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At some point, Caleb had been separated from Essek during the night. He wasn't worried, of course — he was alright himself, and Essek was strong. Essek had decades of experience. Essek could take care of himself.
It was unsettling, was all. In the two-weeks-four-days since getting turned, Caleb had never spent the night alone. Essek was always with him, guiding him, teaching him how to placate the monster whilst holding onto himself.
Of course, in the two-weeks-four-days since Caleb was turned, there had never been a full moon.
"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Caleb had asked as the sun banked below the horizon. A silly question, to be sure. Essek had been a werewolf his whole life; he was well-accustomed to managing the bestial nature that would overcome him tonight.
No, what Caleb truly worried for was himself, but something in him could not say so out loud. He did not have the luxury to lose himself with the moon, nor the reassurance of returning with the sun.
Perhaps, as a newly-turned vampire, it was unorthodox that he should take pointers from an established werewolf. But the only other vampire they knew — Ikithon, because of course he was the one who turned Caleb — was now reduced to little more than a pile of scorched flesh (and good riddance, too).
The rest of the Mighty Nein, accommodating as they were, understanding as they tried to be, could not truly comprehend the bloodlust Caleb experienced. They could not help.
But Essek could. Essek understood. And so Essek had taken it upon himself to act as Caleb's babysitter, staying with him at night, teaching him to hunt with what little humanity was left.
"All will be well," Essek had reassured. "I will be somewhat more … indisposed tonight. This shouldn't present too much of a problem. Just — do not go far from me."
It was easy enough to agree to that.
Somehow, though, somewhere deep in the woods beyond the borders of Rexxentrum, it had happened. Caleb lost sight of his wolf and wound up alone, alone.
At least he didn't hunger. He could not trust himself yet to feed without a guiding hand. Not after … well.
But that didn't happen, not this night. Caleb stuck to the woods, wandering in the slim hopes of finding Essek. Essek still wore the Amulet of Proof against Detection, so could not be found through magical means, and Caleb did not possess the sharp nose of a wolf for tracking.
As it turned out, Caleb didn't need the nose of a wolf to find his.
He had cast his Tower early in the night, that nascent nine sided liminal space, and he returned to it now, minutes before the first rays of dawn burst from the horizon. He could have gone all the way home, back to the cottage in Rexxentrum. There had been time enough, but somehow the Tower felt like the place to be.
Immediately upon stepping through the foyer, Caleb was met with the sweet stench of wet dog, strong enough that a discerning nose was unnecessary/
"Ah," Caleb said to the nearest cat attendant, Mr. Mistoffelees, who gave a scornful mraow, "I suppose we have had a guest tonight?"
Mr. Mistoffelees huffed, curled once around Caleb's ankles, then ran off into one of the cat tunnels, throwing a look over his shoulder as if to say, "You coming?"
"Ja, ja, alright," Caleb acquiesced, moving to the center column of the tower. "But you will have to be patient — I do not have the energy for a Polymorph ."
As he rose through the Tower, he caught a glimpse of Mr. Mistoffolees, sniffing in his direction on the second floor before scurrying off to the next. On the third floor the cat stopped, waiting for Caleb to make his exit.
The smell of wet dog was stronger here.
"Here?" Caleb asked, stepping towards the library. The cat meowed , tail raised and swaying behind him as he led Caleb through the bookshelves, towards the study area.
At a certain point, Caleb no longer needed the guide. It became clear what Mr. Mistoffelees was leading him towards.
In the center of the library, in the sunny shadow of the stained glass window was the study area. An array of desks laid out with comfortable chairs, and long chaise lounges littered between.
On one of these chaise lounges rested a heap of dappled moonlight, silvery fur with black fringes, claws and fangs tucked away and glistening where the light snuck through to hit them.
It snored softly.
Caleb couldn't help but feel his heart melt at the sight — and oh, what a sensation! For all the worry that his heart would grow cold as his skin, here was proof that still some feeling remained. Some softness still quelled him, even if only for the one monster who could tolerate him.
That Essek was here meant the world and more.
A wave of exhaustion hit, and Caleb swayed on his feet, the long night alone finally catching up with him. It would not do to fall flat on his face in his own library, but something in him doubted he would make it to his bedchambers.
There were plenty of empty lounges around upon which Caleb could comfortably bed down for the day. He made a beeline towards Essek.
In all the months he'd known the elf — no, the werewolf — Caleb had never once seen him sleep. Always trancing, he was, the last to go to rest and the first to rise.
This was different, Caleb knew. He'd seen Essek's wolf form before, nearly every night since he himself had been turned. But there was something in this, something vulnerable, naked like a babe from the bath. This transformation, forced by Catha's full form, Essek couldn't control. He was subject to the moon's whims this night, losing himself completely to the beast that ever lurked beneath.
That he had ended up in this Tower, of all places, was impressive. The sentimentality was not lost on Caleb.
Slowly, carefully so not to wake him, Caleb lifted one of Essek's front paws and tucked himself underneath. His legs he drew up, unintentionally tangling them with Essek's own.
In his sleep, Essek snuffed and pulled Caleb close, until he was flush with the wolf's furry underside.
Oh, he could lose himself in this warmth.
In spite of himself, Caleb snuggled closer, pressing his face into thick, glossy fur, The smell wasn't so bad, now he'd gotten used to it, and the tickle on his cheek was even more soothing than Frumpkin's fuzzy belly had been.
Essek seemed in this moment, as in all nights in the last two weeks and four days, a source of endless comfort. That the comfort was for once physical seemed trivial.
If Caleb's intrusion into Essek's space was misguided, it didn't matter now. Essek's arms — legs? Forelegs? Caleb wasn't quite sure the proper term — closed around him, hugging him tight, and Caleb returned the favor. The wolf's torso was a fair deal larger than Essek's elven form, and Caleb's arms didn't quite reach all the way, but he made do, sinking his fingers into thick fur, clinging to Essek like the lifeline he was.
Sleep took him slowly, its embrace nearly as sweet as the wolf's.