James was relieved that she didn't pry into how he got the arm. That would have been very different than describing his old life. He decided to make it like a story. "I grew up in a little town in Germany. The majority of the population were all werewolves. They all disappeared on nights of the full moon, leaving the children alone at night. I didn't mind really. The wolf howls would comfort us for the first few years. But over time, as one matured, the wolves began to treat you differently. They were wild animals, of course, but when you're six, that doesn't matter as much. On my sixth birthday, they decided I was ready. They took me out to the woods, and they had a huge ceremony. My dad was supposed to be the one who would bite me. So, in the biggest clearing they could find, the adults and older kids lit lights and hung banners. They always treated it like it was some kind of celebration, whenever a kid was ready.
"So, I was brought to this clearing, a six-year-old child. I was a little bit frightened- the sun was setting, and I knew that there was full moon on the rise. Naturally, I was frightened, but it was really cool. There were only a few full-fledged wizards in my town, but they did things that I've only just learned to do. Imagine, watching them create dragons from fire, showing me all the spectacles magic promised. It was mesmerizing at the time..."
James trailed off as he inhaled sharply. He'd said too much, opened too far. Not that it mattered. The werewolves from that time no longer mattered. Just the memory.