werewolves is still regrettably tempting, and enlightened as this town may be, there's still a majority of folk who wouldn't much like me playing host to a live werewolf," he explained. "I can't even tell my wife about you. If it weren't for Diran's testimony -- he's my lab assistant -- she'd think I was seeing another woman."
"I see..."
"As for the book, I want you to fill it. If you're illiterate, just draw; I don't care, as long as you're marking the pages -- "
"No no, I can write," Sulos assured him.
"Ahh, good. I hope you will, then. I'm afraid very little happens down here," the healer admitted. "What was your name?"
Sulos let the book sag in his lap. He got up, carried it with him to the bed of pillows and dropped into a comfortable sprawl, watching the floor the whole time.
"You're not going to tell me?" Oleth asked.
"No."
"What? Why not?"
"You'd laugh."
"Why would I do that?"
"You already know my name," Sulos wagered darkly. A long pause transpired.
"... Already know your name..." Oleth muttered to himself, leaning against the table in thought. "Who... Sss -- Sulos nels Rahda -- the brilliant young priest who vanished!" he realized. "My god, everyone thought you'd gone mad or been killed... It's too bad; you had such a promising career ahead of you..."
Sulos didn't move. Instead he peered up through his bangs and let an unnecessarily long pause form before his next sentence.
"Why do you speak as if it's over?" he asked quietly, and Oleth looked up at him again. "Do you think I just became a werewolf and went off destroying people and livestock on my merry way?" He sat up straight, leaning on the book towards his captor. "Do you even think I'd be alive today, if I hadn't been convinced I could carry on my research!?" he demanded, and another uncomfortable silence swelled.
"My apologies," Oleth answered thoughtfully. "I'm very glad to have you. I never expected to have a subject as dedicated to the cause as myself."
Sulos nodded. "As long as you're willing to share your findings, I'm willing to cooperate -- on one condition," he stipulated, stood and approached the front of the cage.
"Yes?"
"No one must know who I am, not even your lab assistant. Make up a name for me if you must, as long as my real one doesn't leave this room. As far as you're concerned with the outside world, I went mad and died years ago."
Oleth nodded.
"So ... you ... won't write about how you became a werewolf?" he guessed hesitantly.
"No," Sulos responded bitterly. "Anyone who can put two and two together can figure that out." He returned to the pile of pillows and sat down with the book. On closer examination he found the graphite stylus wedged in the binding.
"I see. Well, write as much as you feel comfortable writing, hmm? I'll be back in a few hours. It's very nice to have met you." And he took the papers with him up the stairwell, leaving the glimmering light spell behind.
The first difference that really stands out is your sense of smell. Suddenly you can smell a thousand things you never imagined were there, and the smells that ordinary people detect seem to hit you in the face with their immediacy. When the moon is waxing, almost everything you perceive is scent-based; sight is only what keeps you from running into things.
My favorite smells are of weather and deep forest...
A slight, dark man -- about Sulos' build and coloration, but only an inch or two shorter -- descended the stairs very quietly, and in the same manner began quickly tidying the lab area at the front of the room. Sulos watched him just as silently. This was obviously the assistant.
Sulos had not been consciously aware that his features were characteristic of a race, simply because there were so few of them in the cities where he'd studied, and the more rural areas he'd journeyed through. It was very strange and a little creepy to see a man who looked like family, but moved and behaved like a city dweller.
He turned when he came to the end of the counter space, and finally caught sight of Sulos, standing quietly in a shadow.
"Oh. You're looking better," he remarked.
"Thank you. You must be Diran."
"Yes, I must. And who must you be?"
" ... It's a secret," Sulos answered with a small smile. Diran only blinked. Sulos smiled again. "You'd have to ask Oleth about that," he added.
"I see..."
Diran hardly ever said more, as Sulos was to learn. The cage door was never opened for any reason unless Diran and Oleth were both in the room; usually Diran performing the small chore and Oleth guarding him carefully. The food was good, once his vegetarian motives were outlined, but the boredom was stifling; Sulos began pouring himself into the book, carefully staying within the bounds of his experiences and findings as a werewolf. He wrote on both sides of each page, and when his words ran out, he doodled birds, plants, and landscapes in the margins.
"How are you feeling?" Oleth asked him again one night.
"How am I feeling?" Sulos echoed. "The most excitement I've had for two weeks is bathtime, and your assistant, when he bothers to talk, never says anything informative. I don't know how long you expect me to last with this sort of minimal stimulation; this place seems more like a dungeon every day."
"Oh dear," Oleth murmured. "Do you ... have any suggestions?"
"You could let me out, just for a little bit," Sulos recommended hastily. "There's a new moon tonight, I'd be no risk to anybody -- "
"How do you know?" the healer interrupted. "How do you know what phase the moon is in? You haven't been outside for weeks."
"I don't have to go outside; I know." Sulos grinned. "I feel exactly like my old self. It only lasts a few days around the new moon. How about it?"
"Mmm -- I'm afraid there's too much risk involved," Oleth told him, after actually appearing to consider it.
"Well, how about giving me back my things?" he proposed.
"Er, I'm sorry, we can't do that yet, either -- "
"Well, how's this," Sulos countered in exasperation. "Why don't you let me have a few books relevant to the study, so I can at least get some research done?"
The healer-priest had not considered this; his eyebrows rose.
"That's not a bad idea... I'll see what I can find you," he answered.
And the next morning, his breakfast arrived with a stack of books. They were quality texts, but he found myriad inaccuracies in the newer ones, and no mention of female werewolves at all in the older ones. The indices of herblore, astrology and metallurgy were old and exhaustive, the best kinds. Sulos set aside a section of his ledger for notes and diagrams, and dove in.