Should I kill the changeling? 

Should I force it to take me to its friends, hunt them down, and fight, even to the death—

How else would I find the real Moira and bring her home?

I rose just before dawn and went to the hutch to visit the hares, hoping their cute faces would ease my mind enough to formulate a plan, but when I arrived my spirit fell into horror.

Two hares had been inside the hutch, but now, all that was left was carnage. Something had torn the poor animals to pieces. There were bits of fur thrown about, and a few bones that had been picked clean. I checked the netting and found it intact. Whatever had gotten to them was small. This was confirmed when I saw two holes, one outside of the hutch and the other within. It might have been a badger or a fox. It was possible, for it occasionally happened with our stock at home.

But these holes were cruder than the kind dug with sharp claws.

The changeling must have spent all night digging with Moira's tiny fingers. 

How had it managed to sneak from its crib, and how had it created such a violent scene with a toddler's nails and teeth? I would have to inspect Moira's hands for evidence of dirt and blood.

A grim thought came to my mind: Maybe this wasn't the changeling. Maybe this was me.

I tidied up as best I could, and removed the remains from the hut before covering the holes. I was patting dirt over the outside tunnel when Sampson appeared.

I explained what I found, but not what I suspected was the cause.

"A fox," he guessed.

"Probably," I lied. "There's ways to fix that, but it'll take more work. I'm sorry, I should have thought about that when we were building."

"It's the woods, it happens. We'll catch new hares."

"Maybe we could set a few traps near the hutch."

To catch the changeling that wears your daughter's face, I added in my mind. 

"Good idea, Josiah."

Angela had breakfast ready for us. Moira was sitting on the counter, staring at the floor. Before I ate I went to the child and, disguising my intent as a morning greeting, I took her hands in mine and examined her nails. I checked her hair, her ears, her teeth. 

Not a drop of blood or speck of dirt.  

Sampson and I spent the day digging a trench around the hutch. We filled it with rocks to barricade against digging intruders and placed traps around the perimeter. We managed to catch three hares and placed them inside. At dinner I loudly boasted about our work, making sure Moira heard about the new arrivals in the hutch.

When the tavern fell quiet I crept from my room and waited outside under the kitchen window, close enough to hear any noise in the hutch, but hidden from sight by the tavern wall. I was silent and patient in my watch, but after several uneventful hours my eyelids grew heavy. Unable to fight it, I fell into a shallow nap.

Scuffling opened my eyes.

Whimpering brought my senses to alert.

Muttering raised my body to its feet.

I peeked around the corner of the wall. In the moonlight I could make out the silhouettes of the hares, which were huddled together and softly squealing. Piglike grunting rose from near the hutch, and then the noise of rocks clicking together. I approached with caution, hoping the night would shroud me.

A head burst from the dirt.

Half of Moira's torso came next, and the creature struggled to fit through the narrow tunnel it had created. It dug furiously, muttering curses under its breath until at last, with a final heave and shove, the changeling squeezed through and tumbled onto its bottom. In a flash of fingers and fur, the child captured one of the hares and lifted it to her open mouth.

"I knew it wasn't a dream," I greeted with triumph. As I drew near the hutch I saw the outside tunnel, how the changeling had flung the rocks Sampson and I carefully arranged out of its way. I planted my feet over the hole to block its exit.

Moira's astonished face turned to me. It was strange, I thought, how I could clearly see her expression in the dark. The hare clutched tightly against the changeling's chest released a pained mewl.

"Pet!" Moira babbled before raising the animal towards me. "Soft!"

"I'm not fooled. I told you before, I know what you really are."

The child considered me for a second, trying to spot the lie in my voice. With a raspy sigh, it tossed the hare to the ground and moved to the netting. Moira's face pressed against the wire wall.

"What do you want?" it asked, not in Moira's sweet voice, but in a sinister, sour pitch.

"Where is Moira?"

"What's that?"

"The real child."

It snorted. "Mum's court."

"Who's 'Mum'?"

"Our Mum. Mum's Mum. Mum's is queen. She matters. You don't."

"What's going to happen to Moira?"

