Somewhere I Belong (Shiva and Catalyst)

[Catalyst]

"Hey," Dainty fingers trailed over the length of his forearm, stealing his attention away from whatever mundane waking dream he'd been lost in. As he looked up into her steely blue-gray eyes, she offered up a half-cocked smile that somehow seemed to carry along with it some semblance of sympathy. "Last call. You doin' okay?"

"Uh...yeah," he spoke up finally, looking down at his glass and swirling around the mostly-melted cubes of ice in the remnants of his bourbon. "I'll have one more, Lay. Thanks."

With nothing more than an understanding nod, she slid those fingers off of his arm and turned to make her way down the bar, leaving him to shoot back whatever was left in his glass in between cursory glances of her swaying hips. Looking down at his watch, he rubbed one side of his face tiredly and let out a sigh beneath his breath. 3:00 AM. Fuck. His nights out were getting later and later. The old familiar smells of greasy bar food, alcohol, and cheap cigarettes had begun to fade, as even the wildest of patrons went their separate ways. If anything, he could certainly do without the overpowering smell of funky cologne wafting over from the older guy a few seats down. The older guy who clearly was not handling his liquor very well, and had been stumbling over his words in an almost laughable attempt at seducing Layla for the better part of an hour.

"Here ya go, Sean." Layla offered up charmingly as she set his drink and his bill in front of him.

"Thanks...you uh...you need me to stick around?" he asked in a low whisper, gesturing with a side-eyed glance in the general direction of the musty man.

"Huh?" she seemed curious for a moment before his gesture drew her attention. "Oh! Nah..." she waved her hand lightly, "I ain't worried about that. I'll be fine, trust me!" she smiled at him. "Go home and get some rest, huh? You deserve it."

Sean merely smirked in response, nodding his head. "Yeah..." he got quiet as he took a swig from his glass, peering over the bar toward the mirrored-glass back wall. His reflection gazed back at him with the same forlorn gaze he gave, prompting him to run a hand through his dark brown hair. "I need a fuckin' haircut..." he muttered.

"Well...I wasn't gonna say it but..."

"Shut up." he quipped back, both of them letting out a soft breath of laughter before her attention was called elsewhere. As he looked back at himself once more, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He'd always taken some semblance of pride in the way he looked, at the very least, but these last few weeks, he'd been neglecting himself. More than that, though, he was disappointed to be looking at the same damned face in the same damned glass for the fourth time in almost as many nights. He shook his head, expressing his disapproval in his own actions as if it would somehow do some good. It didn't, of course. It never did.

By the time the bartender had returned, Sean had already signed off on his tab, dropping a twenty-dollar bill as an overzealous tip on his receipt and polishing off his final drink. "Night Lay," He called out to her, lifting a hand as if to gesture his goodbyes.

"Night, hun, be safe. Thank you!" she waved back.

He braced himself as he rose from his stool, planting his feet upon the hardwood floor and taking a moment to gather himself. He was far from a stupor, but certainly a drink or perhaps three deeper and considerably less composed than usual. There weren't many people left at all by then, as the same old hip-hop song he'd already heard three times tonight played over the speakers into a mostly empty space. Outside of himself, and the three other customers wrapping up their own tabs at the bar, the only other presence was a trio of college kids playing pool in the backroom right beneath the neon lights advertising beer and the name of the bar itself. The Horseshoe.

A part of him was so tempted to join them. To walk over and slap some money on the table for a bet. Anything to avoid going home. Truthfully, the only thing that stopped him from doing just that was the signal from Layla that indicated they'd soon be getting kicked out for closing time, as well.

As he stood in front of the wooden doors, looking down at his phone, he dreaded the walk back. It wasn't really the walk that he dreaded, though, so much as what it would lead to. An empty house, an empty bed, and an empty mind, where there would be nothing else to distract him from the invasive thoughts that already threatened to fill the void. Nevertheless, anything he could do now would only prolong the inevitable. The alcohol and the mindless chatter of bar rooms could only do so much, after all.

This was not a quiet city. There is always a bounty of things to do, to see, and plenty of trouble to get into. But Sean had lived here all his life, and for the most part, he'd seen and done it all before over the course of his 25 years. For him, now, it was simply his home; and even then, it didn't always feel that way. His house had not changed, nor had the city around it, and yet he had never felt so out of place; so far from what he considered to be home as he had these last twelve months. A feeling that had only grown stronger, scratching at his chest like nagging darkness slowly digging its claws into his very heart and soul.

All those same familiar sights- the buildings, the statues, every corner and live oak tree, all passed him by now without a thought, step by slightly unsteady step bringing him closer to home. The lights of street lamps and traffic signals over-head glistened against the damp streets and pavements as a light, cool rain trickled overhead. The 'winter' air, if one could call it that, was enough to necessitate a thin coat, but not much else. Even so, his hot breath condensed in the air with each of his somewhat labored exhalations as he trudged along through the empty neighborhood. His attempts at keeping his mind occupied were failing miserably, and that was becoming clearer by the moment.

The first thing to draw his attention away from his own footsteps on the pavement was, as always, the gates of Redgrove Cemetary. It was a cruel irony indeed that he was forced to pass it every day, regardless of whether he was traveling by foot or by vehicle; especially on nights like these, forcing him to gaze upon the very place he hated seeing the most, drudging up the very memories he spent the night attempting to drown, waterlogged as they may have been.

Tonight was different, though. Even as he passed its gates, which had long since been locked up for the night, he found his eyes drifting between the black metal bars and into the vast, ever reaching expanse of tombs and graves. He felt that all-to-familiar sadness welling up like a hard lump in his throat, even as he clenched his teeth and tried to urge himself forward and away from its grounds. He swallowed hard, pausing and looking back over his shoulder, feeling drawn back. The rain upon the ground was the only sound in an otherwise silent moment. He was completely alone here, not a soul in sight.

Anywhere but home...

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Most beloved heiress of the Motherblood, this lowly vilka asks for an audience to ply his troth to you, the future Alpha Mother of our people," the white-haired young man stated loudly, his tail respectfully lowered and tucked slightly between his thin legs. He was dressed impeccably in blue, the color of his den no doubt, although as was custom when visiting the Kingsden he had forsaken any armor or weapons. Not that he really needed them. Algir was known to be one of the most vicious warriors among the vilkai, although he was known to fight dishonorably at times, and had bitten off his own brother's left ear in a quarrel. One would never guess that though, from his perfectly-rehearsed words, tall, thin frame, and his small and almost feminine face. In his zveris form he was a smaller wolf than others, but pure white and lightning quick with instincts to match.

