Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (11 page)

"Yes."

"Ludicrous," I said. "You do not know much about mortals if you think I will do this merely because you tell me to."

She frowned and stamped her foot in the leaf litter. "I know everything about mortals. Have I not watched you, learnt all about you? I know what you like, what you don't, what you dream, what you fear. I have watched you as you worked, as you played, as you slept. I know everything about you."

"You clearly know nothing about me if you think I will depart on some mysterious journey just because you tell me to." I resisted the urge to stamp my own foot. "What use has your watching been if you know so little?"

Her pretty face turned ugly and she glared at me. "You will do as I say. Whether you do it willingly or no, I care not. My task is to ensure you go, and go you will."

"I refuse."

"You cannot refuse. You have no idea of the consequences."

"Then tell me the consequences. Let me make an informed decision."

"You do not need to know," she said. "All you need to know is that you are required to go. And go you shall."

"No. I will not. And that is my final word on the matter."

I continued picking my way towards the place where the final herb was wont to grow.

"This is your last chance," she said and her voice held a warning I blithely ignored. "You will be sorry if you do not obey willingly."

I focused my attention on the path ahead.

I heard a huff of exasperation and then the ground rose up to meet my face. The smell of the woods intensified and yet colours became strangely muted. Perhaps I had fainted, hit my head. I thrust my hands into soft fir needles, trying to clutch at the ground, but seemed merely to scrabble fruitlessly.
 

My hands looked… odd. White, furry. I raised them to see them more clearly and promptly fell flat on my face in the leaves.

As I picked myself up, my entire body felt strange. I was hunched over in an unaccustomed position with both hands and feet on the ground, yet it felt strangely natural. My behind trembled and when I looked back over my shoulder, I saw an expanse of silky white hair and a short, stubby tail that flicked from side to side. It stopped when I glared at it but started again as soon as I looked away.

I realised I was panting with my tongue hanging out. I closed my mouth but suddenly I was suffocating. I opened my mouth and panted, tongue lolling out again. I sat in the leaf litter and studied the white paws at the end of my arms. Four claws plus a fifth, shorter. Thick white hair which almost obscured the shiny black claws. Between my eyes I could just make out a black nose which seemed to stick out far further than it should.

Memories of visions flooded my mind and I trembled. There had been a blood-soaked dog in many of them, a small, white terrier, its eyes filled with pain. I had wondered what connection to me the dog would have and now I knew. I looked back towards the fey girl but she was gone.

I wasted much time sitting in the leaves, staring at my new paws, until I finally realised the day was swiftly passing. My only hope was to find my way home. Mother would surely know what to do, for she was a wise woman and had much arcane knowledge. I did not let myself think about what I would do if she did not recognise me. I tried to speak, to say
Mother, it is I,
but my mouth wouldn't cooperate and all that came out was a strangled moan.
 

I had no way of carrying the basket. I tried to lift it in my mouth but choked on the plaited handle, so the herbs I had gathered would go to waste. I might have expected it would take some time to get used to walking on four legs but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Provided I didn't think about which paw went where, the body I was in seemed to know what to do.
 

The tail — I could hardly consider it
my
tail — twitched from side to side whenever I thought about it. I couldn't quite figure out how it worked or what its purpose was. I had a vague idea that a wagging tail meant a happy dog but this tail moved with the slightest thought. I had never realised how little I knew about dogs.

I headed towards home but the path seemed different. I was at the wrong height, for starters, and so the markers I had noted that would have told me I traveled in the right direction weren't where I expected them to be. After a while, I realised I was following the faint scent of myself. I had walked through here recently. All I had to do to find my way home was follow my own scent. It is harder than it sounds, particularly when one is new to being a dog. Once I started focusing on scent, my sensitive nose became overwhelmed and I froze, paralysed with indecision about which smell to follow. There was moss and water and decay. Mushrooms, mould and some sort of furry creature. I walked without any definite direction for some time, getting used to my new nose and form. By the time I regained my senses, I had lost my own trail.

