In the days after Malone’s transformation from werewolf into human I noticed that he had gotten sullen and despondent, which is so unlike him. Sometimes he gets a bit melancholy, when he pines after Veronica and it’s one of those days when she’s completely oblivious to it, but usually those moments are few and far between. But all of a sudden he was quiet and withdrawn, hardly met anyone’s eye, the perfect illustration of a depressed young man.

Marguerite noticed it of course, she’s the most observant of us all. She invited him to have coffee and we both knew something was very wrong, when he replied that he wasn’t in the mood for coffee. I glanced into her direction and our eyes met. The same worry for our American friend was expressed in them. Challenger called for him, as he needed help with an experiment and Marguerite and I sat down to confer about the matter.

I inquired about the events in the treehouse, while we were gone. Had something occurred that might account for Malone’s depression?

“He turned into a werewolf, that’s certainly enough reason to mope a bit, don’t you think?” She said, a bit flippantly in my opinion.

“You were quite depressed when you turned from vampire back into a human being, maybe it’s the same phenomenon?”

I found that thought quite silly. I had turned into a superhuman being, I could feel the wind rising from the mountains, my senses were heightened to an extreme degree, I could slay a raptor with my bare hands. All that happened to Malone was that he turned very hairy and howled at the moon. Turning back into a human was cause for celebration in his case, not depression.

“Maybe,” I replied, not wanting to share my true feelings about my vampiric past. “But he seemed quite chipper immediately after the transformation. It was only later that he turned so sullen. I wonder whether Veronica talked a lot about Danu? Maybe he’s jealous?”

Marguerite’s lovely forehead showed a little frown.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I think you and the boy should have a man to man talk. Didn’t you want to go hunting tomorrow? Take him with you. I’m sure he’ll open up to you.”

I was a bit disappointed. I had hoped that I could talk Marguerite into accompanying me on the hunting trip, sharing some quality time with her without constant interruptions. But she was right. Something needed to be done about Malone and I was the man for the job.

Ned didn’t question my request to come on the hunting trip, he seemed to be glad to get out of the treehouse. It took us only three hours to hunt down a young raptor and while we were tying up the slain beast to transport it back to the treehouse, I broached the subject of his dejected mood. At first he denied it, but after a bit of insistence on my part he suddenly opened up. And how he opened up! Close to tears he shared with me that his werewolf experience had left some very unwelcome remnants. He opened his shirt and there it was. The most unsightly thick furry black hair covered parts of his chest, his back (very apish- looking the poor boy!) and parts of his legs. A body hair problem of the most shocking dimension! I was speechless for a moment.

“It’s awful, isn’t it,” he exclaimed, obviously very distressed by my silence.

“Well, it’s a different look for you. I know how much pride you take in your sculpted pectoral muscles and with fur like that they’re pretty much invisible.”

“I KNOW!” He wailed.

“Have you talked to Challenger about it?”

“Yes. He says that it might be temporary or it might be a lasting effect. Which isn’t very helpful, is it? He also said that it isn’t harmful in any way and that I can live with this forever.”

I shook my head, marvelling yet again at the complete ignorance of the visionary when it comes to fashion matters. While a bit of chest hair can be a pleasing and appropriate manly look, it is completely unacceptable to be hairy like an apeman. Malone’s distress was perfectly understandable. We needed to do something. A scientist or a shaman, whoever it might be, someone had to have an answer to this follicular problem.

“I assume you tried conventional means?”

“I shaved, I plucked, I waxed. These hairs are stronger than any traditional methods.”

Of course. The boy loved the clean and hairless look. He would have tried everything in the book to achieve it.

Actually Challenger and I had made fun of him in the first months of the expedition, because he always insisted on being clean-shaven. Whether we were stuck in a cave, a lizard dungeon or in the midst of the jungle, every morning he whipped out his shaving kit and scraped off the whiskers. George and I ribbed him and told him that real men can live very well with a bit of facial hair, but the boy just laughed it off and said that he wouldn’t take fashion advice from two men who saw a barber only every six months. My locks were quite long at the time, but six months was definitely an exaggeration!

But I digress. We decided to find the female shaman from Danu’s tribe. She had been very knowledgeable and quite stylish, so we both trusted in her judgement. It took us many hours to locate a tribe that knew where they had moved and we signalled to the treehouse that we wouldn’t be back that day. Lugging the dead raptor around had become a drag, so we traded the meat for a very nice piece of ham that was much easier to transport.

It was late at night the next day, when we found Danu’s tribe. The shaman welcomed us quite warmly, we had obviously earned her respect by surviving the Valley of Shadows. We ate with the tribe and afterwards she invited us into her tent. We explained Malone’s predicament and she wasn’t surprised.

“The curse is quite strong. The medicine that your shaman has used performed a miracle, but even miracles have their limits.”

We had already figured out that much on our own and I was about to express my thoughts, when Malone chimed in.

“Please, I’m desperate, I can’t live like that. The hair at least doesn’t cover my face, but what if I get injured again and have to take off my shirt. If Vero-, if anyone sees this, this.. this fur I’d die.”