"I am a strong warrior, Princess," Algir continued as he approached the throne. "I am loyal to our King and the Motherblood, and I have slain more than twenty enemies on behalf of the vilkai. I have even slain a demon who sought to enchant me with powerful spells." His chest puffed up slightly at this boast. "My family owns more vergas than any save our King, and I can pay a higher bride-price than any other suitor in our territory. But above all, Princess, I swear I will love you, cherish you--"

"--'Keep me safe from all harm, give me a full litter of sons and daughters, and see to it that I want for nothing until the day I die.' Yes yes, all very good," Princess Elia replied in a tone whose patience was holding on a single thread. "I was in the room when you said those same exact words to my sister last spring, Algir. You could have at least tried making it a little more entertaining this time."

"Princess!" A tall man, somewhat resembling Elia in hair color and posture, scolded sharply. "You're being rude."

"No, Uncle," Elia snapped, rising out of the throne to her full height of barely five and a half feet. Her yellow eyes flashed in rage at the vilka that had dared to challenge her. "What is rude is to promise loyalty and devotion to one princess, then make that very same offer to her sister a mere six months later. If Aysel were here, she would say the same thing!" Suddenly she whirled around and turned her vehemence back on Algir. She began to stalk towards him slowly, her long-clawed hands clutched in such tight fists she could feel the skin of her palms breaking. Her large, furry ears were pinned straight back on top of her head, and her thick brown tail had bristled stiffly. Small frame or no, the princess could not have looked more predatory if she were stalking a wounded deer in the woods. "But she isn't here, is she Algir? And instead of helping to search for her--the woman you were ready to marry six months ago--you come sneaking behind her back to court her understudy."

She stopped when she was directly in front of him, then pulled her head back slightly and spat directly on one of her suitor's bare feet. "You disgust me," Elia snarled, then turned to face the other two or three vilkai that had come on the same errand as the white-haired youth. "All of you disgust me. If you truly cared for the Motherblood, each and every one of you would be in the wilds right now hunting for Princess Aysel and those who have taken her. If any of you think I would name any such mercenary coward as King of the Vilkai, you are sorely mistaken."

Turning back to the throne, Elia marched with all the dignity she could manage, then looked out at the other occupants of the room, mostly servants and courtiers with no real purpose other than to agree with what the king said. "Now hear this, any of you wishing to marry a Princess of the Motherblood: be gone and do not appear before me again. If you wish to prove yourself to your king, your people, and either of your princesses, then go out and help search for my sister Aysel. If she is found alive, you can take the matter of marriage up with her. If she is found dead, I will marry none but the vilka who proves himself the most loyal to her memory. And that's definitely none of you lot." She sat back down on the throne heavily, then waved one of her bloody hands towards the crowd of spectators. "Now go away, all of you. I'm done listening to your vergashit."

Immediately the crowd dispersed, save for one trusted handmaid who quickly rushed to Elia's side with a fresh cloth to wipe the blood from her mistress' palms, and the grim-looking older vilka who approached her with arms crossed. "I've seen tauras handle situations like that with more delicacy," he commented roughly. "The King won't be happy to hear what you did, Elia."

"Please, Uncle Nunik," she sighed, rubbing her temples slightly. "You know Vatha wouldn't have wanted me to marry any of them anyway. Aysel sent them all packing last spring. And that Algir is the worst of all of them. Why he hasn't been exiled yet, I'll never know. But if he's so keen to fight demons and lutai and whatever else might be out there, I'd be more than happy to send him on his way."

"That's the King's decision, not yours. You'll be exiled yourself if you don't watch your behavior, little one," Nunik warned. "With Aysel gone--"

"She's NOT gone!" Elia snapped, sitting up again and staring her uncle defiantly in the eyes. "I would know if she was dead. I would feel it, the way I felt it when Moti died." The princess' expression softened somewhat at the mention of her mother, as did Nunik's. "You felt it too, didn't you, Uncle? Because you have the Motherblood too."

The old vilka smiled sadly, then in a surprisingly gentle gesture he reached out to tousle the princess' dark brown hair, even going so far as to scratch her large, pointed ears. "If I were your aunt, and not your uncle, we wouldn't have any of this trouble, would we? But with my sister gone, only you and Aysel are left with the Motherblood. And until Aysel comes back, if anything happens to you, that will end the dynasty of more than a thousand years. Is that what you want, little one? All of your ancestors to be lost and forgotten? Your future left in the hands of vilkai like Algir?"

The princess winced a little at that idea. "No, Uncle. That isn't what I want. But I wasn't meant for any of this!" she waved a hand around the now almost completely deserted audience chamber. "Aysel is the smart one. The patient one. The one who's good with...well, everyone. Everyone likes her, for real. Some of those suitors who courted her over the winter and spring really truly loved her, even I could see that. But me? None of them probably even knew my name before they decided to court me. And yet they have the gall to act like they truly care, like they could feel for me what they claimed to feel for her. How can people be so dishonest, and think they deserve to be King at that?"

Elia could feel tears of rage pricking at her eyes, and she longed to give into them. But not here, not in her father's audience chamber. There was plenty of room for crying back in her own quarters if need be, or even better: out in the woods. "I should be out there searching too," she sighed, turning her face away. "Are you sure I can't go with one of the parties? You and Vatha know I'm one of the best trackers among all the vilkai. If you just let me, I know I could find her trail. I could bring her home, Uncle!"

Nunik shook his head. "No, Elia. It's out of the question. The King has ordered you remain in the Kingsden until further notice, and I don't blame him. We've already lost one princess, little one." His hand dropped to caressed the tattoos on her cheek. "We cannot afford to lose two."

"No, I suppose not," she sighed, then rose to her feet. "I'm going to rest in my room for the evening. You can handle the rest of things here, can't you? If anyone else comes looking to get married, tell them to come back later. Or find someone else. Preferably the latter."

"Of course," her uncle replied. "Is there anything I can do for you, little one?"

The princess paused. "Remind me, when is the King expected back?"

"Three days, princess."

"Thank you Uncle, that is all."

