It was nothing like what had been described in his books; there was no slavering beast, no fearsome killer without a mind of his own before him now. The books had only described what a werewolf could be when they had lost control of themselves, given themselves up to the wild, and abandoned their humanity. Derek had done no such thing. He merely gazed back at him with eyes that were not quite human but still held recognizable emotion – confusion, mainly, and perhaps a little concern. “Yes,” he breathed, his expression open with wonderment. “You do not think so?”
Alcuin frowned slightly at the thought. How is it that a born werewolf could not see the beauty in their form? He could understand his master being less than thrilled about it when he had been met with nothing but scorn and resentment from his fellows, but he wondered a little at the reasoning behind the born werewolf's confusion.