FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"The bats are in the belfry

"The dew is on the moor

"Where are the arms that held me?

"And pledged her love before?

"And pledged her love before"

--Tom Waits, Innocent When You Dream

---

Note to the Reader - This one is dark. Some people have said my stuff can kinda get that way, and this one does, so this is just a fair warning for those who might want to skip it. It contains depictions of death, gore, and violence--not the sexual kind--about like what you'd expect to find in a rated R horror movie. Aside from those, that should be about the only triggering things. That being said, it is a romance, so not everything is completely doom and gloom. Happier stories are on the way, I promise.

---

Willow sat alone atop the broken hearth of a fireplace in an abandoned home. There was a difference, she felt, between a home that was abandoned and one that was vacant. No doubt once children had sat in this very spot, warm and happy as the fire blazed gently behind them, the proud eyes of their parents watching them while happiness seeped like rain into the simple wooden walls. The walls were sodden now, the rotten floorboards hinting at how long it had been since joy could be found here. Willow wondered what it was like, the last day. Did someone look back at the house, one last forlorn look coming from one member of the family before they closed their door and their hearts to the dwelling and the memories it represented? Or perhaps it hadn't been as romantic as that. Perhaps the children had grown and moved away, and had to take the older family members with them for their own wellbeing. Perhaps a bandit had shown up one night, murdering whom he chose, raping the others, and leaving the house vacant. Or a fire had started, killing someone too old and feeble to make it out before they choked to death.

Willow always wondered these things whenever she came across an abandoned house. And there were so many these days. What was its story? The scenarios that ran through her mind were varied, but death was usually the answer to the reason why it had been left vacant. It was, after all, the answer to everything.

The omnipresent darkness of the surrounding forest leaned so heavily upon the abode that it had seeped into every corner. Only a faded child's drawing tucked into the corner of the hearth hinted that this could have once been a place that held some cheer, some simple warmth, however long ago. It was probably the abode of some woodsman and his family. There was no soil suitable for farming here. The forgotten tree stumps outside that stood outside like gravestones were a likely indicator of how the family provided for itself, cutting and hacking at the dead, leafless trees like lesions being removed from skin. It was a small abode, only a single room, like most in those days. Willow had grown up in relative luxury; her childhood home contained two rooms.

There were no skeletons in the closet or anywhere else she could find, save for that of a few unlucky baby birds that had paid the price for their mother's choice of nesting arrangements as they plummeted from the top of the chimney to the uncaring stone below. There was a time when she was younger that Willow would've asked her mother how something so unfair could happen. Why did the gods let a creature so happy and innocent die in agony? These questions came from a time when she was naive enough to believe that the world should have some form of fairness. Back when she was lucky enough to have a mother.

Or a father. Or a friend. Or a home. Willow was rocking now, lost in the past as she often was these days. She slowed her rocking when her palms began to hurt, releasing the tight grip she had unconsciously formed on the blade of her simple knife. She hadn't held it tight enough to cut herself, but an uncomfortable thin red line had developed on her left palm. No simple iron or steel for Willow, no. The knife was made of silver. The old tales said that was one of the only things that could hurt them. She prayed there was some truth in that.

She jumped as she heard something moving through the brush, realizing even before she stood that the sound had come from a creature far smaller than the one she was looking for. The black, slimy floorboards of the house creaked in protest at having their eternal rest disturbed. She shook her head as she again took a seat, happy in some small way that the stone hearth felt somehow less wet and cold than she herself was feeling. Again she looked at the remains of the two baby birds. No, it wasn't fair, sweetlings. Nothing was. Not in this world.

Willow had spent what little money she had on the knife nearly a decade ago. She had gone without food for days after the purchase, and it was nearly stolen from her immediately by another orphan child who surely wanted to pawn it off for a piece of bread.

Another orphan child, she thought. There were a lot of those after what had happened. She rubbed her head from the expected headache that always resulted whenever she thought about it. Whatever it was.

