I'm laying in bed, stroking Freddy's hair while he sleeps. He's had a rough night. Last night was the end of the full moon, and the last night we did something as a pack. We did another run, but this one was muted, and ended up much shorter. I think most people were tired, and the novelty had worn off a little.
You don't have to turn every night, as I keep telling them. And when you do turn, it's easy to get exhausted if you work at it. So by three nights of it, a few people were over the whole thing.
So after the run last night, Freddy and I came back to my room and worked at getting exhausted.
I look at his body, splayed out on the bed. His hand is still in a brace, but will probably be fine by tomorrow. And the lovely trace of bruises that I spent so much time and effort building do
