Sampson hunted me all day.

I kept myself hidden, but never strayed from his side. In my mind, I was screaming, demanding myself to change back into a boy.

I must talk to him, I have to tell him of the danger his daughter is in and the creature living under his roof.

I wanted to believe Sampson would hear my words and trust them, but I knew it was more likely I would be laughed at.

Or worse.

The thought crossed my mind several times, that I should use this time as the wolf to search for Moira, but I didn't have the heart to leave Sampson on his own.

We spent two agonizing days circling each other. I was never seen by the man, though he heard the occasional snap of twigs under my paws when I moved carelessly.

The vengeance that filled his eyes in those moments still haunts me.

Desperation and fatigue overtook him, showing in the dark circles under his eyes and the sluggish pace of his movement. He hadn't returned home for sleep and took barely an hour's rest each night. He called my name until his voice strained into a rasp.

He'd brought a leather pouch into the woods and drank from it until it flattened. I knew it was not water, but ale, though the liquid no longer made him happy. Instead, it threw him deeper into sorrow, and his clumsy stumbling became a threat to his safety. He placed every last trap he owned throughout the woods, and in his drunken stupor promptly forgot where each hazard lay. The ground was littered with iron teeth, and I feared it was a matter of when and not if his foot stepped onto one.

I heard him mumbling to himself, cursing the wolf and his own ignorance. Sometimes he shed tears over my disappearance.

Over a short time, I saw him wither into a broken man. It took me too long to recognize that he was in mourning. He'd lost another son, and the hole inside of him was growing. On the third morning, he fell to his knees, defeated and spent of his last drop of strength.

"S'not fair," he slurred to the woods, "not fair...not fair...not..."

His chin lowered to his chest and there, kneeling on the forest floor, he fell to sleep. I watched him twitch and mumble, but I didn't dare approach, not even when the axe slipped from his hand.

But then his body lurched forward, and his face was headed straight for the jaws of a trap. Fearing his skull would be crushed, I darted to his side and grabbed his shirt with my teeth. Sampson groaned as I dragged him to safety, but I couldn't tell if he had woken or was fighting in his dreams.

It wasn't until I laid him on a bare patch of ground that I saw his eyes were open. He stared up at me, delirious and horrified, and his mouth curled into a hateful scowl.

"You..." he whispered. With surprising speed, his hands reached up and grabbed the fur on my neck. He pulled hard until I shook loose and fell back onto my hind legs. His hands lazily searched for his axe and were rewarded with air. He sat up slowly and the act caused him obvious pain.

"Killed my boy. Killed him..."

I'm not certain why I did it, but I drew close and gave a gentle lick on his face. I suppose I was trying to comfort the man. Sampson's head rolled back.

"Go on. Kill me, too."

I licked his hair.

"That all you got?"

Sampson swung at my face and missed by miles. I backed away and laid on the ground, keeping my focus on his movements. He stared at me for several moments and tried to comprehend the situation before him.

"You killed my boy," he repeated as tears filled his eyes. "Josiah. I want you to know his name."

He swung at empty air.

"Why'd you have to take him?"

When I whimpered in reply he gave a grim chuckle.

"Only good wolf's a dead one." He pointed a finger in my direction. "You're lucky you caught me like this." His body slumped forward and he fell onto his hands, promptly emptying his stomach in a spray of bile across the ground. Somewhat relieved by the act, Sampson wiped his mouth and sat up a little straighter.

"Thought you'd get my girl, too, didn't you?" His words were more clear than before. "Not before I get your damned hide." 

His face fell and once again he began to weep. After a second round of retching he was ready to stand.

"If you won't kill me, I'll kill you." He spat on the ground. "We'll have you in a stew after I cut you into a thousand pieces." Another glob of saliva fell to the dirt. "Wrap your pelt around my shoulder. Take your eyes with my fingernails." His fists curled. "Go on, attack me! If you don't—"

His voice betrayed him with a crack of emotion. He took one step forward and was back on his bottom, bereft of the energy needed to move further. 

"Kill me," he croaked. "Please. I want to...Barley...I'm sorry."

He was asleep once more, but this time he wasn't in danger of falling into his traps. I left him there and thought him the most pitiful being in the world.

My heart ached for the man.

I didn't wander far lest something wicked crossed his path, and when I returned to check on him from a distance, I found Sampson awake and struggling to puzzle together what had happened. He walked home in shame and Angela greeted him at the porch, carrying Moira in a protective embrace.

The child barely noticed her father's arrival, her glare trained on the trees.

***

I was in Gretel and Hansel's cellar, trapped in another nightmare. Gretel came to greet me and told me she and her brother had eaten my sister, and were hungry for a dessert made from my bones. The cellar dissolved into a field where a dozen green-skinned changelings danced around me in a circle. They laughed at my misfortune and teased me with the grim fate destined to befall the real Moira. I fell to my knees and covered my ears. When I opened my mouth to scream no sound came out. They were closing in, and I knew that when they reached me I would die.

