The Princess and the Horse (The Princess and the Hound)

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  It did not matter, she told herself. This was for a few hours and then she would be a hound forever more, and would never have to live with the frustrations of humanity.

  She looked to the princess—and saw a horse instead.

  She stared a moment, and then said, “No!” She thought that somehow the princess’s use of magic had cost Faird his shape as a human man.

  But then she looked up and saw him behind the horse, leaning on it for strength, and murmuring gently into one ear.

  Fierce met his eyes. “The princess?” she asked.

  Faird nodded.

  Fierce thought of the princess’s hesitation and Faird’s attempt to stop her. “She knew,” she said.

  “Yes, she knew. She has been a fool about some things, but the wild magic she knows very well.”

  “But—how?”

  Faird looked at the princess—who was a horse. “I think that there is an animal inside of every human.”

  “You mean that she has always been a horse? And that is why she made you a horse?”

  “Or perhaps she is a horse now because I had been a horse for so long and she wanted a chance to see what she was missing,” said Faird.

  It took Fierce a moment to realize that he was joking.

  “She will turn back, though, won’t she?” asked Fierce.

  “I’m sure she will,” said Faird. “As soon as her wild magic leaves you and returns to her,” he said. He kissed the princess-horse on the nose. “You make a very lovely horse. I think I am more in love with you than ever now that I see this. You should have tried this years ago.”

  In fact, the princess-horse was black with a few specks of gray, a beautiful, long tail and mane, and eyes that seemed very alert. She was tall, and there was a spirit to her that Fierce liked very much. She did not look old as a horse. She looked young again, and Fierce had the sense that she would like to go riding. If she were human, she could not do it without wearing herself out. But this was one of the miracles of the wild magic. It did not always transform in the expected ways.

  She lifted one foot, then the other, and shifted her haunches.

  “Soon,” said Faird. “Very soon,” he promised her.

  Fierce stared at the forest.

  “Well?” said Faird, when Fierce looked for a third time into the forest where she thought that Red had gone. “What are you waiting for? Don’t make this use of her wild magic a waste. She has little left to give, and to take it without cherishing it would be a crime. There are others she could have gifted so.”

  Fierce hung her head.

  “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “I don’t know what to say to him. He will think when he sees me—that I am human forever. And then I will have to tell him that it is only this one last time. I will be raising his hopes and dashing them again. That seems no great prize, for all that he has done.”

  “If you think that he will not be glad to see you again, you know nothing of any man. And especially nothing of Red,” said Faird.

  Fierce felt her cheeks burning. “I should have gone as a hound.”

  “You could not have spoken to him as a hound. Not in a way that he could understand easily as a human,” said Faird.

  “But what do I say, then?” asked Fierce. She had wanted to be able to speak to Red, it was true. But she also did not know what to say. With a hound, if she had no words, then she could simply allow her body to speak for her. Any male hound would know that a female was interested in him, by her scent alone. And if she acted around him in a certain way, turning her back to him, showing him her vulnerable side, it was clear. But with humans, everything was cloaked. And so words had to be so specific.

  Fierce was not sure that she had been human long enough to do something so delicate as carry on a romance.

  “Human men do not need many words,” said Faird. “’I love you’ should do very well, I think. And one can never say it too many times. It is like howling at the moon. For as long as it is true that one feels that way, it is right to say it.”

  “Yes,” said Fierce. “Yes,” she said again, after a moment. But she had to force her feet to move forward, and struggled to find a rhythm with the human body. At last, she was running again, her bare feet skimming over the ground. She had put the yellow gown back on and made her way out of the forest and over the long farmlands toward Lord Ahran’s estate.

  Chapter Twenty-six:

  Fierce thought that perhaps an hour had passed, but she could not go any faster. She was exhausted. She had pressed herself too much lately, and in either human or hound form, she would need to rest.

  The stream nearby called to her, promising a cool drink and a moment to put her feet into the water. She had always loved the water, as a hound, and she did not think she would love it any less now.

  She approached and heard a rustling in the bushes beside the stream.

  There was another animal nearby.

  But that was nothing for her to worry about. Most animals were frightened of humans, for they knew too well that humans were the most dangerous of all predators.

  Fierce hummed a tuneless song under her breath, to give fair warning to the animal, and to hint that she was safe.

  But the animal did not come out. She thought she would leave it be, and get her drink.

  She put her hands down and made a cup of them, then lifted it soundlessly to her lips.

  As she stood up to get out of the water, the animal in the bushes moved again and then it made a high-pitched sound of pain. It wiggled once or twice, and then she could hear it panting. The bushes it had stumbled into must have thorns. Fierce knew animals well enough that she was not certain it would be able to get out by itself. Some animals were so stupid and so panicked that they would simply struggle further into thorns, until they died.

  It was her duty to help it. And she must do so quickly, for she did not know how much longer she had as a human woman, to find Red and tell him her goodbyes.

