begins to fill the darkness of Erik's eyes. Barely, he perceives figures before him...no, they are above him, and he is on the floor. All strength gone from his body, he is vaguely aware of being carried to a table. There are voices, but he listens as one who has never learned speech.

Somehow, he finds himself in a sitting position. Shapes and smells give the barest suggestions of things outside himself, but it is with sluggish plodding through the mess of internal realities that his mind is more immediately engaged. There was a house, and a stair, and a light approaching...and...AAAAH, the cold! So cold! There is an icy grip on his heart so intense that he claws at his chest for a knife that isn't there. Then the flood comes: Straight through his mind to his lips come thoughts and words--straight through his mind, without his consent, from the same icy will that now holds him paralyzed....

"Cold! ... No, it is not yours ... don't ... not what we thought ... the house, the house! ... where is--oh, the cold! ... Take it out! ... my friend, no, not in October, not without ... please, if you would be so kind to pass the salt ... and the wolfsbane ... did I say wolf? Not a wolf, a man--no, a bear--well, no ... let go, please! Please, get out! ... So cold, empty ... Aaaaaaah!!"

With this last exclamation, Erik awoke more fully and found himself at a banquet, with many onlookers, sitting up ridigly, in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. His feeling of emptiness was only symbolized by his overwhelming physical hunger. Grabbing a piece of unidentified meat, he managed a few words of his own, in a weak, slow voice.

"I believe I am myself again, my friend."