A wave of realizations rushes upon you, things that you hadn't noticed before, but now that were making sense.
First, you notice that his missing shirt wasn't torn to shreds. You can see it a few feet behind him, tossed to the ground unharmed. "So...why isn't your shirt torn?" you ask, trying to remain casual.
He gives you an odd look, then replies, "I took it off the minute I realized what was happening, man."
You see an overturned basket, and see thorns lying on the ground, barely visible in the dim light. "You were gathering thorns, weren't you?"
He shrugs, and takes a couple of very slow, very casual steps backward toward them. You can tell he's trying to be sly about it, but it really seems like he's trying to get nearer to them. "Yeah, what of it?" he asks you, bending over, scooping them back into the basket.
"Why?" you ask, a little scared of the answer.
"Research," he replies, smirking at you.
It's all making sense now, and you know what you're up against. He'd switched off between calling the werewolves "us" and "them", almost as if he couldn't remember which side he was on. "Yeah, I figured that much," you say, not sure what to do, "but for which side?"
He kind of snickers at you, "I think we both know the answer, my all-too-human friend."