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."

"I have no way to pay for my food."

"Well, you're on your feet and in better health. Pay for your meal with work."

"I'm happy to! Thank you, mi—Angela."

She pushed the broom into my hands.

"Start with the porch. Sampson'll be up soon with the rest of the tavern. You know how to set traps?"

I'd seen Pa carrying his traps hundreds of times, though I'd never been with him when he set them in the woods. Still, I reasoned to myself, how difficult could it be?

So I lied with a nod.

"Good," Angela said. "He could use help with that. Come in to eat when you're done sweeping."

I was excited to see a real tavern, and had grand notions of the wonders it would contain.

Dangerous rogues with scarred faces, travelers with stories about dragons, maybe even a pirate! 

None of them were here, not even a musician to lighten the mood. Only a few tired people quietly devouring breakfast. 

It was a plain but comfy place, warmed by a lone fire, with tables and chairs, a counter, some bottles, and a fireplace. Nothing special really, like the front room of our home but bigger. Angela was wiping the counter and Sampson was eating his meal near her. When he saw me his demeanor was friendly.

"Morning!" he called without noticing the scowl his wife sent him. "Good to see you on your feet."

"Good to be on them," I answered as I approached the counter. "If it hadn't been for your kindness, I don't know if I'd be here."

"Not my nature to ignore a child. Angela said you know how to set traps. Mind helping me with them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sampson."

"Yes, Sampson."

A bowl of porridge was placed before me.

"Don't worry," Sampson whispered, "Angela's porridge is sweeter than her morning mood."

"I heard that," Angela snapped and Sampson shrugged helplessly.

As I ate, the man watched me with a studious eye.

"What happened to you?" he asked abruptly. "When I found you, you were naked as a newborn! Were you robbed?"

"I don't think so."

"Did you run away from home? How'd you find yourself out here?"

I didn't know how to answer, for I didn't truly understand how I'd come to be near the tavern.

"I don't...it's...complicated."

"You know, times get hard enough, folks'll do just about anything to survive. I've heard sad tales of parents leaving their children because they believe it gives everyone a better chance."

"My parents...are gone."

Sampson gave a sympathetic nod.

"We've done decently here, thank the stars. Angela's skeptical of our fortune, but she's that way with everything. If you've no home to get back to, we've got good food and soft hay to exchange for work."

Minutes later I was outside with Sampson, helping him lay traps around the tavern. It quickly became obvious that I had no idea what I was doing, and was clumsy too, but Sampson remained patient. He taught me how to open and release the traps, but he imparted a few disappointed remarks—not about me, but about Pa.

"Careless of your father to turn you loose without teaching you basic things. Did he show you how to harvest game at least?"

I paused in my work.

"He...he was going to...but..."

Realizing I was on the brink of tears, Sampson put his hand on my shoulder.

"I understand," he said gently. "I'm sorry, boy. It's no worry. I'll teach you."

We went deeper into the woods to check and set a few more traps, and spent most of our time in silence. For a few fleeting moments it felt like I was working alongside Pa, and it both warmed and stung my heart.

"Why did we set traps near the tavern?" The question hit me late into the morning. "Wouldn't the noise inside scare away any potential game?"

"The traps out here are for food. The ones near the tavern are for safety. Right before I found you there was a wolf lurking about. Great, big thing. It tried to attack Angela, and it threatened our child, Moira. I mean to kill it."

He mistook the blood draining from my face as fear of the beast.

"We'll catch it, don't worry. Soon its head will hang above the fireplace, and its pelt will lay on my bed."

It was a bizarre feeling, setting traps for myself, but there was no way to explain to Sampson that there was nothing to catch, because I was no longer a wolf. Fear rose within me, that at any moment I might be seized again with pain and fall to the ground as a beast right before the man's eyes.

He might not be friendly then.

When we came upon a rabbit caught in a trap, still alive, I hesitated. Sampson slid a blade across the animal's throat and, with a striking gentleness, he rubbed the poor beast's head to comfort its passing.

"It was in pain," he explained after. "The wound it sustained in the trap would never have healed, so a quick death was a mercy."

"But you set the trap to wound it," I answered with a shaking voice.

"Yes, I did. I have to feed my family and guests."

I looked at the string of dead animals tied to his belt. Sampson was a very capable hunter, and I realized with shame that we'd caught far more than I'd ever seen Pa bring home.

"One rabbit was enough to feed my family," I offered.

He raised an eyebrow.

"The killing unsettles you, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Strange thing, a boy from the woods put off by hunting." His lips turned upward. "But not a bad thing." He tied the new carcass with the others. "We'll dry the meat to make jerky, and come winter when game is scarce we'll have enough to get by. Pelts are always needed to make clothes and blankets, or to trade for supplies. It's survival."

"I know...I just don't like to see it."

"A lesson in life, boy, is to understand that sometimes your existence comes at the cost of others. Seeing that fact with your own eyes is necessary. Knowing where your food comes from, and keeping the resolve to get it, is important. That doesn't mean you need a cold heart, or that you have to be cruel about it. What separates us from wolves is that we feel grateful for each catch."

By the time we returned to the tavern we had enough meat to feed a family several times.

Sampson instructed me on skinning the hides, how to slip the blade just under the fur to release it from the body. He even let me attempt it on my own, and kindly corrected my mistakes. After a few botched attempts, I had successfully—though messily—completed my first skinning. I was proud of myself, and you might have been too, Credence, for what I had done. 

Josiah, who had once run away crying when he saw Pa butchering an animal, had done decent work with his own hands.

And only slightly felt sick at the sight and smell of blood.

"Quick learner," Sampson said with a nod. "You'll make a decent hunter, lightning strike me down if I'm wrong."

We hung most of the meat to dry before entering the tavern for a midday meal. Sampson poured water for me, but for himself he poured a cup of golden liquid—and grinned when he noticed my curiosity.

"Bit of this keeps a man happy and warm," he said of his drink, "but makes a child silly and slow. Too much'll make a man silly and slow, too."

A thought crossed his mind and he offered me his cup.

"Want a taste? Just a drop won't hurt."

I immediately regretted the gulp I took and coughed at the bitter taste. Sampson laughed and landed a good-natured slap on my back.

"It's the same for everyone on their first try."

"Why do you drink it?" 

"Drink enough and you forget the taste. You even come to enjoy it."

"What is it?"

"Ale."

It was a wonder anyone could find such a sour liquid refreshing. I was offered a taste of ale one more time when Sampson refilled his cup, but I politely refused.

"I like water more."

"Smart boy. Shall we toast to our new friendship? Here's to—" His eyes grew wide. "Damn it, we spent the whole morning together and I haven't asked your name!" He shook his head at his own foolishness. "Well, what is it?"

"Josiah."

"To Josiah, the boy in the woods." He looked at me expectantly, so I raised my cup to join his.

"To Sampson, who found me."

Sampson touched his mug against mine a little too roughly, spilling some of his ale into my water.

"I said before I could use your help. If you'd like supper and another night in the barn, I'd consider it an even trade."

"What else can I help with?"

"Check the traps with me later in the day. Maybe help with firewood. Right now the hour is yours to do as you'd like. Rest and relax."

"What are you going to do?"

Angela appeared from the kitchen with a rag in one hand and a newly washed bowl in the other. Sampson's eyes roamed appreciatively over his wife, and his mouth curled into a mischievous grin.

"Something I never needed help with, Josiah."