Again Willow heard something moving in the brush just outside the cabin, though this time she didn't rise to her feet. A fox. Maybe a large hare. Not what she had spent a decade looking for. She had come to this land in particular after hearing rumors that one of them was in the area. It hadn't been her first bad lead. It hadn't even been her tenth. She'd spent what felt like a lifetime searching for it. There weren't that many these days, and this one in particular was close enough to her old home that it could only have been the one. The one that had snapped her friend's neck and thrown her into the sea she had played in as a child. The one that had torn her mother's throat apart as she begged for her daughter to flee. The one that had rendered her father's body unrecognizable before she had even known there was something wrong.

It had to be her. It had to be. It had to be.

She was rocking again. And gripping the knife. Again. She forced herself to stop. She'd heard stories of people that had gotten like this. They were said to eat mushrooms or breathe in the smoke of burned flowers to try to escape their troubles, but only ended up making more of them. They became like this, lost in thought and shaking back and forth when they weren't able to find what they most desired. Maybe she was no better. She hadn't consumed anything other than the rabbit she had thrown a heavy stone at the day before, but she was nonetheless dealing with her own obsession. And it was slowly killing her just the same. She had seen twenty-eight winters now. Ten of those she had spent a prisoner to her own particular addiction. The one that brought her into this part of the world.

Her stomach roiled. Did she eat the rabbit the day before? Or was it the day before that? Willow brushed her stringy blonde hair behind her ear, the hair on the back of her arms rising as her fingers passed through the cold wet hair. She was hungry. Cold. Alone. Not for the first time, she hoped the gods would take her. She'd see her parents again. Her friend. Surely there were better worlds after this one. But she knew deep down that there weren't. There was only the cold and the dark and the hate in her heart that made the cold and the dark tolerable.

And then she heard it. Movement through the trees that she had been simultaneously hoping and dreading to hear. Something large. Her eyes darted to the crumbling doorway and her hands tightened around the cold leather of the knife's hilt. That wasn't a fox. Or a hare. Whatever had made the sound was massive. Her father had scared her once by telling stories of a large animal from his homeland that she couldn't remember the name of, three times the size of a man and capable of tearing one apart. They slept all winter long, but if children didn't obey their parents then they'd wake up and chase them and eat them. Maybe that's what it was. But those creatures were just as rare these days as the one she was seeking.

Willow started to rise to her feet before she heard a voice from the darkness saying simply, "No." At least, she thought it was a voice. It was rough, like a dagger drawn across steel or perhaps a barrel full of nails tumbling down a cliff. There was also a smell, bitter as vinegar mixed with wet fur. There was no mistaking it. After ten years, she had finally found it. She leaned forward, preparing to strike, although she knew the gesture would be pointless. As pointless as her own life had become in the years that had passed since that day. As she did, she again heard the voice saying, "No." There was no mistaking it this time. She already knew that the thing she sought was capable of speaking whether it was in the form of a monster or a woman. She had certainly spoken last time, mocking and jeering as she tore Willow's life apart as easily as the bodies of every person she had ever loved.

"Don't," said the voice. "Sit."

It was moving into the room now, yellow and orange mismatched eyes glowing in ... In what? The moonlight, she supposed, although there wasn't any. Perhaps they contained their own light, fueled by whatever hell had cruelly birthed the monster into the world. It was enormous, over half again as tall as Willow, who had always been told she was tall as a child. Her father had said it with an unmistakable sort of callous pride. He couldn't help but show how his child seemed healthy compared to the other malnourished children of the village. Most died before their second moon in those days. Not that things had ever gotten any better in the past ten years. Another injustice. So many in this world. But tonight she was going to make one thing right again.

It was close enough now that she could smell its breath, thick with filth and rot from some half-decayed carcass the creature must have found earlier. It must be hard, even for monsters, to find game in these parts. She could make out a few more features now. Pointed ears perched atop its head, ever-aware for any sign of hostile movement. The glint of spit dripping from teeth almost as large as her small dagger. She couldn't see its claws, but heard the soft scrape of them as they slid across the rotten floor. She could barely make out its mismatched fur, several colors blending together randomly. That more than anything confirmed it. This was the one. This was her. As frightened as Willow was at this moment, she was more alarmed by the fact that the creature hadn't blinked once since it had entered the room.

