That's the best way I can describe it.

I couldn't move. I couldn't open my eyes. I struggled to steal sips of air.

I don't think I need to explain how scared I was.

My hearing began to fade until all I was left with was the beating of my heart.

I counted the rhythm of it—

1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4.

—and despaired when it changed.

1-2...3-4. 1-2-3...4.

1...2...

I was so cold, Credence. I felt my body tense to shudder but did not stay awake long enough to finish it. You might imagine someone came for me. Some divine being, an angel perhaps, or maybe even our parents.

You would be disappointed.

The next thing I was aware of was standing—standing!—over my own body.

Or what was left of it.

I don't want to frighten you, but to tell the truth, what I saw was a pile of flesh and bones. The body of a child, as you and I had known it. 

Wafting from it was the smell of blood, more pungent than any animal carcass Pa butchered, and what I understood, with great horror, was that whatever I was now—it had come from the body left behind. 

I had burst from my own ribs. Around me were...pieces. Some hair. A finger. Bits of skin and the small bone of an arm.

I was overcome with hunger at the sight of it.

And I began to eat.

Ma used to give me the legs of chickens when we had them for dinner, because she knew they were my favorite. I've never been the sort of person to stray from comfort, so, as with the chickens, I started on the legs. It wasn't very chickenlike, but I was in no mood to be discerning. Every drop of blood, every scrap I could find of that old body—I feasted.

I made a gorgeous meal of myself.

And was so satisfied! Every bone was full of tasty marrow. I chomped and slurped and listened as they splintered with the most satisfying crunch under my teeth—

"Josiah," Credence interrupted. "Let's...I mean...you've painted the picture clear enough, haven't you?"

Josiah's eyes had glazed over as he relived the memory, but her voice pulled him from his reverie and back into the present. He looked at her and saw the nauseated pain on his sister's face.

Sorry, 'Crence. Sometimes food has a way of making me...

Anyway, when there was nothing left I pulled my head up to look at the world around me. It took me a moment to realize it was night, for I could see in the dark, almost as clear as day.

And oh, how beautiful the woods were!

I felt no fear in that moment, but a strange joy, as if I was exactly where I belonged. And the wind, which had been so biting, cooled the fire in my skin as it blew over my fur.

Fur!

It covered my body, sensitive to any little movement, like a thousand little fingers tickling me as the breeze moved through it. 

I could hear everything. Birds and mice and the rustling of every last leaf on the trees. I looked at my hands and saw gray paws, and I watched in fascination as I flexed them and grew claws.

What was I? What had become of the boy who died in the woods—and why did I feel stronger than ever before? I feared I must have been cursed and transformed into a monster, but I didn't feel like a one. I knew who I was, and I remembered the faces of you and Pa and Ma. I remembered what happened to us in the woods, and that you left to find help.

I don't blame you for leaving me, Credence. Now I was better, healthy and strong. And you were fighting the woods alone. I had to search for you. I couldn't sit and wait. I can't explain how, but I knew that I was now the one who had to protect you, as Ma said I would someday, and when I lifted my nose to the air and concentrated on the image of your face, suddenly I could smell you. I would learn later that everyone has a scent unique to themselves. It's like a memory of you—

"What do I smell like?" Credence asked.

You smell like...the hay from our barn back home.

Credence's face scrunched up. "I smell like...hay?"

It's a good thing. A nice smell. The smell of home.

"Are you sure it's not flowers?"

No, it's hay, and it's a compliment. Now hush. I caught your scent and it was enough to give me direction, so I began to make my way through the woods. I followed it all night and avoided the distractions that tried to pull my attention away. I'm making it sound easy, but it was not. Everything smelled wonderful, all the delicious rabbits and squirrels—they were just as enticing as Ma's cakes and it made my mouth water until drool fell onto my feet.

But that wasn't all. I heard howling in the distance and it called to me, offering love and family. It was like home was speaking.

Still, I remained focused on you, until the first rays of light peeked through the trees.

I came to a house, a humble, thatched-roofed dwelling with a thin stone chimney. A woman was sweeping its small porch, and I could hear her humming to herself. A prickle of doubt entered my mind. Instinct urged me to stay away, but I had already decided that if I approached with calm and caution, everything would be fine.