But their revelry was halted by a figure that leaped into the circle and landed at my side.

Fight.

It was the voice I'd heard the night I found the changeling in the hutch. I was too afraid to stand, so I continued to cower.

"I can't fight."

Fight.

"I'm scared."

Me. Fight.

Screams and growls followed. All noise died quickly after.

Safe.

When I found the courage to look up I saw an empty field. No changelings or monsters, only a gray wolf with serious eyes. It bowed its head.

Safe.

It turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I cried after it. "I've seen you before."

No.

"Why did you help me this time?"

Me. Fight.

"Are you...me?"

It paused but did not turn back.

Me, me. You, you.

"Don't leave! We must talk!"

Talk. No.

I ran to catch up to it.

"You're the wolf I change into, aren't you?"

It did not answer.

"I need to be a boy again."

The wolf snorted.

No.

"Why?"

Need free.

"Please! It's important! Sampson needs me."

Man. Sad. No.

"Moira needs me."

No.

My anger rose. I put a hand on the wolf's back, unconcerned about what the animal would do in retaliation.

"Listen to me!"

It turned, and sharp teeth reflected the glint of moonlight as the wolf bared its fangs.

"You...can't hurt me." Even I wasn't convinced of that. 

Need free. Need eat. Need me.

"It can't be that way. I don't have time!"

The wolf turned its back once more. 

"How long will I be a wolf?"

The reply was a long, mournful howl.

When I woke I was still the animal. I had my own thoughts, but unlike before I could not act on them. I watched through the wolf's eyes as it hunted and ran, while I remained in darkness. I was aware that I was trapped, and had no control over where I went or what I did.

I spent most of that time worrying about Sampson and Angela and Moira.

It was torment, locked within this prison, and when the wolf slept I spoke to it, attempting to convince it to give my body back.

The more I asked, the stronger its resolve to tell me No became. I could not fight the beast, so I resigned to languishing in a void, feeling minutes turn to days.

Until, without warning or sign, I woke up as a boy.

The wolf had not dreamed, so I did not remember speaking to it, though I wasn't sure if the wolf had influence over the transformation.

I had no recollection of pain. All I remember is just...being.

It was dusk and I was in the woods without a stitch of clothing on my body. The breeze was instantly chilling on my skin, and fear bloomed at the prospect of being in an unknown place.

No fire. No shelter. Alone, with all of night's creatures beginning to stir.

Spurred by adrenaline, I ran. I had no destination, only a yearning for safety.

My foot grazed something hard and I ceased running. I had struck one of Sampson's traps, but by luck or benevolent intervention I had missed its open teeth and only stubbed my toe. This was a good sign, though, for the presence of a trap signaled the tavern was nearby. 

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when I stumbled through the door, gasping for air and covering my body with my hands. Angela was behind the counter sweeping, while Sampson sat with his back turned to the door, drinking from a tall mug. The changeling was near the fireplace, absentmindedly scratching at the floor. Only one guest was present in the room, another mercy to be thankful for.

Angela looked up to greet her new customer, and when she saw me she released a strange noise. In an instant, she was at my side and pulling me into her arms.

There was an awkward pause when she realized my lack of attire.

"Oh, the state of you!" she exclaimed before pulling the shawl from her shoulders and wrapping it around me. I glanced at Moira by the fire, and the little beast was staring daggers at me, her hands curled into fists.

Sampson was the last to turn and look, and when his eyes fell on me his expression suggested he thought I was a ghost. I went to him, and at the tensing of his posture I put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"It's all right," I whispered. "I'm home."

He fell into tears and nonsensical mumblings and swept me into such a tight embrace that I thought he might choke the air from my lungs. He held me as Angela explained to the tavern guest the cause of such a scene, and the man raised his cup towards me and nodded. Sampson released me but kept his hands on my shoulders, and it felt like he intended to never let go.

"How?" he asked. I didn't have a convincing lie, but Sampson saved me from conjuring one. "It doesn't matter how. You're safe now. That's enough."

"Might be enough for you," Angela said as she approached with Moira in her arms, "but one day I want to hear the story. When you're ready to tell it, of course." She plopped the child onto the counter and pointed to me. "Look, Moira! Jossy is home!"

If her parents were expecting excitement, they would be disappointed. The changeling turned away and crossed her arms.

Angela mistook it as a child's whim.

"She's happy to see you," she promised, "she's just not old enough to show it."

"I understand," I replied with a grin, "I'm happy to see her, too."

It wasn't a lie.

I'd been gone for several days, locked in darkness with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

And I had emerged from it with a plan on how to end the changeling's mischief.