"Move. I'll kill." It was speaking, yes, but it seemed to have trouble with that. Perhaps it was harder in this form, or perhaps it simply wasn't used to speaking to anyone in this far-flung end of the world. It had stopped its advance now, sitting back on its haunches like a dog as it continued to patiently study her with unblinking eyes. They seemed formed of amber or resin or glass. "Move and ... I'll kill." It repeated itself, as if its words hadn't been clear enough before.

Willow relaxed her legs, making an effort to show that she was sitting still as the beast had instructed. "Message received." She was surprised at the tone in her own voice. She had expected to sound scared, but she was far too tired to muster that complex of an emotion.

It continued to examine her, like a lion observing a mouse, and its eyes finally blinked as it began to study her, cocking its head to the side like a puppy instead of a living nightmare. It sniffed the air, leaning forward to more closely smell its prey. Willow's grip on the knife tightened as it did. Its mouth suddenly dropped open as if in surprise. "Y-You?"

It seemed generally shocked. Willow was flattered that it apparently remembered her. "You recall me. Great. That's just great." Her grip tightened on the hilt of the knife, and she hoped it hadn't noticed. "Do you recall butchering everyone I ever knew as you raved like a maniac? You weren't quite as furry then. Not until the end anyway."

"I ... I'm sorry."

Willow's hand was trembling so hard the knife was threatening to spill from it. She was certain it wasn't from the cold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

The monster's ears flattened. Willow could swear she could see its tail slipping between its legs like a chastised dog. This exchange wasn't going at all as she had always believed it would.

"No," Willow said. "No, you don't get to say anything else. I'm going to stab you now and I'm going to happily watch you die in this nasty, cold little hovel. Maybe. But probably I'm going to lunge for you and you'll simply tear me apart. I've certainly seen you do that. But then I can die knowing that I at least tried to end your sad little mistake of a life. No reasons. No explanations. You don't get those. I don't care. You die, or I die, or both. I don't even care which anymore." She pointed the knife at the creature. "Do you know how fucking long I've tried to find you?" There was a strength in her own voice that she had never heard before.

The monster's ears perked up again. It almost seemed hopeful. Something in Willow's last words perhaps: I've tried to find you. Maybe it was as ready to die as Willow herself was.

"I ..." The beast was having an even harder time forming words it seemed. Then it made a noise that Willow had never imagined it making during all the nights she would lay awake in the cold and the dark dreaming of this very moment. It whined. Like a dog.

The beast looked away, its eyes closed. Its throat was vulnerable now. It would be a risky move, but what else was Willow here for than to make a desperate, futile lunging jab at the nightmare's throat. She wasn't going to get a better opportunity than this. So why wasn't she taking it?

"I'm sorry," it said again. The creature looked at its paws, the same paws it had used to tear Willow's parents to pieces. The same paws it had used to break the neck of the homeless girl that was the only friend she'd ever known. It turned its hands over, examining the top and bottom of the paw as if it had never seen its own hand before. "Why did this have to happen to me?"

"No," replied Willow. "No no no. There's no pity. There's no explanation. There's just you lying on the floor choking on your own blood as I sit and watch you die. And that's all that there is."

The creature was sobbing now, its foul breath escaping its lips in the form of cold white mist, its entire body shaking.

Something was wrong. Obviously something was wrong, but it was wrong in a way Willow didn't quite understand yet. "What are you?" she asked.

The question caused the creature to weep even harder. "I don't know. I don't even know." It looked at her again, and now there was some emotion in its eyes, a reflection of the tiredness that had formed in the last decade that Willow knew only too well. "Why did this have to happen to me?"

"Bullshit." Willow was on her feet now. The creature's promise to murder her if she stood seemed to be forgotten by the both of them, vanishing in the demand that the creature live up to the expectations Willow's frequent nightmares had set. "Are you going to tell me you weren't in control? Bullshit. You weren't even changed, not like you are now. Just gleefully hacking and slashing and--"

"No," it whined. "Wasn't ... Wasn't me. I tried to ..." Its words were choked out by its own sobs as it turned its horrible gaze from Willow's flushed face to the knife in her hands. "Do it," it whispered. "Kill me. Better if it's you."

