Fenris coughed, then extended his claws. They were red. "I'm-I'm afraid. They're red. I killed him! If I turn back, I'm afraid my fingers will be red."
She sat down, putting an arm around his shoulders, hoping to steady herself. "Then stay a lion for the night-I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."
He shook his head. "I don't want to stay an animal."
Leonida stared off into the distance. The men under her command, simple peasant farmers, hadn't reacted this badly to their first kill.
"Fenris, change back. We'll clean you up, and...I'll stay up with you as long as you need me to, okay?"
He nodded.
"No, I gotta' go get cleaned up, then I'll come back."
"Oh, I'm sorry! Are you-"
She shook her head and left to fix herself up. She shook her head. Had he never killed anything before? An animal for dinner? She'd seen him eat meat. She shook her head, hoping to clear it. He joined her, now a man, at the camp. His hands were red.
"I-uh...I'm sorry, Little Vixen." She turned away from the name and he saw her face. "I-when it's healed more, I can fix it up with magical surgery."
She shrugged. "I earned it. Now, get some sleep."
Leonida, though, fell asleep long before Fenris did. He sat, watching the fire, occasionally overcome by a fit of shuddering...
... Fenris had drifted off to sleep, though his slumber was punctuated by the occasional twitch. His hands were finally clean. Fenris wasn't a killer. Oisin hadn't been one either. She had cost one man his life; would she cost another's? She stared into the dying fire. Was she worth it?

Leonida the Bard, with the help of Fenris the Wolf, Wolf's nephew, must discover the nature of and meaning behind the creature which has been stalking her.