Without another word, Elia wound her way through the vast labyrinth of subterranean tunnels that made up the Kingsden, the largest of all vilkai settlements. Most wolf people had lived in underground dens since ancient times, partially for protection against enemies, but also against the weather, and to preserve the forests that sprawled across their vast territory and provided cover for them above ground. True there were some rural vilkai that lived in houses built above ground of wood or stone, but these were usually eyed with suspicion or written off as pretentious. Proper vilkai lived in dens, and the Kingsden was not only the largest, but as far as anyone knew it was the oldest as well, with some chambers supposedly preceding even the current Motherblood dynasty.

Elia's rooms were part of this ancient section of the sprawling compound, and while they were not particularly lavish (vilkai as a rule do not take part in ostentatious decoration), they were comfortable, with the curious magic shaman-lamps providing plenty of light and the thick piles of furs that served as both furniture and bedding. The princess dove into one such pile headfirst, and after dismissing her maid finally indulged herself in the loud, long cry she had felt coming on since dismissing the crowd from the audience chamber. It's not fair she thought for the thousandth time. I'm not supposed to be the one who picks the King. Why did Aysel have to go and run off? Or get kidnapped? Or whatever? Where is she, it isn't fair!

The tantrum continued until the afternoon had turned into evening, and the Mother-Moon was rising fat in the east, the skinny little Brother-Moon and Sister-Moon fleeing before her to dive into the Western Sea. That only made Elia feel worse. She longed to be out in the woods, or on the moors beyond, hunting vergas or cavorting with the wild elnias dancers who liked to gather in the far-off standing stones. Or if she went north, towards the Godsmere and the white river, she could hear the lorelai singing their sad, mysterious songs. If she was lucky and they were in a pleasant mood, they might even tell some of the stories of the lands beyond. The lorelai were the greatest travelers in the world, and had seen--

"The lorelai!" Elia's dark head suddenly emerged from the blankets. If Aysel were still in this world, it might be possible that one of the lorelai had seen her. The fish-shifters weren't exactly friendly to the vilkai unfortunately, but there were one or two among them the princess had at least a passing acquaintance with. It was worth a try.

But could she make it to the river and back in less than three days? She had already sent away all potential suitors for now, so it wasn't likely she would be missed in the Kingsden, at least not until her father returned from his summit with the meskos in the east. She would just have to move quickly, and that was done easily enough. Emerging from the blankets, Elia quickly went to a chest across the room and changed out of the soft deerskin dress she was forced to wear for courtly ceremonies, and instead pulled on a pair of tight leather trousers that hugged her tight round backside, and a thick studded corset that served as both support and protection for her pert breasts. Except in snowy weather, vilkai did not typically wear shoes, and they wouldn't be practical for such a quick journey anyway.

Once dressed, the princess slipped into a dark recess of the room that served as a closet of sorts, then began to dig through old piles of clothing, tapestries, and other forgotten odds and ends that had probably been there since her grandparents' time. When she finally met the far wall, Elia moved aside a faded wall hanging to reveal a small tunnel, barely wider than herself. Falling down on all fours, her face suddenly began to lengthen, and dark brown fur the same color as her hair began to sprout all over her body. The corset and trousers seemed to meld into her body as she disappeared into the tunnel, and by the time she emerged on the far end, beneath the roots of a tree nearly a quarter mile from the Kingsden, it was as a dark brown wolf.

Without even the sound of a breath, the wolf took off running northward at top speed, praying her scent wouldn't be noticed by others until well after daybreak, and hopefully after she'd had time to hide her trail behind her.

 

[Catalyst]

"Argh, fuck!" Sean came crashing down to the damp Earth with a pitiful thud, swearing beneath his heavily inebriated breath as his impaired and rather pathetic-looking attempt at maneuvering over the black-iron fence came to a barely successful and exceptionally abrupt end. The tail end of his deep navy shirt caught hold of the regal fleur-style ornamentation sitting atop each post, leaving him with no choice but to succumb to the fall as the fabric snagged before finally giving way and ripping. Luckily for him, this entire section of the city was all but a ghost town at this time of night; otherwise, anyone nearby would absolutely have taken notice of his far less-than-graceful entry. Nevertheless, He groaned lowly as he laboriously picked himself up off the grass, propping himself up first on his hands and knees and then rising to his feet, all the while wincing at the slight shooting pain in his left arm. He checked behind himself once more, then started to make his way cautiously toward the neverending rows of stone as he rolled out his shoulder. It had not the most adequate display of skill nor stealth of any kind, but it still served its purpose.

The cemeteries here were like no other. In a city so far below the level of the sea, with geography not entirely unlike an oversized bowl made for the expressed purpose of collecting water, the bodies of the dead could not be buried beneath the ground; lest the caskets and remains of the departed be found waterlogged and floating in the underground water tables not far below the Earth's surface. To prevent such a gruesome fate, the earliest settlers of the land instead began a tradition of sealing away their loved ones within intricate, ornate marble and stone graves that stood tall above the ground; a tradition which has continued well into the present day. The resulting mazes of tombs and monuments have now come to represent a hauntingly breathtaking sight that has become engrained within the city's culture.

It would be easy enough for someone unfamiliar with the layout of such a place to become momentarily lost within its ever reaching expanses, even in the light of day. Under the glow of nothing more than the moon and the stars above, though, what may lurk within these yards in the dead of the night has become the subject of countless stories of horror, mystery, and intrigue. Reports of ethereal sightings were not uncommon, and while never proven, were far from easily dismissed. Perhaps the more frightening stories in the minds of most, however, were those of fellow men, lurking within their gates, using their grounds as the bases for their unsanctimonious rituals and worship of the departed.

Sean was never much one for any such stories. He had lived here for far long enough and had long since formed his own dissenting opinion of the supernatural. He was not here on some ghostly expedition, as he weaved his way through upon the stone and wet dirt streets between each line of tombs. He had no interest in tales of ghosts or the undead. Once upon a time, he had been fascinated with the idea, and yet somewhere along the line, it seemed to lose its magical hold on him. Nowadays, he considered himself a much more practical and pragmatic type. After all, he thought, why waste time thinking about that which has never been seen?

His mother would surely have chastised him for that thought alone. After all, he and his siblings had been brought up on the fundamental Christian teachings that both of his parents had themselves been raised with. And Sean believed in them, with all his heart, for much of his life, however hypocritical it may have seemed. Only recently had those beliefs been called into question within his heart. Perhaps it was the nature of the path his own life had taken...though if he was honest with himself, there seemed to be no real path before him at all. More than likely, though, it had been the result of something more...