  She lifted her skirts and tied them around her stomach. Then she moved toward the thorny bush. She made a small sound of pain as she was pricked, and the animal went very quiet.

  She gently hummed as she worked her way into the brambles, pulling out branches and snapping others as she went, to try to make a path to escape.

  She caught a glimpse of the animal’s auburn fur and saw its hind legs. She pulled out the branch that was stuck to its hide and then saw that it was a hound.

  A hound with fur a flaming red, a color she had never seen in this forest before. The other hounds here were all descendants of one strain of hound, and they came in only a limited variety of skin colors: white and black and brown. But this hound was different, and so very handsome. And its fur was as soft and smooth as Unbroken and Loyal, though not as long.

  If only she had known before to speak in the language of hounds, she could have soothed this poor creature sooner.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she promised it, her voice thrumming low in her chest. “I just want to help you get free.” She lifted the hound in her hands as it made a strange, strangled attempt at the hound word, “flee, flee.”

  It leaped out of her hands and she caught a glimpse of it as it ran past her, legs outstretched so that she could see it fully. It was not even an adolescent hound. It was a fully grown male, and it must be newly come to this forest. That would explain its hapless falling into a brambles that other animals of the forest must know very well was a danger. But the inability to speak properly in the language of hounds—what would explain that?

  Fierce’s heart grew tight inside her chest.

  No.

  It could not be.

  The hound might have been afraid and that was why it had not spoken properly.

  Or perhaps it was injured in some way.

  Or had been born wrongly, so that it had never learned to speak.

  A red hound, this close to her own forest. This close to Lord Ahran’s kennels.

  Fierce began to run.
r />   That hound was Red. Her Red.

  Lord Ahran had called him an animal. And had told her the story of the man with wild magic who had been killed by the creature he had made human and called his son.

  Creature.

  Hound.

  Red.

  All the time, her Red had been a hound who was human, just as she was.

  Now she had taken the princess’s wild magic to make herself into a human for him. And he had been turned into a hound because that was what he truly was.

  It should all be so stupid that they could sit together and laugh over it while they waited for Fierce to turn back into a hound. But he was running from her, heedlessly, possibly into dangers he did not know. And if he became lost, or simply decided that he did not intend to see Fierce again, then it could all be for nothing.

  She ran and felt a rock cut into her foot. She could feel the blood dripping down her heel. But she did not slow for a moment. She was not sure if a human woman could run as fast as a male hound, but she intended to make her best effort.

  In the end, it was not because she was faster than Red, but because she knew the forest better. He turned one way and Fierce knew that it would lead him to a dead-end, with a stone wall that he could not possibly climb. She slowed and then found him trying to climb the stone anyway. He looked as if he had fallen more than once, and he was breathing heavily.

  She saw now that he had only one paw. The human hand that he had sacrificed to the fissure was still gone. That, too, must have slowed him down.

  She did not approach him swiftly. She put up her hands.

  “It is me, Red. Fierce,” she said. “Feersha, I mean.”

  He turned and saw her. His tongue came out of his mouth, and then he pulled it back in, as if he were ashamed of the very hound-like action.

  Fierce could neither laugh nor cry at that, but it touched her deeply.

  She knelt down and put out her arms. “Come,” she said, first in human words, and then in the language of hounds. Even in his rudimentary understanding of the language, he knew that.

  “The princess changed me. But I will be a hound again soon, as you are. And we will be together at last.”

  Red barked at her, half-hound, half-human sounds, and then sniffed at her.

  She let him.

  Then he settled against her and she sighed in happiness. This was a perfect moment, and only a hound could truly appreciate it.

  They lay together and Fierce explained to Red everything that she could about what had happened.

  And they waited.

  It was nearly dark when Fierce was a hound again, and could share hunting with Red. It was her greatest love as a hound, and she hoped that his missing paw would not prevent him pleasure in it.

  She waited a moment to catch sight of prey, and when she saw a tiny movement ahead of her, she did not know what it was or care, she ran for it and let Red follow after her. The first catch of the night was hers, and she shared it with him.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, when she was afraid that he would see the torn, bloody body of the pheasant as a human would, and think only of cleaning it, plucking the feathers, stripping out the soft parts, and then ruining it over a fire.

  But he sniffed at it, and then dug in, covering his face with gore and smiling at her afterward. They shared it as only two mates in a pack can, trusting wholly that it would be shared fairly, that there was no need to fight and demand more.

  Then it was Red’s turn.

  Fierce worried that he would not know how to listen to his instincts, that he would make too much noise and scare his prey away. Or that he would not have the eyesight keen enough or other senses to see something in the dark.

  But she need not have wasted her time with such thoughts. Red bounded easily after the squirrel, and Fierce herself could not have moved so swiftly or so soundlessly as he did. He gave no pain to the animal, but killed it in one stroke of his sharp claws. Then he snapped the body in half with his teeth, swallowed his in a few moments, and offered the rest to Fierce.

  She ate happily.

