Djordji knelt beside the limp body of the wolf, briefly stroking the black fur, then backed away so the big gypsy could carefully lift the wolf. The beast’s back had healed under the magic of the moonlight, and Milosh carried him out to the wise woman’s caravan.
Syeira fretted that he had not regained consciousness. “That blow to his head, that worries me,” she confided.
“Where will you take him, Grandmother?”
“He cannot remain in Kent, young sir. Having been struck by silver while he was in the form of the wolf, the question remains—if…whenhe regains his senses, who will emerge, the animal or the man?” She scrubbed her face wearily. “We will take him with us to the old country and oversee his recovery. Once I can determine how things are with him, then there will be time enough to consider if he should return home. Meanwhile, we must decide what is to be done with this one.”
This onewas Vaughan.