I was tired. Sleep rarely found me, and despite it now being what I assumed was likely early evening I was laid upon the bed within the cabin staring up at the now familiar ceiling. I should be out enjoying a run, or cooking dinner, anything but lounging around doing nothing, but instead here I was, wanting to try to sleep again because I felt I was becoming weaker as the days went on. This was never a good position for a werewolf to be in.
This was what more of my days were becoming. Days merged into one another, as did the hours now. The only way I could differentiate between day and night was the colour of the sky outside. My sleep pattern was f****d so I simply slept when I could, which was less and less of late; creating an ever increasingly tireder version of myself. Tired and weak
