Werewolves were probably my favorite magical race (though I’d never own to it, Davin would be excessively jealous). It wasn’t because I liked the particular people more, no one would ever mean more to me than Davin, but it was their very essence, the very core of their being that fascinated me. Werewolves were good, and Vampires, well, occasionally weren’t. There was no way around that. Werewolves were sensible creatures who were typically able to look at the straight facts without being distracted by annoying details. But they weren’t perfect by any means. They have a lot of difficulty controlling themselves and often phase through their different forms at the slightest twitch of emotion. It took a lot of time and concentration to perfect their control like Ranulf had. This made them all the more endearing to me though, now that I had to deal with similar struggles myself.
And the running, well, there was nothing like it. That was an ability I was definitely grateful for.