His eyes scanned over the names chiseled out in the tops of every stone, shooting back and forth to either side of him as he somewhat clumsily made his way further and further into the intense darkness that enshrouded the dead. It had been almost a year since he'd set foot on this ground; long enough that he could barely remember the way at all. It felt as though he had been searching for a brief eternity, with nothing to show for his efforts. That was, until the sights around him suddenly became much more familiar, and then, all at once, the memories flooded back into his clouded mind. Sean stopped in his tracks, standing still for a long moment, then turned to find exactly what he had been searching for.

Before him was a bright white marble tomb, atop of which the small, statuesque form of a stone angel stood guard, looking down upon where he now stood. Engraved into the center of the rock were 4 simple lines of lettering:

DEMPSEY
Debra Marie June 14, 1969 - November 3, 2014
Johnathan L. May 19, 1965 - October 20, 2017
Alison B. December 13, 1995 - October 20, 2017
Sarah W. June 30, 2000 - October 25, 2017
​

Sean did not move for the longest of times; he simply remained still, looking upon the grave with an inexpressible sadness lingering in his eyes. Suddenly the world around him seemed to fade rapidly out of focus, and all he could see were the haunting names and numbers that had been etched out and marked in black that had since begun to fade ever-so-slightly away. When finally he did budge, it was to rest an arm atop the stone, as tears welled up within his eyes and began to break free upon his face.

He shouldn't have come here...

"I'm sorry..." he breathed out shakily. "I'm so sorry..." Any semblance of composure that may have remained seemed to crumble away the longer he remained, as his emotions boiled over within him, a combination of rage, sadness, and distress that was enough to bring even the strongest of men to their knees; and while Sean Dempsey had always tried to carry himself otherwise, he was far from the strongest man this world had to offer. All at once did it all come forth from within him, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of names and dates, each with a full life behind them, and face to face with those he could never let go...

................................................

How long he stayed there, alone with them, was anyone's guess. The moon had shifted significantly overhead in its journey across the sky and had disappeared behind the cover of thick, dark clouds that had been raining down upon him in that same steady trickle. By now, his clothes were sufficiently cold and wet, chilling his body, and had been muddied up slightly from his earlier fall. The rain was only just now beginning to pick up, as the cascades of individual droplets splashed against the stones all around him like a soft, subtle static that filled his ears as he sat upon the stone stoop, leaning against the Dempseys' final resting place. He found himself looking up to the sky, eventually closing his bleary eyes as he felt the water upon his face, dripping from the tips of his hair and off the line of his jaw. He was tired. So tired. The sort of tired that no amount of sleep could resolve.

There came a dull ringing in his ears that invaded his senses and immediately made itself known; low, barely noticeable at first, as little more than a faint buzz in the background of his thoughts. With each passing second, though, it became more present and unignorable, bringing him partway out of his daze as it seemed to grow stronger. He was familiar with the subtly cacophonous symphonies of tinnitus that oft filled the silence of his own bedroom, but this, he felt certain, was not the same. While he did his best to not pay the noise much mind, it soon grew to be too much to bear. He did his best to compose himself as he groggily rose back to his feet, looking around as if to find some source, but to no avail. Though the more he was careful to listen, the more clear it became that said source was indeed somewhere outside of himself, and very nearby, at that. Still a bit impaired though he was, he was sure of it.

He followed the sound for a few long moments, finding himself drawn to it if only from the sheer desire to know just what it was. Yet while it grew steadily, subtly louder, around him, there was nothing. Nothing, save for the dead. Nothing, even as he kept on further, and turned the corner of one of the thousands of rows of graves. Until a single swirl of bright light made itself known in the distance. First one. And then another. A guard? He hid back behind one of the stone encasements, holding his breath as though somehow it would make him less noticeable. But as moments passed without any semblance of footsteps nor evidence of human life outside of himself, he soon realized that he was, in fact, still alone.

...What the hell was that? he thought to himself, raising a subconscious eyebrow as he turned the corner once more. There now stood a single white light, coming from deep within the yard. It was not moving, nor was it changing at all. Probably a construction light or something... he dismissed casually as he once more began to walk toward it if only to prove himself correct. The sound was growing louder, now, there was no doubt. What was once a dull ringing had given way to an unending buzzing that indeed was much like that of a broken industrial light flowing with electricity, albeit laced with intermittent high pitched chirps and whistles. Before him was utter darkness, save for a lone, glowing source of light. One that seemed so far away, and yet so near. How fucking far down is this damn thing?!

What started off as a curiosity in his stubborn, drunken mind was quickly becoming an annoyance. A bother and a nuisance that he was hell bet on getting to the bottom of. As he kept on, though, he found that the noises were quickly becoming too much. His head began to ache with a fullness and a pressure that threatened to burst forth from his very skull. Surely, it was from the sound mixed with the drinks he had taken down so readily that night. The light was growing brighter. and yet, it was as though it was not getting any closer. Radiating from the white light, an aura of color blossomed, like a rainbow ring around the sun, exacerbated by the reflections upon the damp ground and falling rain. Sean stopped, covering his eyes with both hands as the light grew brighter and began to burn in his corneas. He took himself down to one knee to get a hold of himself as an intense migraine overcame him, bracing his hand against the Earth...

Only there was no Earth. He could feel the ground beneath his touch, but as he looked down, he saw nothing but darkness between his fingers. Even his hands themselves were barely more than a dim silhouette of what they once. As he lifted one toward his face, he could see the illusory trail it left behind, moving at a snail's pace in front of his own eyes. "W...what the fuck?" he muttered, his head whipping around himself in a sudden, desperate search of his surroundings.

But there was nothing. Nothing except for the light before him, glowing with an intensity that threatened to pierce his very skull, and that now impossibly loud, intolerable noise. That wretched fucking noise. He felt himself beginning to fade in and out of consciousness as the pounding in his head grew harder, causing him intense pain and dizziness that rendered him barely able to brace himself even on one knee. Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't pass out here! He was beginning to panic, now, knowing he had to at least try to get out of this place.

He tried his best to stand. It took every bit of force he had to give; and yet, he did not move. It was as though an immeasurable weight was pushing down on him. It was forcing him into the ground. His breathing grew labored. His heart beating loudly and powerfully in his chest, yet so...painfully slowly. The noise grew louder. The light before him brighter. Brighter. Colors began to swirl around it, and then around him, as well. All manner of reds, oranges, and yellows. Blues, purples, and greens. He could see it all now. And it hurt. God, It was excruciating. It was all growing larger, now. It was coming toward him faster, and he could not bring himself to move out of its way. Faster, and yet he could not budge. He struggled as hard as his body would allow. Alas, as he succumbed to that intense weight upon him, and collapsed upon the non-existant ground, he could do nothing more than scream out at the top of his lungs, his harsh voice piercing the night air, as the blinding light and deafening sound enveloped him in an instant.