  When their stomachs were full, the two spent time licking each other and then curling side by side to enjoy the sleepy feeling of contentment. They rolled and tussled after, then heard barking nearby and stood up at attention.

  Fierce wondered what she would do if her old pack came through. Would they recognize her and expect her to rejoin them? Would they accept Red? Would she be happy about that?

  But it was not her old pack. It was Hunter and Loyal and Unbroken, chasing after a very large golden buck. Hunter’s mouth was split widely to show his huge teeth. It was obvious he had never been so happy before in his life. This was what he was made for. Loyal and Unbroken seemed happier just to be together, and to be free hounds once more. They let Hunter take the lead.

  Fierce looked to Red. Red looked to Fierce. And in a moment, they joined in the hunt. The buck did not have a chance then. When there was a turn that Fierce recognized in the forest, she let the buck go through to the left. Then she and Red went to the right, cut through the bog and then down over the hill and into the rocks beneath. They turned again, and the buck was in front of them.

  Its eyes went wild at the sight and it lurched backward, breaking its back legs cleanly in the process. It struggled a moment. Then Fierce stood over it and howled out the song of life and death in the forest. It was in the language of hounds, but the buck understood it anyway, and it went quiet.

  Hunter bit into his throat and its eyes closed in peace as its lifeblood flowed out.

  Hunter and Loyal and Unbroken feasted on one haunch. Red and Fierce ate some as well, but there was more left.

  “What now?” Hunter asked, tugging at the remains of the buck. “Where shall we take this?”

  To waste the meat would be a crime against the life of the forest, and a crime against the willing acceptance of death by the buck. But it took Fierce a moment to think of where would be a safe place for five hounds and some meat.

  She could not go too close to the den of her old pack. They would smell her there and it would draw them into fights that would be dangerous. She had no wish to engage her old pack in battles that would make it smaller. Or to try to drive it out of this forest completely. Her old pack had been here first. But that did not mean there was no place for her new pack.

  Her new pack.

  Yes, that was what they were. Hunter and Loyal and Unbroken and Red. A small pack, indeed, but it would grow quickly. Fierce and Red would have pups, and perhaps Loyal and Hunter? Then the pack would be large enough to fight off almost any attack, even one from humans.

  They headed north and soon heard human voices. Fierce recognized them immediately. The princess and Faird.

  She let Red and the others remain asleep and crept closer to them.

  The princess’s hair was still streaked with white, but her face was less wrinkled. She did not look as young as Faird, but she looked strong and capable. She also looked gentler than she had before.

  “What about when we are done with the fissures all over the world?” she asked.

  “There is a wild herd of horses not far from here,” said Faird. “I spent many summers with them. I was never quite a part of them, but they came to see me as no threat. Some of them could never be tamed, and I would not wish them to be. But many of them would enjoy the regular meals and grooming of humans. And I would know how to ensure that they never lost their own language. I could speak to them.”

  The princess did not answer for a long moment.

  “But if you do not wish it . . . ”

  She let out a long sigh. “You have no idea how much I wish it. So long as I am with you, and you have forgiven me, I will be happy anywhere. But with horses most of all.”

  Fierce made a move and they looked up at her.

  “Oh. It is the hound. The one in love,” teased the princess.

  “The hound who should be a princess,” said Faird. “For all her courage and wisd
om saved the world, and no one will ever know it but us.”

  Fierce had not done it alone, and she had no wish to be a princess, now less than ever.

  Epilogue:

  Each year, Red and Fierce returned to the herd of horses in the summer, for a sign of the princess and Faird, but they never came. Then one year, there was a bear and a hound waiting to see Fierce.

  The hound looked like Fierce and was entirely black, though she seemed not to have aged at all. The bear was tall and dark, but moved as easily on two legs as on four and had a gentle look on his face.

  Fierce stopped when she realized the hound was her mother.

  She had been human—and now she was not.

  Fierce ran to her, bowled her over and licked her.

  Then she thought to be shy and nervous, and pulled away.

  “Not human anymore?” barked Fierce.

  “Human and hound together,” barked her mother. “As you are.”

  The hound and the bear spent a few hours with the pack. Fierce had the chance to introduce her son to her mother, and to the bear, who strangely enough, never frightened any hound despite his distinct scent.

  Then Fierce stood with her mother as the sun fell into the black horizon and knew she was leaving.

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “You might, if it is necessary. Though you have shown you are quite able to save the magic on your own, my Fierce.”

  Fierce thought about this. Her mother had changed, and she could smell the wild magic on her. It was even more than the princess had once had. “You could choose any form,” said Fierce. “You could change me into anything, too.”

  “I could. But are you unhappy as you are?”

  “No. I thought that you were. I thought you wished to be human.”

  “There were things to learn as a human and I would not give those up,” said her mother. “But I was born a hound.”

  “Yes,” said Fierce.

  She watched as the hound and the bear disappeared into the north and felt a warmth at her side that she thought was a new contentment with the past, but turned out to be Red.