by Hunter, Troy
As the first few days passed, I found myself feeling unpleasantly awkward in my new body. This was certainly to be expected. It wasn’t every day an adult male gets his body replaced by that of a wolf. But still I had to wonder if any other shifter had struggles quite as severe as my own.
For starters, my biggest issue seemed to be grasping the idea of walking on four legs. I’d caught myself attempting to use my hind-legs to maneuver around muddy puddles, but this often proved to be a poor idea on my part, especially when I suddenly found myself tipping over into the mud. But there’s no need to judge me for that. It wasn’t like I wanted to do it. I didn’t just stand there and decide, “Oh, you know what would be a grand idea? If I, a dog, try walking over messy surfaces with my back legs. I used to do it all the time as a human, so why can’t I do it now?”
I might be an idiot but I’m an unintentional idiot.
Secondly, I was starting to notice a rather disturbing change in my hearing, more specifically, my comprehension of the English language. When I first became a wolf, I was still able to understand human speech. While I couldn’t talk back to them, I at least understood the messages they were trying to convey. But as the days passed, that comprehension began to melt away.
It first started as muffles, like the person was trying to speak while face-first in a pillow. I could still slightly understand human speech, but only if I listened very carefully. Then it turned into something more like that of a newborn baby’s coos and babbles. Before too long, the Norris family spoke only two words, “wadda” and “wollo”.
Interestingly enough, I can still understand Elias whenever he speaks. I assume that maybe it has something to do with his ritual. After all, he’s the one responsible for making me like this. Perhaps there’s some morbid master, wolf connection going on between us. Regardless of the reason, all that comprehending Elias’ words did for me was make me even more upset.
Back on point, eating as a wolf was a slightly easier concept to grasp. But I admit I still sometimes forget that I no longer have hands or fingers. Humans tend to overlook the simple leisure they have in life. Sure, they’re free to complain about the government and taxes all they want. But I dare them to go one day without the use of their hands. I’d like to see them try to eat medium rare steak using only their teeth.
The hardest part about eating as a wolf was the undeniable truth of my newfound carnivorous nature.
I’ve said before that I hated the idea of having to harm a smaller animal just to sate my own needs. I couldn’t ever do it as a boy on the farm and I couldn’t do it for most of my adult life thus far. But that night I found Elias’ castle ruined me in too many ways. Aside from the obvious downfalls of August twenty-first, it was the first time I let my morals slide when deciding the fate of a young rabbit.
I never wanted to harm the little fellow. I never wanted to look at his lifeless carcass when his blood was dripping from my lips. But I was starving to death. What else was I supposed to do?
Now here I am, facing that same shame on a daily basis.
If the guilt ever escapes me, I’ll let you know.
Another concept I seemed to struggle with was bathing. In all my twenty-five years of living, I can honestly say I never once had the desire to wash myself using only my tongue. After doing it for as long as I have now, I can say I still don’t want to do it. Surely there’s a better way for canines to bathe, there must be.
We could jump into lakes and…No, that wouldn’t work.
Maybe we could find a waterfa…No, that would depend on your location.
In times such as these, I wished I could find another wolf that was in my situation. By the way Elias Adelbrecht talked, it sounded like shifters were fairly rare nowadays. He mentioned that most shifters tended to look directly for him when they arrived at Stagwood Grove. Despite that claim, I haven’t seen him receive any guests yet. In fact, I believe Elias talks to himself far more than he talks to other people. Even his conversations with his servants, the Norris family, are often short, bitter, and drastically one-sided.
So it looks like I’m on my own to figure things out.
* * *
Within a few weeks of my new life as a wolf, I finally began to feel accustomed to the primal ways of my nature. Despite color no longer being a privilege I could enjoy, my enhanced sense of smell served as an excellent trade off. In all my years living as a man, I never actually took the time to realize just how weak my sense of smell truly was. Sure, I could smell the more potent scents such as body odor, freshly baked apple pie, and freshly grown cabbages. But I never paid any mind to the other scents the world had to offer.