I stepped forward and, remembering my manners, greeted her:

"Excuse me, miss. Have you seen my sister pass this way?"

The string of whimpers and growls that fell from me was not human. The woman screamed. She threw her broom and opened the door to run inside.

"Please, don't be afraid," I called. "My name is Josiah!"

This time my words left as a howl.

The woman slammed the door behind her so hard I thought it would shatter. I could hear her scurrying about, and then her voice rose to alarm everyone inside.

"Wolf! It tried to attack me! Do not go out—it means to eat us!"

"It's only an animal," a man's voice answered. "It can't get in."

"It'll frighten the customers! And Moira—where is Moira?!"

"In her crib, where you put her last night."

"Close the windows—I'll not have a wolf looking at us!"

"If it'll ease you, I'll kill it."

"You'll do no such thing! You'll stay inside where it's safe!"

"You think one beast is too much for me to handle?"

"One of them, no, but they hunt in packs."

"Did you see any others?"

"I didn't."

"Then it's probably alone."

"Nonsense, the others are hiding. They're waiting to surprise any fool that wanders into their trap!"

"Beasts are not that clever. I'll take care of it. Lower your voice, your screaming will drive away more guests than a starving animal."

"Do not leave this house, Sampson. I mean it. We'll wait the wolves out. They'll leave once they realize there's no meal here."

"I don't wait on animals, and I need to start morning chores. Besides, winter will be here soon—wouldn't a new pelt make a lovely addition to our bed?"

"Well..."

I heard the door opening and the man's voice followed:

"Where is that big, bad wolf, my love?"

I ran until my breath gave out and I collapsed near a pond. As I tried to catch my breath, I realized I had lost your scent in the fervor.

Try as I did, I could not regain it.

I would have to retrace my steps, back past the frightened woman and her determined husband, and start again. The frustration of it made me cry, but my tears came out as animalistic whines. I looked at my reflection in the water and was startled by the face peering back at me: A thin, but intimidating, gray wolf. The long snout did not feel like my own, and the eyes were those of a stranger. I opened my mouth and saw fangs, sharp and deadly.

I splashed the image with my paw to distort it.

I was cursed, I knew it for sure. When? Why? Was this my penance for killing Gretel and Hansel? Cursed or not, I couldn't leave you, so after a long drink and a good cry I retraced my steps back to the house. I was careful not to alert the people inside, hoping to catch your scent quickly and move on.

My thoughts turned dark. If I did find you, would you recognize me as your brother? If I had been facing a wolf, I would have fled immediately. Would you try to kill me? Would I even be able to show you that I was Josiah?

And what if I never regained my human body?

There was more activity inside the home than before. More people were awake and moving about. For my safety, and perhaps theirs, I couldn't let them see me. They were no doubt already on guard, waiting to catch and kill me, so I kept to the back of the dwelling and searched the air for traces of you. An open window sat in the rear wall, pouring smoke that carried the smells of breakfast, which proved an intoxicating distraction. It struck me as odd, that I could be hungry after a recent heavy meal, but when food hit my nostrils my stomach grumbled and my legs raised me to the window for a peek inside. A foolish thing, of course, but at the time any sort of punishment, including death, seemed trivial. One look was all I needed, to see what wonderful delights produced the aroma pinching at my nose.

The woman from the porch was busy at work, running through the cloud her cooking created. I wondered if I was quick enough to dart in and out before she saw me, to grab a rabbit that was hanging near the window. I was so engrossed in the prospect of filling my belly that I didn't notice what was approaching my behind.

"Doggy!"

I pulled my focus from the window and found a toddler, a girl, regarding me with curious eyes. My tail instantly went between my legs and I lowered my head, attempting to show her I was no threat.

But the child wasn't frightened.

" 'ood doggy," she cooed, and without any hesitation she waddled over to me and grabbed my fur in a tight fist. She was rough in her attempt to pet me, but I was no wild animal, and I let her fingers run through the tangles on my body, with barely a whimper of protest as she pulled and yanked. She giggled and leaned in to kiss my snout. I didn't want the child to form the wrong idea about approaching strange animals, so I pulled away. I huffed and whimpered, trying to explain myself, but was as useful as snow trying to cook an egg.

