It wasn't fair! When was he going to finally get a break? After everything he'd done, he deserved a chance!

He accepted what he was, but he hated it. He faced the possibility that he would be worse, and it frightened him… but wouldn't he just accept that too? After all, in that state, he wouldn't care what he did. But there would always be the human in him, trapped in the control of the Cat, screaming to the end of his days that what he was doing was wrong. It would never go away, it would become the new face staring back at him, though it would have no fangs.

Maybe he wasn't as well adjusted as he thought. He accepted his condition now. In many ways, he preferred it. He was Were now, and it seemed inconceivable to be anything else. But the Human in him still could not accept it, could not live with it. It did not want to be Were. It wanted its place back, to be the only voice inside him, unrestricted by the animal instincts that influenced his behavior. He'd hated being feral for a long time, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. A feral Were-cat was forever feral. Just like being turned, there was no changing that. It was a conditioned reaction to stimulus. It was instinct, and there was no going against instinct.

There was no going back. Once one was turned, the transformation was complete, and there was no going back. If something stripped his Were nature from him, it would kill him. He accepted it because he had no choice. He lived with it because he had no other way to live, and no matter how bad it was, his own nature would not permit him to give up.

After so long, the Human in him had finally begun to stir. He realized that, sitting there and looking at the horizon. It had finally found the strength inside to challenge his Cat instincts for dominion of his mind. That had to be it. His attempts to curtail his feral nature had strengthened it, and only now had it begun to strike back at the instincts. It explained the dreams, it explained a great deal.

But it faced an almost insurmountable challenge. And so, it seemed, did he.

He sat there while the sun rose, watching it through hooded eyes, knees drawn up and chin resting on arms set across knees, tail wrapped around his ankles. He watched the progression of darkness to light with little awareness of it, as night succumbed to day in varying degrees, consumed by his own internal conflict. Even the flittering buzz of Sarraya's wings did not make him look away from the rising sun, nor did her landing on his shoulder make him move.

"It helps to talk about it, Tarrin," she said gently, putting a hand on his cheek. A very tiny hand.

"I've been having a dream," he replied woodenly. "It's the same dream over and over. In the dream, all the people I've killed come back and haunt me. One in particular stands out, and I see her face behind my eyes all the time. It won't let me sleep."

"That's your conscious talking to you, Tarrin," she said compassionately. "Just be patient, and the dream will fade."

"I can't take it anymore, Sarraya!" he said in pleading voice, charged with emotion. "I see that face, and it reminds me of what I've done, what I've become! And it's right! I am a murderer!"

"Life is never easy, Tarrin," she told him in a gentle voice. "Part of life is living with the past. Another part is living for the future. You've been placed in a very difficult position. It makes you do things you don't want to do, but you have to do them because things would be worse for everyone if you don't. I don't really blame you for the things you've done, because if you hadn't, we wouldn't be here now. You have to understand that. The dream will fade, but it has to run its course."

"I just can't face it anymore," he said wearily, tears welling up in his piercing eyes. "I can deal with what's outside, but this never gives me peace."

She reached up and put her hand on his temple. "That's because you're tired," she told him, and he felt her well up with Druidic magic. He could feel it in her hand, feel it through her touch, feel it flow into him. "Lay back, Tarrin, lay back and let yourself rest. I'll keep the dream away from you. I'll make sure you sleep."

He sniffled, and found himself obeying her, laying back on the hard rocky ground. He felt that hand on his temple the entire time, until he was fully reposed on the rocky ground. "I'm just tired of it, Sarraya," he said in a small voice. "I don't want to face it anymore. I don't want it anymore. I want them to leave me alone."

"I'll make sure they leave you alone," she told him in a motherly tone, cooing to him. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep, Tarrin. I'll be here to watch over you."

He closed his eyes, and he felt something strange cover over his mind, like a heavy wool blanket that muffled his thoughts. The blanket was drawn over the eyeless face, concealing it from him, and that immediately made his body relax. It was gone, hidden away, and his mind seized on that cessation of the endless guilt and torture, let him drift into a dreamless, contented slumber.

Sighing, Sarraya leaned against his shoulder, continuing to use her Druidic magic to subdue his mind, to give him the opportunity to rest without his memories coming back to haunt him. She could feel it through her magic, feel the towering mountain of self-loathing and regret that had built up inside. So much pain. There was so much pain inside him. How had he hidden it for so long?

It saddened her, but it also gave her hope. For too long, she had feared that he had become what she saw in him, but this told her that he had not. He had teetered on the edge of that dark pit, had indeed fallen in for a while, but he had not surrendered to it. He was trying to claw his way out of it.

He was strong. He could make it. All she had to do was offer him a helping hand. And that she could do.

She had helped unbalanced Were-kin before. It was one of the reasons Triana had sent with him. She knew what to do to help him recover his humanity. And she would be there for him whenever he needed her.

She leaned against his shoulder, looking up into his face with tenderness. Strange that a Faerie would become so attached to a Were-cat, but she couldn't deny it. They had their moments of contention, but under it all was the genuine affection they had for one another. He was so complicated, like an child seeing through the eyes of an adult, trapped between two worlds and unsure which was the one where he belonged. It made him testy, unpredictable, and not a little violent, but the gentleness he used when dealing with friends and loved ones showed her the truth beneath that facade of ruthless strength. His outward personality was nothing but a front, a shield to protect the young child inside him from the harsh brutatlity of the world. But it couldn't protect him anymore, and his defenses were starting to crumble.

But, truth was truth. She loved him like a brother. And because of that, she'd do everything in her power to help him. She would help him find the truth inside him, help him discover who he really was.

She would be there for him.

The rest had done him good, but had done little to calm his mind.

He ran over an area of stony hard desert, running on solid bedrock that had been stripped of all soil, a table of rock. The rocky spires which dotted the desert were thick here, almost like a great forest of stone trees, spread out just enough so that it left wide expanses of relatively flat rock between them. Piles of sand and dust had built up at the leeward sides of the bases of some of the pillars, but there was little more loose soil or sand to be found. It was midafternoon, and the searing heat of the day had begun to wane with the lowering of the sun, but it was still blisteringly hot.

But he barely noticed it anymore. Fifteen days in the desert had given his body the time it needed to adapt to the brutal conditions, to build up a tolerance for the tremendous day heat and the biting night cold. He knew that it was his Were regeneration that did that, that had changed his body to deal with a new environment, but he didn't think that much about it. The sun had bleached his hair to nearly white, and the sun had darkened his skin so much that he looked like a Selani. He looked like a true child of the desert, though it was still an unfamiliar and dangerous environment to him. Sarraya too had seemed to adapt to the heat, but he had the feeling that her Druidic magic was working there somewhere to make her more comfortable. She never seemed to sweat or complain about the heat.