Eric didn't know how long he had slept, only that he could see clear daylight coming from the culvert's opening. He sighed to himself; he wasn't looking forward to having to scrounge up some scrap to wear until he encountered a muggle authority. Besides that, he was starting to get hungry, which seemed to be making him a bit short tempered. All of that, however, would be addressed as soon as he could get the kinks out of his muscles.
As he began stretching, however, complications brought his thoughts to a halt. His body wasn't moving properly, his limbs not arching in their proper directions. Looking down, he encountered a sight he wasn't expecting – gray fur covering his limbs, joints at the oddest of angles, and a rather pronounced tail. He began to panic as a realization hit him – he hadn't changed back.
Something had gone wrong. He tried to focus his thoughts; this was anticipated. He was weakened, trying magic drawn from deep within him that he didn't have an opportunity to plan for. Getting stuck in a transformed form wasn't unheard of, and there were countermeasures. However, worse than being stuck in a beast form was what he learned examining the beast he had changed into.
While it did have many wolven aspects, the forepaws were exaggerated. This, he found to his dismay, was to accommodate the three-inch claws he now possessed. His general build, although it was quite agile and fast, was not proportioned properly for a wolf. The worst of all was his reflection in the water. Although unclear due to the current, he could make out that he didn't have a proper snout, his ears were oversized and fanned back, his teeth were set all wrong, and his eyes were a bright crimson red.
He was no wolf – indeed, he couldn't define what he was. He knew one thing, though: there would be no approaching anyone in this form any time soon. Hagrid would be the only person he ever knew that could be less than repulsed to a beast such as he currently was. Since he didn't know exactly where he was relative to Hogsmeade, he couldn't possibly find his way back. He had only one option. Assuming he was still on the larger of the British Isles, he could eventually find London. Once he found London, he could find help. He'd wait until nightfall, and rest as much as he could. He needed to learn to be completely nocturnal if he was going to make it in one piece.
As night fell, he examined his surroundings. They were rural enough for him to risk going out. Examining the sky, he found the full moon rising in the east. That would be the direction he'd go. Eventually, he'd hit the coastline, then work out where to go from there. First, however, he needed food. A full grown werewolf could eat twenty pounds of red meat a day, and he'd need to keep himself satisfied in order to focus on the task at hand. He settled on hunting rabbits, finding it all too easy to take them down. They wouldn't fill his hunger entirely, but they'd do for a start.
At first, he was reluctant; more out of revulsion than anything else. However, as he began to hunt, he quickly fell into the spirit of things, taking down the poor things quickly and cleanly. The meat also tasted surprisingly good uncooked, with a tangy zest he never experienced before.