And then...there was truly nothing...

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The night was cool, but not cold yet, and in her compact lupine form Elia was more than comfortable as she darted between the trees northward. As a wolf both her hearing and her sense of smell were stronger, and in the growing shadows of the evening her yellow eyes saw more sharply than they ever would in her two-legged form. Yet even with these heightened senses, she stopped frequently, sure of her path but unsure of her apparent solitude. It seemed unlikely anyone would come this way accidentally; those vilkai not charged with patrolling this particular sector of the woods were all assigned other guard duties, and those without a particular territory to guard were all dispatched in search parties sweeping the lands south of the Kingsden, where Aysel had disappeared. Of course this part of the forest had been searched at the time as well, but when no signs were found of the princess in the early days of the hunt the efforts had been focused in the mountainous southern region, where some bits of black fur and a piece of her clothing had been found.

When Nunik and the others realized Elia was gone as well, no doubt another search would take place, but the younger princess of the vilkai had been much more careful. There were several springs scattered throughout the woods, along with muddy spots she could cross through to cover her scent. She was careful to avoid thick brush or the trunks of trees, where her chocolate-brown fur might be caught and leave a hint to her trail. And every now and then she had shifted back into her bipedal zmoni form and climbed a tree or two, no doubt confusing any future trackers that would see her path suddenly come to an abrupt end. But if all went well, she wouldn't even be missed until she failed to appear at breakfast tomorrow morning, and that meant she needed to put as many miles between herself and the Kingsden as possible before sunrise.

The vague plan that had formed in Elia's mind as she ran was this: travel as far as possible through the night, hopefully as far as the Seven Hills, and by morning she could find a sheltered hollow among the rocks to sleep for a few hours. She had been to the Godsmere once before, and though she thought she could remember the narrow winding trail to the still lake that overlooked the northern border of her territory, it would be safest to attempt the climb while there was still daylight. If she was lucky, there might even be lorelai in the lake itself, although the vilkai and several other peoples in that region believed it a sin to swim in its sacred waters. Worst case scenario, if the lorelai were feeling particularly religious and avoided the lake, Elia just needed to follow the river that flowed out of the hills in the north and through the rocky canyons to the Snowsea beyond, and she was sure to encounter one of the fishfolk sooner or later (but hopefully sooner).

It was nearing midnight when the princess became aware of a shadow occasionally passing overhead, and a very faint scent wafting down from the trees. At first she had thought it nothing but a cloud, or perhaps a sleeping verga; some squirrel or possum in heat. But the shadow trailed her for miles, and when she reached a huge oak tree with limbs dragging on the ground, Elia froze suddenly, and wished she had brought a weapon besides her teeth and claws. A low growl rumbled in her throat as the shadow alighted in one of the low-hanging branches, then began to let out a soft, cooing laugh in response.

The laugher was a large, squat brown owl with a short, sharp beack and huge vicious talons that looked like they could have snapped the bough beneath it with a snip. As the laughter died off, the owl changed shape slightly, thinning and lengthening into a feather-covered feminine form. A pair of long arms separated from her wings, which shifted position slightly until they were sprouting more out of the center of her back rather than the sides, and while the beak shunk back into a pointed mouth and chin, there was still something sharp and curved in the small nose at the center of her face.

At the sight of this figure, Elia's body relaxed in recognition, and when she approached the stranger it was on two legs. "Striga...you scared the shit out of me. What in the world are you doing all the way out here?"

"I could ask you the same, Elia Motherblood," the peleda replied. "Are the vilkai determined to lose both of their princesses in so short a time? Or are you just being a very bad puppy?" The owl-shifter crossed one leg over the other, her taloned feet somewhat smaller than before, but the claws no less sharp as they opened and closed.

"I'm looking for my sister. Or at least anyone who might have seen her. I don't suppose you know anything useful?" the vilka replied, crossing her arms rather impatiently over her chest. The peledos were a strange lot in general, fond of talking in riddles and teasing their lupine neighbors, despite the fact that the vilkai had allowed them to dwell in their forest for generations, and Striga was one of the worst.

Both her shoulders and her wings shrugged, and her small, angular head began to rotate in a rather gruesome manner, turning almost the entire way around. "Useful to you? Or useful to me? Or useful to your dear papa, or your pretty big sister? Or useful to the demons in their prison out at sea?" Striga replied in a low sing-song tone, suddenly dropping from the tree like a stone. Elia yelped and instinctively darted forward to catch the peleda, but she needn't have bothered. With a powerful flap of wings, Striga swiftly and easily swooped forward until her face was mere inches from the vilka, causing the princess to stumble backwards in surprise.

Annoyed at the indignity of her position, Elia huffed and straightened her back. "I didn't think so. If you'll excuse me..."

"Here's something useful," Striga continued as though the vilka had never spoken. "There are demons in the Wolfwood tonight. Or perhaps it is the Gods, walking amongst us once more. Something horrible...or is it wonderful? I cannot seem to tell which."

The princess rolled her eyes as she strolled past the peleda, ready to resume her zvergis form. "I'm sure," she muttered.

"Oh, but there is something here. Can't you smell it?" the owl-shifter remarked, rising up to hover just out of Elia's reach overhead. "It's dangerous to go alone, little princess. You should take this." Something heavy dropped from one of Striga's talons, and landed directly on top of the vilka's head.

"OW!" she shrieked, letting out an animalistic snarl and leaping up to snatch at the peleda's foot out of sheer instinct. But Striga only laughed and rose higher into the air, her body melting back into the shape of the giant horned owl yet again. She circled a few times over the vilka's head, her hoots seeming to echo loud enough to fill the entire forest, and then as quickly as she had come, she was gone.

"Godsdamned vermin-eater," Elia muttered to herself, glancing down at the object the owl-shifter had dropped on her. It appeared to be a primitive sort of knife, carved either of white stone or bone, or something in between. The hilt however was clearly made of iron, and heavily rusted in parts. Not a masterpiece by far, and probably more likely to give the princess a blood infection than protect her from harm. She should really just leave it behind. After all, cloth and leather that had been blessed by the priests could easily shift and meld into a zvergis form, but the princess hadn't thought to bring any kind of a bag or sheath with her that she could use to carry the knife, or anything else. That meant she either needed to hold it precariously in her mouth as a wolf, or carry it in her hands as a zmoni.