For the first time in my life, I could smell the air.
I could smell the trees.
I could smell the musty dust of Elias Adelbrecht’s library.
I could smell the freshly clean fabric of bedsheets.
All these new sensations admittedly make me feel alive. I can’t imagine how I managed to go through life without being able to sense others through smell. I can lament my loss of vision all I want, but I honestly have to wonder if seeing colorless pictures is really that bad. I maintain the feeling that human beings are spoiled. Colors are fine to look at, sure. But exactly how practical is seeing color when living in the wild? What if you’d been robbed of all levels of sensory perception except your eyesight? You might be able to see, but how can you listen to the ambient noise of the forest? How would you smell the wild scent of bears stalking you in the distance?
These are all things I never thought of before I became a wolf.
To say that it’s been eye-opening would be an understatement.
Meanwhile, back at the Adelbrecht residence, Elias’ initial excitement over my transformation lasted a week before he began to behave belligerently again. When he first turned me into a wolf, he mentioned how he was trying to find a way to bring his own connection to the Great Wolf back. He thought by altering my genetic code to mimic that of a shifter, he was onto something of a breakthrough. He thought he’d found all the answers to his troubles.
Instead, he came across another problem.
I had become a wolf, but I hadn’t changed back into a human.
“I don’t understand what went wrong. I had all the correct components blended into the perfect mix. I used the correct temperature to boil the concoction. I recited the correct words, invoked the proper deities. I was sure to use a non-shifting individual as a test subject. What in blazes went wrong?” The mad scientist proceeded to yank at his hair in frustration as he paced around his laboratory “Did I use a wrong ingredient? Were my ingredients expired? Preposterous! My ingredients were perfect, everything I use is complete perfection.” He then looked my way and pointed an index finger at me. “You! You must’ve lied to me about something. You didn’t tell me everything there was to know about your lineage. Your bloodline. How am I supposed to reconnect with the Great Wolf when my help refuses to speak up? This is all your fault.”
I glared at the obsessive mad man. How I wished I could growl at the psychopath. How I longed to rip his throat out with my teeth. How I begged to acquire the strength one day to toss his limp, decrepit body around like a moist towel.
And what of this “Great Wolf” he speaks of? What Great Wolf? Is that supposed to be some kind of deity that will speak to me in my time of need? Some majestic wanderer that will grant me sanctuary from mad men like Elias Adelbrecht? The ex-wolf has stated many times that the Great Wolf is a vitally important character revered by the lycans, like Jesus Christ to Christians. But I’ve yet to see hide or hair of this deity. I’m beginning to think his existence is yet another delusion created by Elias Adelbrecht.
Bloody cur!
This man ruined my existence.
He deserved a fate far worse than death.
But alas, I can never bring myself to attack him. Every time I try to muster the courage to take matters into my own hands, I freeze. I cease all manner of movement and just let him continue to berate me. Wh
y? Was there something in the potion that made me subservient to him? Was there a line pertaining to mind control in the incantation he recited?
Or maybe I’m just a pathetic coward. Yes, that seems to be the most likely explanation for this situation. Really, it serves as the explanation for nearly every misfortune I’ve endured in my life thus far. The only misfortune I can think of that wasn’t due to my cowardice was being born with a clubfoot.
For starters, being captured by Elias Adelbrecht was on account of my cowardice. Had I just continued to trek through the storm on that fateful night, I might’ve still been a human. I might’ve found myself a nice cabin out in the country, complete with its own fireplace and stove. I could’ve spent the rest of my days enjoying nature while still having opposable thumbs.
If we want to go a little further back, let’s look at the chaos that was my short-lived relationship with Ambrose Pemberton. While I couldn’t have stopped him from pulling the stunt he pulled—nor could I have stopped him from making the first move during our private conference—I could’ve at least had the common decency to reject his advances. I should’ve accepted that the feelings I felt for him were only temporary, an illusion brought on by twenty-five years of repressed sexual tension. Had I been smart enough to see through that cruel illusion, I wouldn’t have fled north. I wouldn’t have stupidly gotten myself caught by the crazy wizard in Stagwood Grove.
