The wizard turned when he heard his wife coming down the stairs.  "Sesame for me, if you don't mind.  And some eggrolls."  He said.  He paused as she drew close, lifting one of her slender hands up to the trio of scars on his shoulder.  His cheeks colored as her fingers traced the line of the old wound.  "You're fine,"  He promised.  "I uh...  I probably should have thought to warn you before..."  He gestured to the undershirt he'd taken off, reaching self-consciously for the tee she'd brought down.<br/><br/>"Those were from a uh...  A werewolf.  Big one.  Cursed, not a shifter.  Spells rolled right off of him.  We've started carrying silver bullets since, but all I had was an old silver dagger.  Tangling with a werewolf is seldom worth the stories you get from the scars though."  He shrugged the scarred shoulder.  "Got a hold of me, and hurled me one-armed across a cemetery.  I don't think he meant to let go of me so much as smash me, but his claws were sharp, and I slipped out.  Dalton was able to draw his attention long enough for me to stick the dagger in him."<br/><br/>"I'll try and keep these a bit more out-of-sight.  I'm just not thinking all that clearly."  He admitted, bunching the tee up in his hands before sticking first one arm, and then the other through.