Willow took a step, then another, the knife raised. "Happily." She brought it down, holding it just against the creature's furry throat, although she moved it no further. Why wasn't she killing it? Why wasn't she doing what she had bargained with every god or demon who would listen to her to give her an opportunity half as good as this? The creature lifted its chin, presenting its throat to her. It wanted it just as much as she did. So why wasn't she doing it?

And why was the knife falling from her hand? Why was she sinking to the floor beside the creature she hated more than anything in the world? Why did she have to resist the strange urge to put her hand on its cold, matted fur?

The creature watched the knife fall, clattering uselessly against the rotten floor. When it finally spoke, it simply stated the obvious: "You dropped it."

Willow crawled away to her spot on the hearth. She wished she would have taken the knife with her at least. She sat still for a long time, watching with tired eyes until the creature stopped crying. "Do you even know what you did?" she finally asked.

"Tried ..." The creature's voice was different now, still sad, still forlorn, but now distant. "Tried to stop her."

"Who? Tried to stop who?"

Its eyes were suddenly full of hate. "The other. The monster."

"And you're in control now?" Willow laughed. "That's the excuse? You weren't yourself at the time?"

"No." The creature again looked at its hands. "Not myself now. Haven't been since. Since what happened."

"Since what happened?" Willow pulled her legs in tight, holding them as she rocked herself back and forth in a way she used to when she had to do without food for another night as her mother held her in her arms. She was wiping away tears before she realized that she too was crying.

She stared at the monster on the floor, the tears incapable of holding back the hate she focused on the murderer in front of her. "Since what happened? Let me tell you what happened."

---

Willow had seen eighteen winters. That was seventeen more than most children saw these days. Life was hard. No, life was nearly impossible. Unlike the rest men of the village, her father was not a farmer. He was a fisherman, having been taught the craft by a grandfather Willow had never known. He had leaned too far forward over the water and the gods had seen fit to tangle him in his own nets before casting him into the cold, hateful sea. There weren't as many fish these days, but the few meager stunted things her father had brought back were enough to sell to some of the wealthier families. He was able to sustain his family by selling such luxury meat that would pay for more than their weight in bread and corn. It was barely enough to live on, but it was more than most families had.

Her mother had been raised a farmer, but there were more farmers in those days than there were crops to pick, and so she had eagerly learned how to join her husband on the sea. She had learned to haul in the nets, read the waves and clouds to foretell dangerous weather, work the oars, and every other task necessary to keep them alive on the waves. They were gone for longer and longer these days, sometimes even staying awake on the sea overnight, and every week they seemed to catch less fish than the week before.

For years Willow would stare at the sea every day, searching the horizon, convincing herself that every swell she beheld was their boat cresting the waves as her parents returned. She couldn't stand the thought of something happening to them. She was alone for so very long, an outcast from the rest of the children, who resented that her parents weren't plowing the angry red earth alongside the rest of them. Willow was shunned because her parents knew of a way to keep their daughter alive other than pulling rotten weeds from the ground. There was only one other young person in the small village that was shunned worse than Willow, and it was that disdain by their peers that had made them friends.

The children started calling her simply "the Mongrel," and the name was appropriate enough that the adults eventually called her that as well. She was an orphan that had slept under the awning of a collapsed shack for the past eight years of her life. Willow's father had originally forbidden her from talking to the girl, but lately his attempts to keep them away from each other were done more out of habit. The change happened when he saw them spending more and more time together. He must have reasoned that his daughter needed a friend, even if it was one that wouldn't allow her any others. He still demanded that Willow promise him that she wouldn't give the stray girl any food. She had agreed, though she suspected her father knew she was lying even as she made the promise. She slipped the girl at least half of her own food most days. Once she had given her a single piece of raw fish from a creature so deformed that her father couldn't hope to find a buyer for it. The girl had wept for an hour at the gift. She said that the slimy white flesh tasted better than anything she had ever tasted. She was almost certainly telling the truth about that.