While she was pondering this dilemma, the vilka began to notice an odd scent in the air. It's nothing, just more of Striga's stupid games she told herself, even as she couldn't help sniffing a little. Probably a dead verga, or something even more disgusting.

The scent wasn't bad though, just strange. Not like any zmoni she had ever smelled before, and certainly not a vilka. Nor did it smell like any verga she had ever encountered, or even any plant that she knew. Without making a noise, Elia shifted back into her wolf form, and then clumsy as it might have been, picked up the knife between her powerful jaws and began to creep in the direction of the scent, keeping low to the ground.

Just beyond the huge oak tree, her eyes feel upon a small circle of boulders she had never noticed before. They reminded her of the standing stones of the elniai, only these stones barely came up to her stomach as a wolf, and most were covered with moss instead of runes. Had they previously been so overgrown she had walked by them without ever seeing them? Or had they appeared since her last voyage to this part of the forest? In either case, if the boulders were fascinating, the thing in the middle of the circle was downright astounding.

A demon? Or a god?

Elia's teeth clamped down even tighter on the knife as she slowly began to circle the...whatever it was. The source of the smell, she knew that much. Was it dead, perhaps? It wasn't moving. Did she dare come closer?

All of a sudden, from nowhere and everywhere at once, another one of Striga's hooting laughs filled the forest, loud as thunder. Yelping, Elia dropped the knife and fell back into the foliage, disappearing into a thicket but keeping her eyes transfixed on the thing in the circle, waiting to see if the paleda's noises would rouse it from its slumber.

 

[Catalyst]

Nothingness; the concept itself is impossibly surreal. For even when we sleep, we dream, and even in utter darkness, we recognize that the world around us does not simply crumble to dust. It still exists, as we still feel the ground beneath our feet and hear, if nothing else, the sounds of our own existence; the blood rushing within our bodies and the air moving around us. It is an idea so impossible to grasp that ever since the dawn of man, we have tried to explain it away.

Yet now it was precisely that which Sean found himself coming hauntingly face to face with all at once. As though everything he knew, including himself, had ceased to exist. Except somehow, if only for a moment, he found he could sense it; the lack of any presence around him. A vacuum. A place where the nothingness contradicted itself simply by being, and making up all of what was left. He was not a part of his own body. His body had all but disappeared, and while he felt as though he was looking through his own eyes, they too were gone. Whatsmore, there was nothing to be seen, regardless, save for the absolute, utter blackness of the void. Even his fear had been left behind. For that briefest of times, a time that felt as though it were both an eternity and a fraction of a second all at once, he could not feel a thing. Until even the nothingness seemed to fade away.

The next thing to assault his senses would indeed be Striga's wail. It pierced him, reverberating through his body and mind as clear as day, even amidst the internal fog that had overtaken him, as though it had reactivated something inside of him. The paleda fled some ways away, perching herself in a tree just far off enough in the distance that she could not be seen, while remaining just close enough to observe. Just then, a single, sudden breeze blew across the world, taking with it whatever loose pieces of foliage could be ripped from their bows or carried off from the ground.

Sean's mind came slowly back to life, his fingers curling upon the ground and palpating the earth beneath them. He was slow, barely cognizant of himself, his motor functions seeming to be just as much reflex as they were concerted effort. It was as though a corpse had been reanimated long after its death. It took some time for his own consciousness to truly catch up, as little by little, he began to feel the world around him. His fingertips could now sense the coarse texture of the grass that grew around them. His ears could once more hear the sounds of the rustling leaves, and his nose could smell the wafting scents carried through the air.

Only none of them were familiar. Even the air itself upon his skin did not feel the same. The more of himself returned, the more apparent that fact became, as his eyes slowly flitted open. The night here was not quite so dark as that from whence he came, but it may as well have been pitch in comparison to the flash had overtaken him. He had no memory of the nothingness, despite having experienced it himself. The last memory he had was of walking toward the light, and the struggle that followed. Everything between that moment that the light enveloped him, and the present, he had no recollection of at all.

The grass was tall around him, impeding a great deal of his first sight. It's color was not what he knew, with the lightest shade of blue mixed in with natural green. What was even more immediately alarming, though, was the memory that struck him. He had been in the cemetery before the light, and this was the farthest thing from it. As quickly as his hands could find their place beneath him, he tried to push himself up from the ground. Pain surged through him as his stiff body was jolted by the sudden series of motions. Just as fast as he was able to maneuver himself up to his knees did he once more fall, this time onto his back looking upward. As he propped himself up on his elbows, what began as a disgruntled confusion quickly gave way to darting eyes and anxious gaze.

The sky above him would have been a breathtakingly beautiful sight had he been familiar with it. The sky glowed a deep violet, illuminated by millions of tiny specks of light, surround not just one, but two massive orbs that gleamed brightly with pristine light. The first was small, no bigger than the one he had known all his life. It was dwarfed though by the gigantic presence that loomed over it, at least four times its size, so bright that the sky around it seemed to shine a bright pink that faded into the night. The entire scene was covered partway by the nebulous clouds that reflected their light.

What...the fuck? he thought nervously to himself. Am I dreaming? The stiff pain he felt radiating throughout his muscles and the pounding in his head seemed to indicate strongly to the contrary. But if this was all real, where was it that he found himself?

He struggled once more, this time successfully rising to his feet. The more he glanced around, the more disconnected he became, the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach growing exponentially. Everything felt so wrong. None of it was what he knew to be a reality. The trees and their leaves took on shapes and hues unlike any other he had seen, and so to did the plants that grew upon the ground. There were sounds of small creatures all around him, and yet not a single one he could easily recognize. Just above his head, tiny little flecks of white seemed to sporadically flow around him between the treetops.

