'Why was I so set on saving that beast? It attacked me. It was like something was forcing me, but what?' Vincent debated with himself as he gathered almost every piece of wood that crossed his path. Even though that beast had attacked him of its' own volition, after subduing it, it felt like something had taken hold of him, making him treat the beasts' wounds. Vincent didn't like being controlled like that, hated the feeling of helplessness. Just what was it that had seized him? He stopped in his tracks, midway through his stride. His mind was going in circles, asking the same question a hundred different ways. He would get nowhere that way. Forcing his wandering mind back to the task at hand, he resumed gathering sticks, deliberately keeping his thoughts blank.
The sun was beginning to rise when Vincent returned. He dropped his load of wood by the dead fire and turned to look at the beast. He was mildly shocked to find Jacob in place of the beast, the ropes and bandages slack; the wounds were partially healed already, bright red and angry looking. He knelt beside him and unwound the bandages and rope, coiling each neatly. Next, he checked the boys' breathing and heart rate. Both were fine, if a little shallow. He lifted the boy, an arm under his neck and the other behind his knees, and carried him back to the bed he'd made, laying him down as gently as he could. He arranged the boys' thin limbs in positions that he thought would be comfortable, covering him with his cloak. Then he turned his attention to the fire. He decided that since the sun was coming up, they wouldn't need it for light or warmth, but there was nothing saying he couldn't make it ready for the night. Taking the sturdiest sticks, he quickly wove together drying racks for the fish. He retrieved his rope of fish from the lake and set to gutting, scaling and filleting them. When the fish were reduced to many strips of flesh, he laid them out on the drying racks and set the racks where they would be in the full sun all day. If the Gods were kind, he'd be able to make enough rations to see them to the village; if he was really lucky, they might even have enough to trade. By the time he was finishing with the fish, Jacob was coming to. Vincent moved to his side, offering the boy water from a cup he had filled earlier. The boy drank greedily, sucking the water down as if he'd been without water for weeks instead of only a couple of hours. The boys' eyes were glazed, non-reactive when he passed his hand in front of them. Vincent snapped his fingers twice, sharply, at each of Jacobs' ears. They boy didn't so much as twitch. He sat and watched the boy for a few minutes, weighing his options, before deciding on the best course of action to return the boy to his senses. Without warning, he grabbed the boys' scrawny arm, just below the shoulder joint, and hurled him bodily into the cold waters of the lake. He came up spluttering a few seconds later. Sense had returned to his green eyes and he glared at Vincent. He swam the short distance to the shore and climbed out, still glaring.
'''What did you do that for? And how did you know I could swim?''' he signed, peeling his sodden clothes off and heaping them by the mound of leaves that served as a bed, then huddling next to the barely glowing embers of the fire, seeking whatever warmth it might give.
"You were unresponsive, so I returned you to your senses in the quickest way I could think of. Care to tell me what happened to you last night?" Vincent said it in a mostly monotone voice, with only a tiny amount of inflection on 'happened', choosing to ignore for now the part about his swimming ability. While he waited for an answer, he fed the fire bigger, then retrieved his cloak and draped it over the boys' slightly shaking form. Jacob cast about for a bit, before settling on staring at his feet with his shoulders hunched, as if he were preparing for some physical blow. Vincent retrieved the leftover fish from beneath the sand, partially unwrapping one before handing it to the boy. Jacob took it, though reluctantly, not letting his fingers touch Vincents'. He stared at the fish, as though it could answer in his stead. When the fish remained silent, he gathered his courage and began to speak.
'''I was born under a blood moon, the first in many generations. The midwife told my father that I was cursed because of it. My first transformation was nothing, compared to the ones now. My birthday that turn of seasons happened to be on the night of the full moon. Everyone in the village hated full moons, but not me. I always felt more at peace with nothing but the moon for company. I don't really remember much, just that I fell asleep like any other night, and woke up in the center of the village a while later. I don't remember anyone seeing me as I went home, but there was talk in the village of a giant wolf that had prowled through the night before. I kept my mouth shut, out of fear, but my father figured it out after the second time. That was seven turns ago. I transform every full moon it seems. After my third or so, my father started chaining me up the night before the full moon, 'for my safety' he told me. I knew he was afraid of me though; I could smell it, sour. With each new transformation, the beast got stronger, though my father tried his best to keep me weak by starving me. Then the beast got strong enough to break the chains. It rampaged, slaughtering to its' hearts content. It was after that that the village elders decided I was too dangerous to keep around. They put together a group of skilled hunters to take me to the Wastes and leave me. John set the fastest pace he could, but we were still only halfway when the next new moon came. I transformed in front of all the hunters. They managed to subdue to beast but not before it had almost killed one man. If you ask me, they should have just killed me back in the village. would have saved them a lot of trouble.''' Throughout his narrative, his eyes had been focused intently on his hands as they flew through the signs. Vincent listened with singleminded intensity, committing it all to memory; he made a special mental note to kill John on the spot if they ever crossed paths again. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, forcing his muscles to relax. He'd been more tense in the past few days than he had in the last century. Seeking to busy his hands before the rage could take a good hold of him, Vincent strode stiff-legged to his drying racks to check on the fish. Satisfied with the state of dehydration, he stalked into the woods, calling over his shoulder that he would be back soon. When he was sure he was out of earshot of Jacob, meaning that he couldn't hear the boy, not the other way around, he gave in to the rage gnawing at his control. Vincent roared, feeling the skin of his ears stretch as the cartilage elongated. He ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the sharp points of his canines pressing into the soft tissue. Taking a deep breath and another, he roared again, feeling the exhilarating rush of energy the residual Chaos transformation gave him. To say that he missed the demon would be a grave overstatement, but he had found the demons' form useful from time to time. With the semi-transformation came heightened senses, even more so than what they normally were. He could smell the rich, heady scent of the earth beneath the roots of the trees, the sharp green scent of the leaves, the spicy scent of burrowing beetles that could be eaten. Under all of this, he caught the faint scent of disease, cold, arid and grey. If he was reading the scents right, then this oasis wouldn't be here for much longer. That thought was sobering, dousing his rage like a bucketful of sand on a campfire. He shivered as his body reverted to its normal state. Along with the transformation came a higher body temperature, and the reversion always dropped it below the normal range for a human. His mind now free from the rage, he could focus on completing what he had told Jacob he was going to do.
After a short time searching, he found a coconut tree that was absolutely loaded, a fig tree that was likewise burdened, and a humongous blueberry bush that was so heavy with berries that the branches touched the ground. He gathered a large amount of palm fronds from the ground, and set to weaving them into a sturdy basket to carry the figs and blueberries. Setting the finished basket beside the fig tree, he started picking the fruit, shimmying his way up the trunk once the easily reached ones were gone. Before long, the basket was full off figs, and the tree was not. Seeing that the basket most likely wouldn't hold any more, he set to weaving another. This basket was soon filled to the brim as well, with blueberries. Shaking his head ruefully at the amount he had gathered , he made for the coconut tree, climbing hand over hand to the top to get the hard-shelled fruit. With the serrated digits of his gauntlet, he sawed through the stems of the ripe coconuts. He let a tiny smile tug at the corners of his lips at the soft thud each made when it hit the sand. Soon, even the coconut tree was stripped of its burdens. Vincent wrapped his legs around the tree loosely and let gravity carry his weight back to the ground. He gave another rueful half smile at the sheer amount of fruit he had been able to gather in such a short period of time. The only problem was, how was he going to get it all back to camp?