"Why should we know? Sometimes it's court life. Sometimes it's servants they need. Or toys."

The grin that painted its face was not pleasant.

"Sometimes Mum's is hungry." At my disgusted look, it shrugged. "The babe was pretty though. A good sign for mercy. Maybe is a princess now."

"If you monsters have hurt her—"

"What's you doing about it? Tearing down Mum's home with your teeth? Not those in your head now, but the others might be sharp enough. You'll never find Mum though. Not in two of your lifetimes."

"You're a changeling, aren't you?"

It chuckled. "Want to know, but never will. Thought to check our nails, never thought to check our blood. Black as ravens. Black as rotten toadstools. Black as the heart of the thing that barks within you."

"You'll take me to Moira."

"We won't."

"I'll make you."

"With those stubs? Ha! Maybe you'll send the other to gobble us, eh? We won't tell you no-how. No life for us with Mum no more, so no reason to give away her secrets."

"Why is there no life for you?"

"Bah! We's old! Too old anymore. We's on a march to the end. That's why we had to switch."

It snapped its fingers and a light appeared in its hand, no bigger than a candle's flame.

"Weak now," it moaned. "Good for nothing. Not enough strength for much. It happens. See and look close."

It held the light to its face and I could clearly make out the deep lines around its forehead and mouth. The same face I witnessed when Moira was taken.

"Pity us," it pleaded. "Pity old things that dream to die in comfort."

"I don't care about your age."

It shook with fury and pounded its fists on the netting, making such an awful racket I was sure the tavern would wake.

But no one came, and the creature settled into calm.

"We don't care," it sneered. "We do as we please."

"I'm going to tell them what you are."

"And they'll believe you?"

"You've done a poor job convincing them you're a baby." It was a lie, and I hoped the changeling wouldn't recognize it. "They're getting suspicious."

"Oh? Maybe. If they see us, they'll see you. Are they thinking yet you're not a boy? Maybe we can spill secrets, too."

"I don't know what you mean."

Moira's eye winked at me. "You judge us harshly. When you're discovered, you'll be just as meanly treated." It lifted its gaze to the sky, where the moon hung full and fat. "Does it still need help, or has it mastered the shift?"

"Does what need help?"

"Been here many suns. We can spot a monster under the skin. Or a wolf."

"You're wrong."

"We saw you the night we switched the babe. You're too easy to see! We can teach you. Help you enslave it, until you only have to whistle for it to come running."

"I don't want your help. I want Moira back."

"Last chance. We only stay and talk out of courtesy, because you built us this wonderful meal." It motioned to the hutch around it. "You're not with us, you're against us, is the rule. What's it going to choose?"

"I'll guard you all night, and when Sampson comes out in the morning he'll see what you've done. He'll know what you are."

In a blink, a hare was caught in Moira's hand. With a quick crack the animal's neck broke, and the changeling bit into the fur. Blood spilled from Moira's lips, and I caught a glimpse of pointed teeth as the creature ate.

The two living hares began to race around the hutch, creating clouds as they kicked up dust.

"How's that for showing them what we are?"

"You've doomed yourself. You've no way to leave."

"Mm. Maybe true. But they'll kill you first."

It snapped its fingers and a jolt ran up my spine.

"Not enough for going home," it whispered, "but enough left, yes, for little mischiefs."

A burning needle slithered under my skin. Energy rippled through me, making my heart flutter and my forehead sweat. I fell to the ground in agony. 

"We tried a truce, remember it."

A scream was torn from my lungs, and it ended in a long howl. Pinpricks dotted my arms and legs as my skin sprouted gray fur. This time I was not asleep, and I had the opportunity to witness my fingers shorten and gnarl into paws.

I should have closed my eyes instead.

Unlike my first change, there wasn't a body left to devour. Nothing remained, not a tooth or nail, of the boy known as Josiah. The transformation was much quicker than I thought, too. In a matter of seconds, all traces of pain were gone, and I stood before the hutch as a wolf.

"How?!" I demanded, but quickly realized my growling would not be understood.

I was wrong.

"Our magics could have helped, but now the humans will come to find a beast! And a baby covered in blood."

