Morning After
The last hoarse scream echoed across the grounds as Remus collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath.
He'd long since stopped trying to catalogue what hurt how badly, somewhere around age eight when he began to understand what was happening, why he was in so much pain, why he couldn't remember what happened each night...why his father kept making him try all those potions that sometimes made him sicker than the pain. It was an interesting thing for a child to take such things so quietly, his mother had said. Twice in less then twelve hours most of the bones in his body were broken and then fused back together in different shapes. His muscle tore apart and stretched into new configurations while fur stabbed through his skin like tens of thousands of fiery needles.
At twenty-three, Remus had long since come to accept the pain and blood that heralded the morning after a transformation.
Only, there was no taste of blood in his mouth, his own or any other's. With his face down on the ground, all he could smell was damp earth and dew-kissed grass. But, at least he knew he hadn't made a meal of anyone.
Attempting to push himself up from the ground, he tried to summon his things. He'd secured them in the stands, high up enough it was unlikely his werewolf self would have any interest in going near them. But, now that it was morning his strength was too low and he barely managed to shift them a few inches on the first try. The second try wasn't much more successful and he let himself fall back down onto the ground. He needed to get up and dressed and move on soon, before anyone found him out there like that. But, he had time to rest a few minutes, try to catch his breath.
Except, he had forgotten, for the moment, in his pain-fogged brain that his friends would be there. He'd grown used to doing this alone.