The Beast Within

The Changeling: Chapter One

I woke to darkness and the soft snorting of horses.

The pain from before was gone, as if I had never been plagued by it. I touched my arm and felt skin.

No fur. 

I was a boy.

Was the wolf's body a nightmare? It wasn't possible, I tried to convince myself, to have become a wolf and then a boy again. I decided it had been a fever vision born from the terrible wound in my leg.

I ran my fingers over my thigh and calf, preparing to be answered with pain, but, most wondrous of all, I felt no injury. The skin was smooth, without a hint of a raised scar.

But I was certain I had not dreamt the wolf attack. That was as real as the night I spent beside you, trapped in my body and counting the seconds to death.

I carefully pulled myself to my feet and felt great satisfaction in stretching my arms and legs. I could move without a limp, though I knew the memory of you helping me walk was real, too. 

On the other side of the barn door was the dim world of morning, an hour far too early to knock on the house's door without appearing impolite.

After dressing in the clothes left for me, I went to the house and pressed my ear against the wall, hoping to catch movement inside. My human senses, unfortunately, were not as keen as a wolf's.

I moved to the window at the back of the home, but it was too high for a boy to climb inside, and I couldn't raise my head tall enough to look through it. I had to be content with sitting on the porch until someone opened the door. While I waited, I amused myself with the dream of being a wolf. I must have been very ill to imagine such a strange thing. I vividly recalled looking at my reflection in the water and the feeling of Moira's fingers in my fur.

How could I have imagined all of it in striking detail?

Perhaps I saw my dirt-covered face and mistook it for a beast. The baby Moira must have pet the hair on my head. When I emerged from the trees as a disheveled, sick boy, communicating in grunts and howls, the woman on the porch must have mistook my bizarre presence for a wild animal.

Now that my fever was gone and my good senses returned, I would explain myself and apologize to the people I had terrorized.

The moment the sun fully took hold of the sky there was noise behind the walls. Smoke rose from the chimney. The door opened and the woman I had frightened stepped out with a broom in her hand. Her expression held caution, and she was so wrapped up in gazing at the forest, no doubt seeking a rabid wolf, that she didn't notice the boy at her feet.

"Excuse me, miss," I greeted softly.

I thought the woman's skeleton might jump from her skin. She yelped and slapped a hand over her heart to settle herself.

A disapproving stare came after.

"You're the boy Sampson took in," she grunted. "You don't look as fevered as he claimed. Are you feeling better then?"

"Yes, miss. Your husband was kind to me."

"Only my husband? Who'd you think cooked that broth you was fed?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. Thank you, miss. It was very good."

She began to sweep, and shooed me to my feet when I got in her way.

"You're wantin' breakfast too, eh?"

"I don't have any gold, miss—"

"Angela. Not 'miss'. Angela."