Or maybe, because I’m feeling incredibly disgusted with myself after all this time dwelling inside the dark chasm of my brain, housing all my personal demons, we could reflect on my decision to be a musician. Ah yes. The ultimate catalyst. The biggest mistake I ever made in my life. How I abandoned my family, took my father’s money, skipped out on farming, and ultimately ended up squandering all that for nothing. If I’d been the man my father wanted me to be then maybe, just maybe I’d be living a more comfortable life. Maybe I wouldn’t be plagued with never-ending self-loathing. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in Stagwood Grove. Maybe I’d still be human!
And what of my father’s loan? How am I ever going to pay that back now? The last time I checked, wolves aren’t able to get jobs anywhere in the country. Do I just hope for a travelling circus to come into town and pick me up, then?
“Go to the city and make a name for yourself. But I expect you to pay me back every pound, if and when you fail to meet your goals.”
Please forgive me, Father. I’ve let you down for the final time, it seems. At least you don’t have to worry about me doing it again. Hell, you probably think I’m dead. Honestly, I think that’s for the best, a dead son is much better than a disgraceful one.
Forgive me, my friends.
I know I shouldn’t share my woes to such a horrid extent. But it’s been boiling up within me for far too long. With nobody to talk to, who else can I express myself to? Elias? The Norris family? All the humans who can’t understand a word I’m saying?
Perhaps I am as good a being as any to speak to.
After all, who understands me better than myself?
8
A Wolf Called Lupus
Kenneth
Present Day Stagwood Grove, Spring 1874
“Ready, Lupus?”
The brown wolf rolls his eyes as he assumes the predatory stance in front on me. It’s his own fault, really. He refuses to tell me his name, no matter how much I ask him. Each attempt I’ve made over the last two months has resulted in him either changing the subject or giving me names that were obviously fake, like Attila the Hun or Henry Tudor. So until he’s ready to tell me, he’s the scientific name for wolf. Canis Lupus, or Lupus for short.
“I am, Sapien.”
Two shifters in our wolf forms, we charge at each other in the courtyard. Today is the first day of spring in Stagwood Grove. I can’t deny my excitement to see the end of the winter weather. Being a geologist, my profession involves spending copious amounts of time outdoors. When the cold constantly bites at the few uncovered bits of one’s skin, it’s easy to see how somebody might grow tired of it. Stormy weather was really the only time it was warm around Stagwood Grove, but my furry friend had his own list of complaints for that.
To celebrate the new season, I decided to surprise Lupus by shifting early in the day. He was positively delighted when he saw me, so much so that he tackled me to the ground. One thing led to another and here we are now, play fighting like two males vying for their position as the alpha male of the pack. Underhanded strategy led him to victory last time but that isn’t going to happen this time.
For this round, I’m the one who managed to get the upper hand and pinned him to the ground. “Ha! You see, Lupus? You can’t defeat me when you’ve no means to sneak up on me.”
He growls and kicks at my stomach. While it doesn’t cause me unnecessary pain, I make a mental note that his claws could use a good trim.
“That’s what you think, Mister Rock Scientist.” With these words, his other foot kicks some loose cobblestone against my leg, distracting me. As I fall over, he gets up and sprints toward the nearby forest. Blasted canine. Using my own materials against me.
“You cheat. I’ll get you.” I run after him, readying my teeth to attack his backside.
He takes notice as he looks back at me. So naturally, he must tease me by waving his tail back and forth at me. “Can’t catch me. You’re too big and slow.”
Oh, really? He dares mock my size? Just because he’s smaller than me doesn’t mean he’s faster as well. Indeed, he’s allowed to fantasize all he wants. But reality is about to, quite literally, bite him on the ass.