"Hello?" He finally attempted to call out in his gruff, yet breaking voice. His throat was as dry as a bone, and even that small effort was a strain. Any attempt to clear his throat was only half-way successful, as were his efforts to gain any true semblance of physical composure, as his faculties remained slightly impaired. His mind raced in a million separate directions. Where was he? What the hell was going on? Was this all some manner of trickery his brain had played upon itself in response to his half-drunken stupor? Had he been drugged when he wasn't looking? Had someone struck him and knocked him unconscious in the Cemetary? Nothing was making sense, and the only thing that was becoming increasingly clear was that whatever this place was, it was not where he belonged. "Hello?!" He called out again into the seemingly empty forests all around to no one imparticular. Whether a response would put him at any kind of ease or make things far worse, he did not know.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

If she had been in her two-legged form, Elia would have gasped as the figure in the circle rose to its feet. The thing really was alive, and appeared to be conscious now. Although under the light of the moons overhead, she could now tell that the figure was probably male, based on the lines and angles of his face and the shadowy whiskers on his cheeks. He was built like a vilka, or perhaps an elnias, but he lacked the thick tail and pointed ears of the former, and the majestic antlers of the latter. In fact, as the princess' yellow eyes moved from the male's face down his body, she couldn't discern any characteristics that would identify him as a member of any of the known tribes of zmoni. His clothing too was strange, and seemed to be ripped in places, though as far as she could tell there were no serious hurts on his body. The look in those piercing gray eyes though...eyes the color of Brother-Moon overhead...that hinted at a hurt of some kind. Loss, confusion...and the tone in his voice as he called out!

That was another strange thing. Hello. It was the same word of greeting used among all of the zmoni. Did that mean he spoke her language?

As Elia began to circle the stranger, taking care to keep her form concealed in the underbrush, she suddenly recalled her paternal grandmother, the long past but still beloved Lady Daiva. While Elia and Aysel had always known the matriarch as an outwardly-stern, privately affectionate old vilka, in her youth she had been a priestess, and up until the day she died peacefully in her sleep the old woman could tell you any of the old legends you liked. The one that came to mind now ran through the princess' head in the woman's sly, croaking tones as she traced the story along on a faded tapestry with one crooked finger:

In the old days, all of us--the vilkai, the elnias, the paledas, the lorelai, and all the rest--were one people, with one more-or-less identical form. True, there was less fighting in those days, but we were little better than the vergas in our desperate quest for survival. Then one day, the Gods descended from the sky in their infinite magic and wisdom, and they began to teach the people.

It was only little magics, of course. How to light lamps without fire, how to purify water, how to help crops grow...but nothing that would ever cause harm to another person. And then, as their greatest gift, the Gods taught the people how to assume the shape of the vergas around them. So many of us were hunters in those days, that by learning to become the vergas and move among them, we became the greatest hunters this world has ever seen. And those that didn't hunt, like the lorelai or the elnias, learned to travel and trade. The people became so adept at changing their form that eventually their children learned to do it from birth, though over time we became limited to taking only one other shape, be it a wolf, a lion, a bear, or any of the other vergas that live in our world.

Of couse, this gave rise to the different tribes of our people--the zmoni. And while we have never experienced total peace, we have never known total war either. Everyone has allies, everyone has enemies, and we find a way to make it work. Balance is maintained, and the Gods were pleased for a very long time, and were happy to live among us.

But there was one female among the zmoni called Lilith...the priests argue about her tribe to this day. Some people say she was vilkai, some say she was lorelai (personally, I think she was vorai, but I have little proof for this theory). All agree though that she was very beautiful, so beautiful she seduced one of the Gods themselves, and from him learned not only the little arts, and the art of changing to multiple shapes, but even greater magics. How to cause harm to others, and how to achieve immortality. She bore the God several children, all of whom inherited their parents' might, and believing them to be superior to all of the other zmoni, Lilith and her children began to make war on the people.

Many of the zmoni died, but when the other Gods realized what was happening, they intervened on our behalf. While they could not kill Lilith, they banished her and her children to an island in the southern oceans, thousands of miles from the nearest land, and filled the surrounding seas with storms and monsters so they might never come again to harm the zmoni. They also stole the demons' ability to change forms, locking them forever in the shape of a zmoni without a tribe. The Betrayer among them they cast back into the sky, separating him from his cursed love for eternity. But still, the Gods were fearful. If one of them had fallen to the lusts of a zmoni, might not another?

And so it was that the Gods left this world, though the priests believe they still watch us from above, and may occasionally walk our lands in memory of happier times. Have faith, my granddaughters, that the Gods do love us still, and should the need arise they will come back to aid us. Until then, we must be on the watch for evil ourselves, and never again let the spawn of Lilith walk our lands.

Elia had never smelled a demon before, nor had she ever seen one. But the more she watched the male in the circle, the more she knew he could not possibly be one of the zmoni. His ears were small, he had no tail, wings, antlers, scales, and showed no sign of changing to a zvergis form of any kind. He smelled of dirt, but not the dirt she was familiar with. Something greener, wetter, yet with something burnt in it, undermined by something spicy, like the spirits the meskos brewed. If she was being honest, it was actually quite a pleasant smell, which was what was raising her doubts. The princess simply couldn't imagine a demon smelling like that.

A God then? Daiva said they still walked the land sometimes, and she knew some priests claimed to have seen them, even spoken with them. A God would speak her language, Elia realized, but Gods were also supposed to be all-knowing. Why then did the male look so confused?

There was only one way to find out.

Hello.

The word was thought, not spoken. Elia could not use her mouth to speak in her current form, but after taking a deep inhale she stepped out of the brush and moved directly in front of him. At such close range she realized that even as a wolf, he was probably still twice her size, but at least now she could tell he was unarmed. Of course, if he was a God or a demon that wouldn't really matter, but if that was the case she was probably dead anyway. The brown wolf sat back on her haunches and tilted her head slightly, staring into his gray eyes with her yellow ones. Who are you? Why have you come here?

But he didn't answer. Elia's heart began to race. Why wasn't he saying anything? The Gods should be able to hear the thoughts of all of their faithful, and while the princess wouldn't exactly call herself religious, she was a believer and had been known to pray on occasion. However, it was sometimes difficult for zmoni of different tribes to communicate telepathically. That was why she had assumed a different form to speak to Striga; vilkai and paledas just couldn't connect on that level.

A ridge of fur along Elia's back began to rise, and a low growl began to rumble in her throat as her ears flattened against her head. Gods could understand her thoughts, but he couldn't. He wasn't a zmoni, she knew that for sure, so that meant he could only be one thing...

DEMON!

Despite the fact she was alone, unarmed, and had only the most rudimentary combat training, the animalistic instinct inside the princess took over. With a snarl, she sprung forward, her jaws opening and her long teeth ready to close around the demon's throat.

