I shrugged slightly with my good shoulder, with a timid smile. Alexander looked at me with a certain melancholy and deflated with a sigh.
“Really, I’m sorry. At least now you have a psychologist.”
“Do you think you’ll need therapy because of this?” I asked, ironically.
“…I needed it when I was attacked for the first time.” He stretched the collar of his T-shirt a little and pointed to one of the many scars he had, a defined knotted arc that looked like old bite marks. “I was eleven years old, and I was on a hunting exercise on my family’s lands, near Lake Baikal. It was one of the first times I transformed. That time, what attacked me was an ordinary animal, a bear,” he explained patiently. “Hans pulled it off me and managed to scare it away, but I spent almost eight months terrified of