Physically they couldn't be much different. Willow possessed her father's blonde hair, a rarity in these part, something exotic that was apparently common where her father was from. Mongrel's hair was black as a moonless night with thick brows and a rather plain face. Willow had developed curves in the past four years, while Mongrel was still as skinny as a fencepost, perhaps owing this more than a little to her lack of reliable nutrition. Willow had been blessed with perfect teeth, while Mongrel's would likely be crooked even if she was more able to take care of them. She was shorter than Willow, even though they both suspected that they had seen the same number of winters. It was hard to be sure. Mongrel couldn't exactly remember. She had never known her family. She believed that they may have lived in the shack nearby but had left her behind in search of a better life. Willow's father had a different theory. There was a group of bandits that had passed through ten winters ago with the intention of burning the village after taking everything of value. When they discovered there wasn't anything worth taking, they were content to merely take a few loaves of bread and chickens and leave. In exchange they had left the waif with the village as they left. Her father had said that it was likely she was the daughter of one of the "camp followers." Willow suspected that was a nice way of saying her mother was some bandit chief's whore. No one in the village was willing to help her, and they had all assumed she would die after a few weeks, but she was still here eight years later. She had only really become a presence in Willow's life during the past six.

Mongrel had shadowed Willow for weeks before the healthier girl had offered her some bread, which the strange creature ripped apart and devoured faster than she could chew it. Willow thought their first interaction would probably be their last as the poor thing began to choke. She had begun to shovel seawater into her mouth to try to wash it down, only for Willow to reprimand the other child for the act and offer her some of the clean water from her own flask. The gesture immediately resulted in the girl's dirty arms being wrapped around Willow as she sobbed and thanked her. This eventually resulted in Willow's mother having to shave her hair to get rid of the abundance of horrid little things she called "lice" that had evidently migrated from one girl to the other.

After that exchange, Mongrel remained by her side every day for six years. Sometimes they would speak of their shared experiences in the village, but these were rather dull recollections. Aside from Willow sleeping with a proper roof over her head, their living arrangements weren't so dissimilar. Like other children, they both went to sleep most nights hungry. That was all that seemed to matter those days: how hungry were you at the end of it? On most days the pair would simply sit by each other, staring at the sea in preparation for Willow's parents' return. Willow was never quite sure why Mongrel was happy when they beheld the boat making its slow way back to the half-sunken shack that served as its dock. Her father chased her away from his daughter every time, making a grand show of disdain for the wretch and chastising Willow for spending time with her. Willow began to suspect that this was all for show out of a need to keep his daughter from being ostracized by the village any more than she already was. He likely had hopes of finding a suitable farmer's son to marry her off to, though her mother would never confirm the suspicion. Anything to give his daughter a better life. Her father cursed the orphan girl endlessly during the first few years, though he did so with a strange sadness in his eyes that he couldn't entirely hide. Willow suspected that she wasn't the only member of her family that had ever given scraps to the poor thing.

Once on a particularly dreary day when Willow was suffering her first bleeding, Mongrel tried to cheer her up by showing her a game that she had invented. It involved holding a small rock above her head and dropping it as she knelt on the ground. The objective of the game was to pick up as many rocks with her other hand as she could before the first could hit the ground. As far as games went, it was probably the least imaginative way to pass the time that Willow could possibly conceive of. Still, she humored her friend and played along. It was barely a game at all, but the joy in Mongrel's deep brown eyes when she agreed to play made Willow happier than the game itself ever could have.

Despite how lacking her skills were at devising games, Mongrel was not simple-minded. She was actually rather clever, and more than once Willow found herself surprised by just how smart her friend was. Once her father had engaged in a business transaction with a trader, but wasn't quite sure if he had gotten a good deal. Mongrel had asked Willow how much the fish weighed and how many copper coins her father was given for them. After asking her father, Willow relayed the information the next day and Mongrel surprised her by saying it was a rather poor deal. When asked why, her friend had informed her of how much her father had been paid per pound. He had sold the fish at one copper piece per fish, but the trader had obviously taken advantage of his lack of business sense. If he had been paid instead by the weight of the fish, he would've gotten a much fairer deal. Willow had asked Mongrel how much her father had been paid for the transaction if they determined the price by weight instead of by individual fish. She had immediately responded with "only three-seventeenths of a copper per pound" without any hesitation. A bad deal. Willow had run the numbers by her father that night and the look on his face indicated to her that Mongrel had been correct. When she had asked her friend later how she could figure out the price so quickly, she had simply shrugged and said that she had seen the numbers in her head and figured them out. A new game began that day of Willow coming up with "number-problems" and Mongrel solving them almost immediately. Willow stayed up at night sometimes coming up with more and more difficult questions. However, the orphan girl was always able to give the correct answer immediately. This was even more impressive given that formal education for children was completely absent these days and had been ever since ...