I was completely lost, alone in the woods, and not in my own body.

I searched the woods desperately, trying to find my own scent. But no matter how I sniffed and snuffed, it was all earth and dampness, leaves and decay. I paused for a short rest and scrambled up onto a low rock, hoping the height would allow me to recognise something familiar.
 

My new ears heard every whisper and rustle and I didn't dare let myself wonder what manner of creature made such noises. As soon as my legs felt somewhat rested, I continued my search. Had I been able to weep, I would have but it seemed my new eyes could cry no tears.

I searched and searched, growing increasingly frantic and trying not to think about tales of folk who wandered into the woods and never returned. Soon the little light that seeped this far into the woods began to slip away.
 

I redoubled my efforts, running from fir tree to shrubby chestnut, from rock to leafy patch, desperate to find some familiar scent or sight to point me towards home. My whole body trembled and the tail was tucked firmly between my legs. Had I been in my own form, being lost in the woods would not be quite so bad. I knew exactly what I could do with my own hands and feet and, if nothing else, I could have screamed or cried or yelled. In this form, I was helpless.

When finally the light had all but disappeared, I had to admit there was no chance of finding my way home today. I was hungry and thirsty but didn't trust my new eyes and nose. I knew almost every food source growing in the woods for Mother had ensured I learnt all a girl destined to become a wise woman should. In my own form, I wouldn't have hesitated. I would have known whether those nuts dangling tantalisingly just out of reach were edible, or whether the roots of the plant by my foot were nutritious, or whether the mushrooms growing in the shade of the rocks were safe to eat. In my own form, I could have made a substantial meal out of the foodstuffs around me.
 

But in this strange new form, I doubted myself. The change from woman to dog might have affected my senses or my brain. I no longer knew whether I could rely on my knowledge and I wasn't familiar enough with this nose to trust it. So tonight, I would go hungry, but it wouldn't be for long. Tomorrow I would find my way home.
 

In the shelter of a thick holly bush, I gathered a mound of fir needles, scraping them into place with my paws. It made for a surprisingly soft bed. I curled up on the pile, wrapped the tail around me and tucked my nose into my paws for warmth.

The night was long and cold. I soon burrowed down into the needles, covering my body with them but I was still so cold that at times I doubted I would live through the night.
 

Perhaps some stranger would find my body, buried in fir needles. They would have no way of knowing this form was more than it seemed. Nobody would take news of my passing to my mother. But the Sight was strong in her and she had nurtured her gift in a way I never had. Did she knew this morning that I did not depart on any ordinary herb-gathering expedition? Perhaps the Sight would show her a small, white dog, shivering in the midst of a pile of fir needles. Would she wonder what this image meant? Would she debate whether the vision portrayed past, present, future, or merely a possibility? Or would she know it was I, cursed by the fey for refusing some mission they would not even explain? Mother always said my stubbornness would get me into trouble one day.

So I tortured myself with such thoughts as I shivered through the night. I did not sleep but it was not only the cold keeping me awake. Mostly, it was fear. Fear of what might creep up on me if I slept. Fear of the visions that replayed in my mind, showing the blood-stained terrier over and over until I was sure I would go mad if I hadn't already. I also had the tiniest bit of hope the fey girl might relent and restore me to my own form. However I was in two minds as to whether or not I would actually accept her strange quest if that was the price for being returned to my own body.

I poked my head out of the needles every now and then to check whether morning yet arrived. Eventually my surroundings were somewhat lighter and I breathed more easily for day was on its way. Things never seem quite so bad by daylight, or so I had always thought.

Morning light filtered through the fir canopy and hope, which had seemed so far away during the night, returned. Today, I would find my way home. My legs were stiff and clumsy as I scrambled out of the pile of fir needles that had been my bed.
 