 

[Catalyst]

Wrought with an increasingly anxious confusion, Sean's head whipped around at the sound of rustling leaves and the crunching of twigs that seemed to come all but out of nowhere. Needless to say, what he saw did not exactly serve to assuage him. The animal that emerged from the brush seemed to just about lock eyes with him, taking intent, striding steps toward him, undeterred by his own physical stature. The wolf was not of particularly massive size, however, it was still just that; a wolf. Sean found himself taking a few short steps backward subconsciously as his gaze remained fixed upon the beast.

Shit...he thought nervously to himself. He moved slowly, raising his arms slightly as if in some form of innocuous surrender. It was not until he noticed the animal stop and sit before him that his feet came to rest in one spot upon the ground. His eyes remained fixed upon the yellow orbs that peered back at him, yet did not hold any malice within them. Instead, they conveyed only curiosity alongside the tilt of its head. Sean's guard remained up for some time, naturally, but slowly receded as the wolf focused on him. What does it want? Why is it just...staring at me like that?

The motionless silence felt ever so strange. It was almost as though he could feel the piercing gaze of the beast that stared so intensely back into his eyes. As if it was trying to establish some sort of connection with him, but had not the words to do so. It was unnerving, and yet...entrancing all at once. Enough so, even, to nearly rip his attention away from his surroundings entirely.

That was until he noticed the animal's face began to shift, it's muzzle bearing the flash of sharp teeth as it took on an all to obvious aggressive stance. Sean's heart skipped a beat in his chest, but he did not have but a moment to take notice. Within seconds, the once curious beast lunged forward, jumping off its hind legs and gnashing its teeth.

As if acting on survivalist instinct alone, he managed to get his arm up in defense of himself, sacrificing it to the wolf's fearsome bite. He screamed out in pain as he felt his flesh give beneath the sharp, powerful force of its ferocious jaw, its body weight crashing against him with enough force to knock him off his feet and onto his back on the ground. He landed with a thud that sent his mind halfway into a clouded whirlwind. He was looking up at it now, his forearm dripping crimson blood upon his chest and neck. He growled and groaned aloud in pain, pushing his arm up against its bite.

An intense struggle ensued, as the animal did all it could to sink its teeth deeper into his flesh, and clearly seeking to take hold of his throat and end his life. Its claws dug into his flesh and drew blood from several fresh, deep cuts upon his torso. He writhed violently beneath the animal, fighting back as best he could after nearly being knocked unconscious by the crash of his head on the dirt. As he slowly regained his wits, though, he felt the hot rush adrenaline began to surge through him. Momentary fear gave way to anger in his stormy gray eyes, as though the attack had stirred up some deep-seated rage within.

Suddenly, Sean swung his opposite arm across his body, landing a forceful blow atop his attacker's head. At that moment, he was able to muster up just enough strength the force the beast off of his body with the arm it had clamped down upon. Just as it reared back, he grabbed the animal by a tuft of its fur, doing his best to force it to the ground as he managed to get back on his knees.

The beast was strong, but Sean was larger and stronger, at least for the moment. He knew he stood no chance of running. He had not the slightest inkling of where he was, and his motor faculties still suffered from impairment. His breathing was already loud, labored, and ragged as it were, his muscles strained and stiff. It would chase him down in a moment's notice, and he would likely not get a second chance to get out from beneath it. If he hoped to survive, he would have to kill it.

With that realization at the back of his mind, Sean used his own body weight, now straddling the beast, and a strong grip upon its neck to pin it down into the dirt. He knew he could not hold this position for long. Surely the wolf would soon find a way to wriggle out from beneath him. He glanced around in his immediate area and instinctively grabbed a mossy stone from the grass just as soon as he could locate it. It was heavy and large, and would have been more than enough to fracture its skull. His blood now trailed down his arm and onto its fur, as he held it down, looking once more upon it as he prepared to what he knew he had to do.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Strange...he doesn't taste like a demon Elia thought as her jaws clamped tight on the stranger's arm. Then again, what did she know what a demon tasted like? And actually, wasn't there some story about how devouring the flesh of a demon would kill you? Well, either that, or turn the devourer into a demon. The princess cursed herself as her teeth sunk deeper in the creature's arm, and for a moment she considered letting him go while she reconsidered her tactics. However, she'd been so quick in her movements that she'd actually managed to knock him onto his back, and demon or no, it didn't seem like a good idea to give up that advantage just yet.

Whatever the thing was, she had clearly hurt it. She could both see and taste his blood, and heard the cries of pain escaping his mouth. Like a verga dying she mused, then realized with sudden shock that that was what he tasted like. Just another animal of the woods, like a deer or a rabbit, with mortal flesh and blood that could be killed. But she'd never seen a verga that look like the thing beneath her. Was it possible that just as the zmoni had learned to wear the shapes of vergas, the vergas were learning to wear the shapes of zmoni? But vergas rarely fought back while being hunted, save for those rare predators like wolves and lions. And now that he seemed to understand what was going on, the creature was definitely beginning to resist.

Growling, Elia began to bite down harder on her victim, feeling her fangs slicing through the muscle and sinew like knives, expecting him to go limp any moment now. So it was a complete surprise when she suddenly felt a blow on the side of her head, causing her to yelp and release his arm. She leapt backward to avoid a second blow, but she wasn't able to avoid the rest of him as the creature launched his entire body at her, effectively pinning her to the ground. The princess' heart began to race as she struggled beneath him, snapping at the air and trying to rake her claws across his chest. But as a zvergis she lacked the flexibility of her zmoni form, and couldn't quite reach close enough to do any real damage. Her attacker was careful to keep out of range of her fangs, but the yellow eyes of the wolf easily saw him reaching for the heavy stone, and knew she needed to act quickly.

Oh, but the gods had been kind to her. The strange creature had grabbed for a stone, because that was perhaps what its primitive mind was most used to using in battle. But on the other side of her body, within arm's reach, was the iron-hilted knife Striga had dropped on Elia's hand. She couldn't reach it with a wolf's paw, but if she had a hand...

The pinned form on the ground began to melt away, the fur receding into white skin and brown leather, the long snapping muzzle retreating into a small, scowling face. The large furry ears remained, twitching furiously, as did the flashing yellow eyes, and the long tail was snapping back and forth between the young woman's legs, brushing against her attacker. "Cursed verga," the princess hissed, revealing much smaller, but still pointed teeth, as her hand shot out and snatched the knife up from the ground. In one fluid movement she pressed it against the creature's neck, yet some unknown instinct prevented her from cutting it completely.

"Release me, now!" she demanded, pressing the knife closer against his throat. "Or I'll slaughter you like the beast you are."