(My werewolf characters Inda and Crig, from a story I'm working on.) My jaw stiffened as I stared into his shockingly yellow eyes. His pupils were like small black pinpricks. I vaguely noticed how pale he was, how dark the circles under his eyes were… “Crig,” I said harshly, "You. Need. To. Eat." “I’m fine,” he growled and turned away. His face was twisted into a grimace. “It’s just going to get worse,” I cautioned him, “You know it as well as I do!” “I’m fine!" he snarled, and started the engine again. He almost drove another car off the road as he pulled back into the lane. I didn’t say anything. I knew that he wasn’t himself, so I didn’t hold his short temper against him, even though my own temper was straining at its tethers. “Let’s put on some music,” Crig said again, grudgingly this time. I picked up a CD without looking to see what it was and popped it into the stereo. A soft, electric tune drifted out of the speakers, and I was grateful for the calming effect it had on my nerves. Neither Crig nor I spoke for hours, and I found it difficult to believe that we had kissed just that afternoon. Now, he was as inaccessible as a stone wall. As each CD would end, I’d put another in without a word. We’d gone through three before I finally decided to speak. “Where are we?” I asked. “We just passed Asheville a few minutes ago,” Crig replied, and I was relieved to find that his voice sounded like his own. “Where are we stopping?” I ventured. He held out the folded map without looking at me. “Choose a city,” he told me, “Better make it someplace close, it’s getting late.” I opened up the large paper, searching for Asheville. It was in bold, and slightly larger than some of the other cities. I traced my finger along the interstate line and stopped at a random point. “Hendersonville,” I said “Which exit do I take?” “This—no, the one after this one.” I glanced out the window; the sun was coming dangerously close to the horizon.