My run becomes a sprint. Before the brown wolf knows it, I’m right beside him.
“Wha-wha…”
I quickly tackle him to the ground, this time pinning him on his stomach. Victory is mine.
“Hello,” I tease in a smug, sing-song voice. “That was an awfully clever trick you pulled back there, kicking rocks at me. But unfortunately, the superior lycan won.”
He thrashes around underneath me, an amusing attempt to escape. “Damn you, Kenneth. I want a rematch.”
I pant, letting my long tongue hang out like a blissfully ignorant hound who doesn’t realize he just broke his master’s prized tea kettle. “Oh, I’d love to, Lupus. I really would. But you see, I’m a bit tired for now. We’ll pick this up another time. Until then…” I stand and prance over to the smaller wolf’s rear. Leaning down, I give the base of his tail a soft, playful bite. “Mmm,” I remark. “The satisfying taste of victory.”
Lupus growls, glaring holes through me. “You’re a troll, Kenneth Adelbrecht.”
I hold my head high, feeding off his envy. “Takes one to know one, friend.”
* * *
Night falls as we spent the next few hours exploring the grounds, chatting idly as we do so. This is our favorite pastime whenever I’m in my wolf form. Lupus enjoys it for the chance to ask me questions he can’t otherwise communicate whenever I’m a human. As for me, I have two reasons why I enjoy it.
For one, it gives me the opportunity to further investigate areas of the estate that my human form struggles to reach, such as the old towers. I’m not a physically weak man, by any means. However, climbing the rickety structures, whether they be wood or stone, proves to be quite the trying task whenever your body is too heavy to stay level with the ancient platforms. Lupus endearingly tells me sometimes to not worry, for his human form is much fatter than mine.
Which brings me to my second reason for enjoying these little trips, Lupus’ voice.
When he spoke to me for the first time back in January, the brown wolf had such a melancholic tone to his voice. He sounded so lost. Like he’d accepted his fate a long time ago. He kept details of his past vague, as if he was afraid of me judging him.
Now, in the middle of March, he seems much more comfortable around me. He’s still a secretive little git but he’s improving each day. For that, I’m so very proud of him. Any moment I can hear his voice makes my day brighter. And as w
e walk alongside each other in the woods, I indulge in my guilty pleasure while he passionately speaks of music.
“The Devil’s Trill’s always been my favorite piece. Biber will always be my idol, but Tartini just had such a magical way in which he expressed himself. The things the man could do with a violin.” The smaller wolf taps his front feet like an excited cub.
My heart flutters at the sight. I love seeing him happy. Perhaps one day he’ll let me see him in his human form, so I can see what his smile looks like.
“So many emotions are present in his sonata, you know? There’re points where the notes make me want to dance. Other times, I don’t want to dance alone. There’s a moment where he makes me feel impending doom, and another where I want to cry. It’s amazing, truly a marvel for the ears.” He suddenly spins around, stopping to stare into my eyes. “Oh, how I wish you could hear it, Kenneth. Have you heard it? I suppose it’s rude of me to assume you haven’t. But by God, you must hear it. It will take you on journey you never thought you needed, only to realize you did.”
I look at him, wagging my tail happily. I think I might love this mess of a hound. “I have not heard it, friend. Perhaps we should listen to it together sometime.”
He tilts his head, now wagging his tail. “That would be splendid, Kenneth. I used to know how to play it myself, many years ago. I could never quite do it justice but I think I did a decent job all the same.”
Lupus is a violinist? Incredible! I never knew that. What else is this wolf willing to share with me today?
“You’re a musician? How long have you been playing?”
There goes his tip-toes again, patting the ground with the enthusiasm of a tap-dancer. “Since I was a boy. I used to go to the city with my father to watch the street performers near the food markets. I loved watching the musicians move the city-goers with their hymns and melodies. I begged and begged my father to get me a violin. He eventually surrendered to my demands and bought me one for one of my birthdays.”