He’d tried his hardest to stay still and let sleep claim him, but it just wouldn’t happen. He needed to be outside, running through the fields. He was suffering from a bad case of what his mother had always called ‘jeukende poten’. Itchy paws. Kaspar knew of no better term to describe the restlessness that afflicted him. Even if he tried to talk to Jon about it, he knew he couldn’t make him understand. No human would ever know how it felt to be compelled to shift, to let the animal that lurked within have free rein. Jon stirred and muttered something. For a moment, Kaspar thought he’d woken up. But then he clutched at the covers and rolled over. Kaspar’s alarm faded and he let out the breath he’d been holding. He grabbed sweatpants and a hooded top but didn’t put them on till he got downstairs. Socks and underwear would only be an inconvenience when it came to undressing. He slipped his feet into comfortable trainers then went to collect his bike. The sleek racing cycle was nothing like the black-framed old rattler he’d owned in Amsterdam.