I snarled and bit the netting, overcome with fury and desperate to get to the changeling. I began to dig, to widen the tunnel it had created so I could slip through.

"I'll kill you," I promised. "There won't be a child for them to find!"

"And you'll never find the human we stole."

"I'll track Moira without your help and wrap my teeth around the throat of your beloved Mum."

Unconcerned by my threats, the changeling wiped the blood from its mouth and picked the dirt from its fingernails.

"Cursed now," it taunted. "Won't grow skin 'til you learn how."

It clapped and danced around the hutch.

I continued to dig.

"Sun's here! Time is done, time is done! Fare-bye! Good-well!"

It was not lying. The first rays of light were peeking over the trees.

"I don't care what they do to me," I snarled. "I just need to keep you from tormenting them further."

"Us? Tormenting?! We's a dutiful babe and nothing less." To mock me further, the changeling gathered fistfuls of dirt and tossed them into the hole inside the hutch, to cover my advancement underground.

I was exhausted, but my blood pounded in my ears, drumming me on to victory.

Until an unrecognizable voice spoke, and I wasn't sure where it came from.

Stop. Me stop.

I paused to look around. The voice was clear and close, but I couldn't see anyone.

I shook my head and resumed my work, barely registering the faint sound of the tavern door opening.

"Josiah?" Sampson's voice. "You out here?"

Run. Me fast run.

The changeling began to cry, its high-pitched voice cutting through the morning air, and I heard Sampson's feet crunch over rocks and twigs as he ran toward the call of his daughter.

When he turned the corner his mouth fell open.

"It's not Moira!" I screamed.

It took Sampson's mind a second to catch up to the sight before him.

The hutch painted red. Two rabbits pressed together in terror. A menacing, gray wolf with its paws in a tunnel. And his baby, crying in the middle of it all, her clothes stained with blood.

The sound that poured from the man was half scream, half blind anger. He grabbed the closest object, the axe he used to chop wood, and lunged at me.

A second before he reached his target, I fled into the woods with my tail between my legs. Sampson hurled the weapon at my back and missed by less than an inch.

He wouldn't chase me, not yet. Not when Moira needed tending to. I ran for a long time, avoiding the traps we'd set, and was thankful I knew their locations.

I wasn't sure when, if ever, I would be able to return to the tavern.

The changeling had implied there was a way to control the transformation, but I would have to discover how on my own.

What if it was lying? 

The wolf was hungry, so I spent the morning hunting, while forming a plan to expose the creature who had taken Moira's place. A cruel notion struck me, that upon learning the truth Sampson and Angela would realize they had lost another child.

It might have been better to leave them with the lie while I sought the real Moira.

Or would it be more cruel to let them give their affection to a monster?

Around early noon I made my way back to the tavern. I knew Sampson's daily route and made sure to avoid it lest we stumbled upon each other. It was long after his morning trek to set traps, but with danger lurking near his home he was sure to remain in the woods for longer than usual. From a short distance away, I spied Sampson on the porch. Angela was at his side, red-faced and bleary-eyed, holding Moira to her chest.

The changeling played its role well and looked fearfully shaken. It had been bathed and dressed in fresh clothes, and there had been no concern, it appeared, over how Moira managed to get inside the hutch in the first place.

Sampson put his hand to his mouth and called loudly:

"Josiah!"

He repeated my name several times, and it broke my heart not to be able to answer him. During the chaos of the morning, it hadn't dawned on me that I would be missed.

"Josiah! Please, come home!" This had come from Angela, and was tinged with despair. She turned to her husband. "You should have killed that damned wolf!"

"I made a mistake in being lax," he replied grimly. "It won't happen again."

"Only at the cost of a child!" Angela's tensed posture deflated when she recognized how deeply the jab cut into her husband. "What are you going to do?"

"Look for Josiah. Or for signs that...and then I'm going to kill and skin that beast, as slowly and painfully as possible."

He'd retrieved his axe, and after placing a kiss on the heads of his wife and daughter, he turned to the trees with a grim and determined expression. 

Sampson departed in the direction I'd fled towards that morning, and Angela and Moira watched him until he disappeared, their eyes burning with hate.