It's been one hell of a night, and given Nathaniel's general opinion of his transformations, that's saying something.

To be honest, he's not really even sure how they caught him. Since having his secret discovered a few months ago, he's been even more careful about where he is when he becomes the wolf, and he'd only just started to believe he was safer than he had been. Then he'd smelled something strange -- something as unnatural as he, something else with enough power to be wrong -- and before he'd had time to grow angry over the potential challenge to his position, there'd been nets and drugs and fingers that were far too strong for their size sinking into his fur. Given the putrid taste of wrong blood in his mouth, he's pretty sure a few of those fingers were removed over the course of the ensuing struggle. Nevertheless, he's in a cage now, unsure of where he is and how he got there and who is behind all this, and the werewolf is more furious than he's ever been in his life.

This cage should not hold him. No cage should hold him. But the bars smell of lightning, and no matter how he chews on them or throws himself against them, he succeeds only in giving himself bruises. Whatever these people are, they're equipped to deal with creatures like him. And, if the tents and the cages of lesser beasts surrounding him are any indication, they intend to show him off.

The one advantage Nathaniel has here is that the winter solstice only recently passed; the night will be long, and he has several hours yet before he resumes his usual shape. But even as the wolf rails uselessly, the man begins to despair. He'll transform in the morning. He'll be a shivering, weak, naked man in a cage, even more powerless to get away, and of the few people here who would help him, not a one knows to be looking for him. Shaking himself, the werewolf bites one of the bars again, finds it unyielding, and throws back his head for an angry howl. It seems making noise is all he can really do.