Ever since ... something.

Willow couldn't quite remember what it was called or when it had happened, and when she asked her father he always drew a blank as well. There was some sort of event that caused problems in the world that resulted in foundations like school, sanitation, and dependable nutrition to be entirely a luxury of the past. Strangely, everyone older than her that she had ever asked seemed to recall the event happening, but couldn't pinpoint exactly when or what had occurred. Even stranger, whenever anyone attempted to think about the event, their memories seemed to become fuzzy and their eyes would glaze over. Willow was always fascinated by this, and Mongrel confirmed she had seen the same thing. The event--whatever it was--had almost certainly happened long before either of them were born, but not so long that one of the older villagers shouldn't know what it was that had actually happened. But even asking questions about it caused headaches that immediately disappeared when the person decided to talk about something else.

"Do you think that's why there never seems to be enough food?" Willow asked Mongrel as they sat again on the beach together. "Including the fish and game? Mother used to say there were these animals that would run away whenever you'd see them. They had hooves like a goat but were much bigger. People would shoot them with arrows and eat them. They could feed a whole family for a week."

Mongrel fidgeted with a rock. "That's sad," she said quietly.

Willow nodded. "Yeah. Every year seems harder for people than the one before."

"No, I mean ..." Mongrel shook her head and looked shyly at her friend. "I mean it's sad they ate the running thing. I mean, I understand they had to. I just wish things didn't have to die so other things could live."

Willow smiled. "You have a good heart."

Mongrel returned the smile. Her teeth were yellow and misshapen and more than a few were missing entirely, but the sight of her friend smiling had always made Willow happy. "I like when you say nice things about me," the orphan said.

Willow laughed. They had known each other for six years now, but her friend still made her laugh every day. "You deserve it."

The waif looked away, scratching her messy black hair with fingernails that seemed perpetually dirty. She was as uncomfortable receiving any sort of praise as she was eager to hear it. Willow realized not for the first time that she was likely the only person that had ever complimented her about anything. She cleared her throat. "Hey ... there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Mongrel looked at her. There was something in her eyes and her lip trembled slightly. For months now it had seemed like she had something of her own that she wanted to say to Willow, but had never been able to. "W-What is it?"

Willow forced a cough. "Um. Well. Your name."

Mongrel lifted an eyebrow. Whenever her friend did this it always looked like a fuzzy caterpillar crawling across her forehead. "I don't have a name."

"I mean, that's kinda what I mean. I always used to think 'Mongrel' was your name. But Father said something the other day that made me realize that it isn't. It's something they used to call ..." She almost said "strays." "It ... It doesn't mean something nice."

The orphan smiled warmly. Willow had thought she'd be uncomfortable with this discussion, but she seemed just the opposite. "It means like a stray dog. One that isn't a certain type of breed." She seemed to infer that her friend was unsure about the discussion. "It's okay! I kinda like it. I mean, there aren't really dog breeds anymore, ever since... Ever since whatever happened back then ... happened. So that makes me kind of rare! Unique. It doesn't bother me, it's just a word."

Willow shook her head. "But, I mean, it's an insult. It's something unwanted. Like an ugly homeless creature. You don't find it insulting?"

Mongrel laughed. "It's just a word," she said again. "And besides, I am homeless."

Willow looked away. "Yeah, but you aren't ugly."

She laughed again. "You say such nice things!"

Willow suppressed her own giggle. "I think you're rather pretty."

The young woman immediately stopped laughing, and the tremble in her lip was back. "Y-You mean it?"

Willow nodded. She pulled the topic back on course. Something about the words she had just said gave her a weird tingling feeling in her stomach. "You said you don't have a name, but ... you should. You shouldn't have to be called something bad, something demeaning. You deserve your own name."

"I like it though. The only person that ever talks to me is you anyway, and ... I like hearing you say m-my ... 'name.'" The poor girl scratched her head again, extracting a flea and crushing it with her fingers before tossing its body into the waves.

