Winter’s cold bit deep into the flesh, and the sky roiled with storm clouds. Already a thin coating of snow covered the ground outside, and the wind howled among the trees like starving wolves. Animals shivered in their dens, huddled together for warmth. It was the only sensible thing to do in weather like this, which was why Risa was nestled between her mates in a den in a massive, hollowed-out tree. The entrance to their space was covered by thick layers of woven reeds, and between the three adult Soquili, their den was cozy. The wind could scream and shake the trees all it wanted, but it would not affect them. Resting her chin on someone’s tail, the mare smirked as she fell asleep. She was looking forward to getting a comfortable night’s rest with the people she loved most in the world.Which was why she was mildly annoyed when her chin hit the ground, rattling her teeth. She cracked open an eye in disgust—the “falling” sensation?! How rude of fate! She was just getting—
Risa opened both of her eyes and stood up, looking around frantically. Neither of her mates were anywhere to be found! No warm den, no scent of fox and wolf—she was alone, in a clearing in the woods. And not any woods she recognized—the trees were all wrong, both their foliage and their smell. Something was very, very wrong here. She turned all around herself, shivering in the cold air. No, no one was around—just trees and snow, not quite up to her ankles. Not enough to be a hazard to walk in, but enough to be cold and to be disturbed by her hooves. The breath misted in front of her face. The mysterious woods were silent. Only the sounds of her breathing and her hooves crunching the snow disturbed the silence. She opened her mouth to call out, but a sound finally came to her ears. She flicked them, unsure of herself. But there it was, getting louder and louder with every second: the sound of the wind, high up in the trees, that same ravenous sound. She swallowed hard and looked around, but the woods were dark. Only a crescent moon illuminated the bare trees around her.
With the wind came a chill and Risa stamped her hooves, trying to keep warm. It helped a little, but not enough. Okay. So she was lost in an unfamiliar forest, with no memory of how she got here, all alone, with no one who could aid her. Had someone kidnapped her? No, that was impossible. Not only could she defend herself, but Locksley and Vrati would never have allowed her to be kidnapped! It simply was not possible. So no, she was not kidnapped.
Idly, she looked down at the snow all around her, and for a second, she felt her heart flutter. The tracks on the ground—someone else had been here, and recently. There were hoofprints on the ground from another Soquili. Their hoofprints were all over the place, though hers didn’t seem to be leaving any print. She lifted her hoof to scrape at the ground, then froze (and not from the cold). Her hoof. It had changed. She’d always had cloven hooves—she was a Cerynei, and it came with her ancestry. But her hoof was solid now, not cloven. She lifted her hoof and inspected it, then looked down at the rest. Yes, they were all solid now.
Also impossible.
“I’m dreaming,” she said. “That’s the only possible explanation for why my hooves have changed.” Those were her hoofprints in the snow, not some stranger’s. The wind blew a flurry of snow into her face and she hissed at the cold. “A f-f-f-freezing dream!”
But before she could say anything else, a blaring sound split the stormy night air, as sonorous as a moose, as melodic as a wolf, and as eerie as an elk. She recognized the sound—it was the sound of a horn. Her beloved Locksley owned one. But this horn was greater—louder, more musical, and somehow carrying with it a promise of danger.
Like a wolf’s howl, it was joined by another, and then another—each one closer than the last. And though Risa had never heard these horns before, she recognized what they meant. Terror bloomed in her heart. They were hunting something. And not just any thing—they were hunting her.
She didn’t need to be told that to know it. She just did. It was an instinct, older than any else: the instinct of the prey. She turned away from the horns and ran.
The wind picked up like the hunters at her back, driving both of them forward, along with the stinging, biting snow. The snow raced with it from the black clouds that moved in to obscure the moon. The night should have been pitch-black now, but some kind of faint, blue-ish light illuminated the edges of trees and roots. Without it, she would have been completely blind. With it, she could just barely see the ground in front of her hooves.
A fallen tree loomed in her path, and instinctively she lined up her muscles to leap over it. But it wasn’t just her hooves that were different now, it was her whole body. She should have been able to make the jump, but she couldn’t, not with her new, ground-adapted body. She couldn’t quite make the distance, so instead of leaping gracefully over the dead wood, she stumbled, her banging her legs against the tree trunk. She managed to scramble over it, but she could hear the blaring of the horns getting closer, and the baying of wolves. She had lost time, and there might not be a way to get it back now.
Her legs shrieked in pain, but Risa liked pain. Pain made her feel alive. The breath rasped in her throat as terror warred with the thrill of the run. Blood pounded in her ears and her heart pounded in her chest. They were gaining on her (she was going to die, they would kill her when they caught her, she was going to die) (she was alive, gloriously alive, never more alive than she had been now)—
She knew she couldn’t look back, or they’d gain even more on her. So why did she look back? Maybe it was curiosity. She’d always been a little curious. She wanted to know who her pursuers were. She could see them, just barely, now. Some of them carried lanterns made from either tiny pumpkins or some kind of puffball fungus, she wasn’t sure which. Hounds made of flickering flame and birds made of smoke ran with them. But the clear leaders, the ones in charge, appeared to be Soquili, as swift as fear and as dark as terror. They were gaining on her, and not just because of their speed. Her legs were moving slower now, though there was no reason they should. It was like in a dream, when your legs turn into tar and you have to crawl on your belly to move even a single nose-length…
A dream. This was all a dream! One that felt like real life, but a dream nonetheless. She wasn’t really here, none of this was really happening.
Risa stopped running. She turned to face her pursuers, but they weren’t there anymore.
Only the Master of the Hunt was still there.
The wind died and the rest of the hunters dissolved. Only the leader stood in front of her. Later, she would try to remember him, but she found she couldn’t—she couldn’t remember his breed, or his coloration, only that he seemed to be very old, that he had only one eye, but eight legs. Two wolves sat by his side, and two ravens perched on the top of his head.
When was the last time you saw your sister, Risa? the Master of the Hunt asked. The words appeared in her mind like a vivid memory more than like spoken language. When was the last time you acknowledged your past? Or is it all gone to you now, like the leaves from the trees?
Risa opened her mouth to reply, but all she felt was fur in her mouth.
Risa sputtered awake. The den was dark and warm, and Locksley and Vrati were still snuggled up against her, keeping her warm. The wind had died down outside, and she could see the tiniest hint of a grey dawn around the edges of the reed screen that insulated their den from the outside world. From the steady sound of her mates breathing, she could tell that they were still asleep, still dreaming peaceful dreams. If they had noticed her nightmare, there was no sign of it. Everything felt peaceful, except for the hammering of Risa’s heart, the raw feeling in her throat and lungs, and the sore feeling of her legs, as if she really had just run into a tree trunk with her shins.
All a dream. It was all a dream. Risa rested her head on her lover’s tail once again, but she did not try to fall asleep.
She was thinking about her little sister, for the first time in a long time.
Are you out there still, Ullita? Are you alright? What trouble have you gotten into without me?
And do you need me to get you out of it?