We sat there, an unnatural pair, and she explored the thick fur on my back until I licked her arm to signal I'd had enough of her aggressive petting. I hadn't meant to scare her. I thought it would please her to receive a kiss from the " 'ood doggy", but I was too forceful and my tongue sent her tumbling onto her bottom. I watched her expression shift from confusion to despair. Her mouth opened, releasing a high-pitched wail, and I scrambled to help her back to her feet. I nuzzled her neck to convey that everything was all right. The child continued to cry.

"Moira?"

The woman who wanted my pelt not an hour ago was rounding the corner, so I dashed into the trees and hid myself, and watched the mother take her child into her arms. She made a disgusted noise when she realized the baby's arms were wet.

"What happened to you?"

Through Moira's mumbling and crying two words were clear: Doggy. Ow.

The woman glared at the trees.

"Damn wolf. Your father will have to end it, after all." She smiled at Moira. "Catch and kill it, won't we Moira-boots?"

They went inside, and I heard the beginnings of a discussion on the ending of my life. Sampson, as I understood the man's name to be, was coming for me, and soon by the sound of his wife's tone. He would bait several traps, and swore to his wife that by dinner the wolf would be a trophy.

"It's probably diseased," Sampson said. "That's why it's venturing close to us."

"Or it's desperately hungry."

"The traps will catch it."

A strange sensation took my attention from the house. My body was tingling, and then it was being pulled from within. I've never felt anything to compare it to. My bones had an itch, and inside my head was a ball of fire. I was suddenly fatigued to the point where I could barely stand and had to plant my backside on the ground to keep my balance. I saw tufts of fur fall to the ground, plucked by an invisible hand. My body tightened and I felt like I was shrinking. A pain nearly too great to bear rolled through me, and I could do nothing but fall to the ground and writhe in agony, helpless to stop what was happening.

I was convinced I was dying again, but this time my heart was beating too quickly to count its rhythm. I wondered if I would awake as a new creature. I opened my mouth, and the sound that poured from it was not a wolf's howl, but a human scream.

I didn't care when I heard a door open and footsteps travel towards me.

Let them find me, I thought. Let them kill me now—anything to stop this torture.

As quickly as it struck, the pain began to lessen. My eyes had been closed tight, and when I was finally able to open them I found a man peering down at me, curious and concerned. He was holding an iron trap in one hand, the same kind Pa used for hunting, and a curved blade in the other.

Sampson, I guessed. Come to finish the big, bad wolf.

But he didn't move to strike me.

"It's a boy!" he cried. 

"Has he been bit?" his wife's faint voice answered.

Sampson crouched near me and put his hands on my legs and arms, my human legs and arms, to search for wounds.

"No bites," he called, "but he looks sick. Should we take him to a room?"

"Don't need sick bodies in our home. Think of Moira."

"We can't leave him, he's a child."

"Keep him with the horses. But we've got too many mouths to feed as it is!"

Sampson's expression darkened and I knew there would be third argument about me.

"It's all right," he whispered, "I'm going to carry you to a safe place."

He brought me to a small barn near the home, where two horses were munching on hay, careless about the new arrival. Sampson placed me in an empty pen and examined my body once more.

"No bites," he confirmed. "You'll need something to eat. And rest."

I groaned, trying to thank him for his mercy, but Sampson held a finger to my lips. He gathered some hay under my head and pulled more over my body before leaving. He returned with a bowl of broth and a mug of water and patiently fed me while dabbing the sweat from my forehead with a damp cloth. When the bowl was empty he laid a change of clothes near me.

"When you have your strength back, here's something to wear. I'd dress you now, but in this state you'd sweat right through the fabric. Your skin is hot as coals, boy."

I was too weak to feel embarrassed about being naked. Sampson set a thin blanket near the clothes before standing to leave.

"We'll talk when you're ready. Now's the time to rest."

He hadn't left the barn before I fell into a dreamless sleep.