A noise that seemed out of place in the morning quiet of the woods made me hesitate. Part wheeze, part snort, it was coming nearer. With the noise came a strong smell. I didn't recognise it but my new nose twitched as if I should. My heart beat faster and my legs turned to liquid as icy tendrils of fear wound through them. I knew neither sound nor smell but the form I was in recognised danger regardless and every instinct within me said to flee. But I was frozen in place.
 

The sound came closer and closer. Then an enormous black boar lumbered out from behind a fir and headed straight towards me. I quivered at the sight of its scarred muzzle and long tusks. My startled gasp came out as bark of sorts.
 

The boar paused and looked around, its nostrils widening as it caught my scent. There was no time to hide. Another step closer, a snort, and then it saw me.

I scrambled out of the fir needles, paws sliding in their softness. Those few moments it took to get my grip was all the boar needed. It lunged.
 

A tusk grazed my shoulder. It stung and I whimpered. I was trapped between the holly bush that had given overnight shelter from the breeze and a large boar that thought I smelled like breakfast.

My limbs felt no stronger than thistledown as I faced the boar. Its rank odour filled my nose. My mind was blank.

The beast stared back, nostrils flaring, still tasting my scent. Its shoulder muscles rippled as it prepared to attack.
 

I should have run while I had the chance.

The boar lowered its head and charged.
 

A tusk pierced my shoulder. Dampness spread quickly and pain shot through me. If I had hands, I would have clasped one over the wound to stem the blood. But I had nothing other than small furry paws and I needed them to run.
 

The boar pulled back, readied itself to attack again. Its tusk glittered with blood. As it lowered its head, I finally found the strength to move. But I was slow and clumsy with pain. A tusk pierced me again, this time in the side. I screamed and it was a strangely human sound, despite my canine mouth.
 

I tried to run but the boar blocked my path with its enormous body, surprisingly fast for such a heavy creature. Or perhaps it was simply hungry.

If I couldn't run, I would have to fight. Either that, or lie down and let the beast have me. I drew back my lips and bared my teeth, managing a sound that was half-snarl, half-whimper. The boar snorted, unimpressed, and lowered its head again. I flung myself at it, somehow avoiding the huge head and deadly tusks.
 

My jaws closed around its ankle but the skin was tough and I was already weak with blood loss. The boar shook me off easily. I was flung to the ground.
 

The world spun. Snarling hogs surrounded me, their tusks red with my blood.
 

Get up, Brigit. Get up now
.
 

The beast leaned in to sniff me, perhaps checking whether I still lived. Its hoof landed on my front paw, mashing it into the leaf litter. Pain exploded through my paw and shot up my leg. Then the boar had my ear in its mouth. It shook its head and my ear tore. Blood dripped down my face, obscuring my vision, and trickled into my mouth. It was warm and salty and there was a lot of it.

The boar released my ear and I staggered to my feet. I ran. Somehow, I dodged one way just as it moved the other and, unimaginably, I was suddenly behind it.
Run
. That was the only thought in my head. Run as far and as fast as I could.
 

Behind me, the beast grunted. I felt, rather than heard, it turn. But it was large and already tiring and I had a head start. It followed briefly but soon gave up, perhaps preferring to find a meal that didn't mind being eaten quite so much.
 

I ran until my legs gave out and I collapsed in a heaving, bloody heap. My whole body trembled and I could hardly see for the blood dripping into my eyes. Warm foam dripped from my mouth as I gasped for breath. Everything hurt and I couldn't see enough of my body to tell how bad the wounds were. Blood pooled beneath me, seeping into the leaf litter.
 

I could think of nothing but the pain and for some time, all I could do was lie there, panting. But I couldn't stay. I had to move on, no matter how much it hurt. I didn't know how far I had run. Injured as I was, perhaps it wasn't far at all. The boar could still be on my trail and, if not, the woods contained other beasts who would seize the opportunity of an easy meal. I was in no condition to survive another fight.