The child was lost, and was found, and was home and washed and sitting there with knees drawn below chin in the flickering glow of the television. The child stared and he stared back. The television was noise.

"It's time for bed."

No argument. But, he knew his child was tired because she had been kidnapped, and hungry, and tired, and her arm was still bandaged. She needed to rest. She stood and he watched her go wordlessly. Then, he stood, checked the doors to be sure that whoever (whatever?) had attacked her would not return to take his baby. He looked at the moonlit yard and felt secure direction his cameras faced.

They were how he'd known she had slipped away in the night to begin with. Some lessons must be learned with blood. He would not rub this in her face, though. She was hurt enough.

He crept into her room, sat on the edge of her bed, and brushed her hair with his knuckles. Then, she turned and let her form ripple into a wolf's. He screamed and she was so grateful she had been savaged. She sucked his blood and chewed his flesh. He stopped moving. She sat there on knees too high for a human and a mouth just long enough for a monster. The wolf-woman stumbled through the house, denying hunger to be out as she'd wanted to be when this all started.

She would be on cameras, but that was not her problem. Let whoever found them be afraid. The full moon night called to her and she longed for the darkness of clustered trees.