Faolan had been dreading this moment for two months. Ever since he had left, he had been tortured by the thought of his returning. For a while, it had been almost easy to resume his routine before he had met Lucien. After the night of the change, he had found himself so lost, so distraught and confused, that even the thought of seeing Lucien again had made him sick to his stomach. It was not out of hatred or anger at the Frenchman, no...Lucien deserved none of that. It was out of worry and fear. After he had regained himself, he tried to move on, to go back to civilization and to Green Bay, where Lucien was waiting...but, he just didn't. As the days passed, he found himself wiling away the hours in the woods. He had hunted, fished, hiked, climbed, slept in trees and in the dirt, washed himself in streams, cooked over an open flame. The longer he was alone, the more the voices in his head quieted until they were simply a whisper. A whisper he could tune out.

But two days ago he had realized that this silence would be short lived. He had a nightmare, for the first time in many years. He had been walking down a long, winding path, using only his nose and ears for guidance. He heard music, singing, like in a church choir, and smelled sweet breads. He knew this had to be Lucien calling out to him. He began to jog, then broke into a run. Sweating and panting, he made his way down this path, clouded in penumbra, but the faster he ran the quieter the singing got, and the more faint the sweet smells became. Finally, he saw something lying in the road in front of him and approached it. It was Lucien, lifeless at his feet, his chest open, his heart gone. When he fell to his knees and looked down at his hands, he saw blood and chunks of flesh and he knew...he knew this was his doing. He had torn Lucien open, ripped out his heart and eaten it. He couldn't live with himself, and his howl of rage and pain echoed through the chambers of his mind. 

He had been awakened by the sound of his own screams in the middle of the night, thrashing about in the makeshift bed he had formed from leaves and an old blanket he carried in his pack. After he caught his breath, realizing that it had been a dream, he packed his things and left for Green Bay.

And here he stood. The sound of Lucien's voice, the look of his face...it was a relief to see and hear them. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders and a smile tug at the corners of his lips. He was alive, and safe, and clean and warm. This was in contrast to Faolan, who looked exactly like a man who had spent the last eight weeks sleeping on the ground and foraging for food. He was dirty, disheveled, and smelled of mulch and sweat. He had nearly knocked the landlord of the establishment off of his feet when he'd asked for Lucien. The man only told him where to go out of fear, but Faolan didn't care. He had to see him, to make sure he was okay.

[color=a36209]"Fine,"[/color] he said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile at bay, [color=a36209]"Just dirty, tired. I've been...out." [/color]this was all he could think to say.