"I don’t remember much" Clara lied forcing his body to sit up. "I do remember fighting a blackness that surrounded me, and the voice of two people fighting over me." Freeblade walked closer to Clara as he spoke, a look of apprehension mixed with relief etched on his face. "Then a light came an struck the darkness, and it took hold of me. The light fought back and I felt relief and joy, but the light told me I had work left to do. Then I woke up."
All was silent in the room until a knock came at the door. Avery went and unblocked it; opening it enough for a wiry priest of Shahmeran entered the room and spoke quickly in Avery's ear. Avery's face looked relieved as he pronounced, "the priest of the Learned Lady declares what you have stated as truth." The priest hurried from the room as Clara looked to the two other knights in the room. Avery stood rooted at the foot of the bed, his face a mask. Freeblade on the other hand smiled greatly and engulfed the now sitting knight in a hug. "HA! I knew one of my knights would make no bargain with him of the shadows! My friend, I welcome you back." The big knight smiled and stood up, on his face a look of joy. "And a hero to boot Knight Clara," he pointed vigorously at him, "you fought the beast and lived, and not only that but we caught the vampyre and he is to be interrogated once his regeneration is complete. He got almost as bad as you did, thanks to young Avery here." Avery bowed at the recognition, but his face showed he had heard that praise often.
Clara smiled at his leader, and wondered exactly what was going on, but said nothing. Instead he opted to look from one knight to the other, a smile on his face. "Well Clara, we will leave you to mend further, but the priests say you have shown remarkable fortitude." As if on cue a priest walked in the room with a tray of steaming meat and vegetables, and a mug of what appeared to be wine. "Ah, dinner" said the head knight. "Eat and gain your strength David my boy." Then he saluted and walked out of the room without another look. Avery, who was still standing with a stoic look, looked at Clara and said, "sorry for disobeying your orders at the last sir," and then with a slight smile continued, "but I may be correct in thinking you might like this outcome better." He then bowed and followed Freeblade out of the room.
The priest placed the tray in front of Clara and said, "eat boy, you're not healed yet."
And Clara, being the servant to the temples he had always been, obeyed without question.

Another two weeks went by, and Clara would be leaving this room the following morning. The rest and relative solitude allowed a quick physical recovery, but his mind ached with questions he dared not ask in a temple subservient to the Knights Pendragon. Too many of those questions focused on his loyalties, and he had no idea what he was going to do.
Though just being alive showed he did not have much choice in the matter. Dreams came every night of a jewel that hung in a setting of polished copper, a jewel that seemed to throb with hidden power as he drew nearer. And after each dream the voice of Supay would enter his mind and tell him, remember, I take care of what's mine. Each night Clara would wake, unsure of what the dream was, or what the god expected him to do. Hoping to stop the dreams Clara would work himself through to exhaustion during the day, hoping that he would be too tired to dream, only to find that it made the dreams that much more vivid.
But all in all Clara found his strength returning at an alarming rate, as did the healer priests, one of whom drew his blood with the hope of "discovering some magical portent of healing". Within days of him actually waking he was able to walk and use his body well, though minor exercise hurt extremely. Within the first week he had regained most of his strength and flexibility, and by the beginning of the second was training alone as though nothing had happened. Every now and then a Avery, Freeblade or some other knight would stop by and chat, but would never stay long.
And now, with hours before he would be released to go home, he stood surveying himself in a mirror wearing only his training breeches. He was tall, with a stocky build that he had slowly worked for years so that now his body was not thin, but thick with rigid cords of muscle. His hair was raven black and hung slightly lower than his shoulders, but tied back at the moment. He was pale from weeks of being indoors, but that would change with a few outdoor training sessions. His eyes were a piercing blue, that of a clear lake in the summer, and his jaw was angular, making his face a handsome one, though a plain one. His body had numerous scars, from both training and actual battle; the most recent of which were either stitched up or angry red welts.
He walked over to the bed and sat down hard. Between the dreams and recovery he had not yet had the presence of mind to find out what would be happening to him when he was released, though as day drew nearer the idea gnawed at him. What was he going to do? What had become of Fenrir? What about Supay? Was the god going to make him betray his order, or maybe something even worse? Should he pray to ask the god for guidance? It was all so very difficult to try and understand.
Laying down he looked up and the ceiling, and wanted to be home in his apartment in the western part of the city. It was a nice flat above a busy tavern that his uncle ran. In the morning it smelt of baking bread, and in the evening of roast beef or pork. It was small and poorly decorated, but it was home. There he had all his earthly possessions, and there he would be able to think without worry that some priest or another would pick up on Supay or worse.
He closed his eyes and hoped that he would either dream a revelation, or wake up and it be the day of the raid. But then, Clara thought, I might just have to lie through all of this again. He smiled at the absurdity of it all and let himself fall asleep.