The shaman nodded. “I understand. Get undressed. I have to see the extent of the damage.”

Malone took off his shirt. When the shaman insisted that he take off all his clothes, he blushed to such a deep red, it was even visible in the faint light of the torches in the tent.

I couldn’t help wondering whether the shaman – a fairly young woman after all – was asking him to disrobe out of necessity or out of curiosity. Malone is a strapping lad, works out every day, and I had noticed that the shaman’s guards were all handsome young men. Ned looked at me with pleading eyes, but I just shrugged. We had a body hair problem to solve, being too puritan wouldn’t help in this situation.

She walked around poor Ned, who was obviously not comfortable with nudity. I pretended to study the patterns of the rug I was sitting on. I looked up, when I heard an ‘ouch’, the shaman had ripped a hair out of Malone’s chest.

She tossed it into a silver chalice, poured some herbs in it and a strange smelling liquid. Then she set it all on fire and put the chalice down on the floor.

“I will meditate now. You,” she turned to me, “you will go and sleep in the tent of the hunters.” I got up to leave.

“You will stay here,” she said to Malone.

“Roxton!” He sounded very alarmed. “Don’t worry, Neddie-boy, I’m sure she will be gentle.”

He reminded me of a soft-eyed doe in his panic, but I decided to leave him with the shaman. I was sure that he wouldn’t be hurt. Maybe a little less innocent, but definitely not hurt.

After swapping a few hunting stories I had bonded quickly with the other hunters and we had an entertaining night comparing hunting techniques for raptors and other dinosaur game. They also had a smooth ale that was quite tasty and we drank into the wee hours of the morning. I dragged myself out of bed when the sun was already up, but no sign of Ned. It was nearly noon, when our journalist – fully clothed now – and the shaman finally came out of her tent. He looked a bit dazed, but otherwise unharmed.

“I saw the cure in my meditation,” the shaman said. “You will have to find a certain root, brew it into a tea and drink it for seven days in a row. An unpleasant body odour will be the only side effect. After seven days the hair will fall out, never to appear again.”

She had drawn a little map of the region where we’d find the root and also a detailed sketch how the root looked like.

We found the root after two days and prepared the tea. Ned insisted that we stay away from the treehouse, as he didn’t want to inflict the unpleasant body odour on the others. Obviously he didn’t mind being in my company, while he stank like a… I have no idea what to compare it with, but boy – did he stink!

“We’re outdoors, Roxton, it’s not that bad,” he said, but truth be told, it was unpleasant even then.

On the eighth day we both were eager to see success. Nothing. We discussed for hours whether he should drink the root tea for another day or stick to the directions of the shaman. We finally decided to wait another day. He still smelled awfully, so it was reasonable to assume that the root was still in his body, doing its work.

The next morning brought an ecstatic Malone. He woke me from a most pleasant recurring dream I have, with me and Marguerite on the bank of a river, she’s feeding me grapes and my head is in her lap and it’s the most… well, he woke me up and had patches of fur in his hands.

“It’s falling out, Roxton, it’s falling out! My chest is nearly smooth. Check the back, check the back.”

He took off his shirt and indeed most of the hair had fallen out. We laughed and hugged and laughed again. Now we could go back to the treehouse, safe in our knowledge that our Neddy-boy could shed his shirt again and be the smart-looking fellow we’ve all come to respect.

He pleaded with me, not to tell the others about his ordeal, so we made up a story about trying to find a historical site that a tribe told us about. Challenger bought it hook, line and sinker, but Marguerite looked very suspicious.

The next day Malone was out and about, shirtless, happily chopping firewood. I found Marguerite on the balcony, watching him, obviously enjoying his silly little display of masculine strength.

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked in a slightly ironic tone.

“Most certainly. Not much entertainment in the treehouse apart from books, that’s why I’m always grateful when Malone puts on a little show. Or you, for that matter,” she said, winking at me.

I stepped closer to her, enjoying the faint scent of lavender that emanated from her hair.

“What were you and Malone really doing out there? You didn’t stay for a week just to find ruins in the jungle. And he is back to his old cheerful self, so you must have done something with him.”

She wasn’t fooled easily. But I had given my word to Malone, so I couldn’t share this secret, even with my love. I decided to try a bit of distraction. I put my arms around her and whispered in her ear. “A week away with me cheers up the most sullen man or woman. You should try it sometime. How about next week? No windmill repairs scheduled, Veronica and Ned can help Challenger with any experiments. Perfect timing for a little expedition. Maybe to that area where you always find gems?’

She leaned into me and put her hands on my arms. Malone was obviously forgotten. Not that I’m bragging or anything, but I still got it, mere youth is no match for me!

“All right, I’ll go with you. But only because I want to find a few more gems.”

And so tomorrow we will go on another expedition. A full week. Only Marguerite and I. I better finish now to get some sleep, puffy eyes in the morning are rather unattractive and I want to look my best for a week with my love. She is a woman of taste and doesn’t run after the next best strapping warrior, but a woman of fire and steel has standards that I want to make sure I live up to.