The next few days pass by in a similar manner.
I wake up aching and sore—my muscles stiff from the journey here. Callum visits in the morning. Fiona brings me porridge and berries and fresh tea at breakfast time. And a lady-in-waiting visits in the evening to bring me potted pies, and cuts of meat and bread.
When I am alone, I explore my small bedchambers while the rain patters against the window.
I read more of that horrible book of experiments, flicking through pages titled The effects of wolfsbane on a wolf’s ability to heal, The order in which a wolf’s bones break when they shift, and Provoking the inner wolf: A half-wolf’s response to emotional trauma.
I am certain I do not want to meet the person who stayed in this room before me.
I find myself looking forward to Callum’s visits
