All Lucas could hear was a ringing in his ears as he slowly awoke, the migraine pushing the rest from him. He looked around, trying to remember what happened last night and find out where he was. Images, fragmented and incoherent, but enough to give him the grisly details of Rathus' rampage. As Lucas tried to stand, pain and weakness shot through him. He gasped as he felt the cut on his chest. It sliced through his scars. In a moment he caught his breath and then limped away from the hollow. Exposure hurt, he was naked to the world and as such had no shoes to help his feet. This was Rathus' eighth assault on humanity, the eighth time Lucas has lost control under the moon. Flashes from each night raced through his mind, but he pushed them aside as he made his way along.<br/><br/>Later that day, Lucas was at the tavern. He had made it to his cabin and washed up. He was trying to drink the images away with some heavy ale, but they wouldn't be drowned. The tavern was in the closest village to the barn where Rathus had attacked, and the beast was the talk of the town. Holy men and Mercenaries gathered to the town like mothes to a flame. They were going to try and hunt Rathus, but Lucas knew what would become of them. He grimaced at the thought of what his other side would do next month. Sadnes welled up inside him. Lucas felt completly helpless to stop Rathus, to help anyone. He tried suicide once, but Rathus woke up and stopped him.