Fenrir had not been able sleep well that night. He had trouble calming himself, his body still trembling with excitement, his mind still racing. He recalled all the events that had happened, from the moment he knocked on the front door to the moment he left Rose at her bed. He was happy things turned out decently, but he worried of what the future might bring. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he drifted off to sleep. 

That night he had a dream. He was his human self, and he was running through a dark forest, being chased by a wolf. He ran and ran, for what seemed like ages, until finally he had lost the wolf and came upon a clearing. Within this clearing, a brilliant moonlight shined upon a single red rose in the ground. Fascinated by the flower, he moved in to harvest it from the soil. The rose had thorns, however, so as he pulled it pricked his finger and he began to bleed.
 
He could detect the scent of his blood fill the air, as if his sense of smell had improved immensely. Suddenly, he was surrounded by glowing red eyes in the darkness. Up ahead, a pair of these eyes moved toward him. The moonlight revealed what they belong to; a wolf, with a coat of fur as dark as night, and a fierce scar across his left eye. This wolf then began to shape shift into an immense and terrible beast, half-man and half-wolf; [i]a lycanthrope.[/i] It was someone he remembered; someone he knew.

“You are a wolf, Fen…” The lycan growled, in a deep and threatening voice. “One day, you have to accept that.” In an obscure angle, Fenrir managed to look upon himself and realize that he was no longer human, but instead the wolf that had been chasing him earlier. The rose he had picked lay in front of him, and now it blew off with the wind. Fenrir chased the flower, as the wolf had chased him.

The dream ended there, but his rest did not. He was never a morning person to begin with. Now, with the lack of sleep, he was sure to slumber well into the day if no one were to disturb him.