by H. D. Gordon
Whether it was because the child had a keen sense of preservation, or because she was too frightened to disobey, finally, she shifted into her human form.
The transformation took precious seconds, faster than that of a full-grown Wolf. Standing before me now was a small girl of no more than five, dirt streaking her face and caked into her brown hair. Hazel eyes stared up at me, terrified, but defiant.
I removed my sweaty shirt and pulled it over the girl’s head. I snatched a handful of muddy earth from the ground and quickly rubbed it over the child and myself in an effort to mask our scents. Once that was done, I scooped the girl into my arms, and slid her around so that she was on my back, her arms keeping purchase around my neck. Her small weight was nothing for my supernatural strength.
“Hold on,” I told her.
Closing in fast, I could still hear the three Hounds crashing through the forest. I bent my knees and leapt up to grip the lowest hanging, sturdy branch of a large oak, pulling the child and myself up into the canopy with ease.
Then I started to climb.
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