"Okay then." Willow smiled warmly. "You're a good friend, Mongrel. Even if you have a bad name." Both young women laughed.

They were quiet for a long while, slightly uncomfortable but just happy to be sitting alone with each other in the silence and looking towards the lapping waves.

Finally Mongrel broke the silence. "Do, um ... Do you ... I mean ... I heard your dad say something to the family that lives across the road from yours. Their son is of age now and he's been looking at your window for a while when nobody but me is watching him."

Willow was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I think he likes you," she whispered.

Willow put her hand to her chest and turned her nose to the sky in an expression that for some reason she felt rich people would. "Everyone likes me. I'm very popular."

Mongrel laughed and lightly pushed her friend's shoulder. Her hand lingered just a moment longer than it needed to, like she was reluctant to pull it away. "You're a weirdo that can only make friends with the gross orphan girl."

Willow laughed. "I'd rather have the gross orphan girl as my friend than any farmer's son. You're smart and say interesting things. That's way more than anyone else around here."

The gross orphan girl smiled. "W-Would you want to though ...?"

"Want to what?"

"I mean, would you want to marry some farmer's son?" She smirked when Willow sneered and made a retching noise. "I mean, would you want to marry anyone around here?"

"Gods no. They've all been rude to me since the day I was born. They only ever paid attention to me since they noticed I'd grown these." She jiggled her chest a bit, staring down at her breasts.

Mongrel laughed, though Willow noticed she was staring at her chest when she had bounced in place. She enjoyed the attention. "But if someone were nice to you?"

"You're the only one who is nice to me."

"Would you, um ... want to marry a boy? Any boy? If they were nice to you, I mean."

Willow looked into her friend's eyes, though Mongrel looked away quickly when she noticed. There was something different about her these days. Willow had seen it for months now, though she wasn't sure what she was seeing exactly. She got a different feeling when she was around, and whenever she wasn't near she found herself wanting to see her and hear her, even when there was nothing in particular to talk about. More and more these days, her mother would tell her how now that she had seen eighteen winters she was at the age when she would want children of her own. But Willow had never felt that way. Whenever she'd overheard her father talking suggestively to her about the young men in town she always found herself thinking about Mongrel.

Willow sighed. "I guess that's the way of things around here. Get boobs, get married. Dig in the dirt or haul smelly fish out of the sea. Let some boy with bad breath put his cock in you and then you shit out a baby nine moons later. Then probably bury it behind the house with all the other ones who never drew their first breath. Then start all over again the next day."

Mongrel's mouth dropped open. "That's ... a very romantic outlook on life you have there."

Willow shrugged. "Just the way things have to be, I guess."

"They don't have to be," the orphan muttered.

"What about you?" Willow asked. "Do you have your eye on any of the men around here?" Willow found herself hoping she would answer 'no.'

Mongrel laughed. "No! Ew. None of them would want me anyway. I'm the mangy stray, remember?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to be," Willow reasoned. "Things could be okay for you. I mean, you're pretty. Men seem to only really care about that anyway. You could bat your eyes at them in that sexy way that you do." She surprised herself by using that word in particular.

Mongrel made a show of blinking rapidly, fluttering her eyes jokingly at her friend, her hand on the back of her head as she leaned to her side accentuating curves that she did not possess. "Like this? 'Oh please, Mr. Good-Natured Farm Boy? Won't you please take care of little helpless orphan me?'"

Willow laughed before responding with a deep, mocking voice. "'Oh, yes, I certainly will. I'm such a good person to be spending any time with the weird orphan girl. Come away with me and live on my farm and I'll love you forever as long as you give me a son or twelve.'"

Mongrel made a retching noise of her own. "No thank you, Mr. Good-Natured Farm Boy."

Willow shrugged. "It wouldn't be that bad though, right? It's the way the world works these days. Besides, you could have a roof over your head for once."

Her friend seemed upset all of a sudden. "I don't want a roof over my head. I want ..." She was quiet as she looked into Willow's eyes, her lips starting to form one very particular word, though she didn't say it. She took a breath, seeming like she was about to ask something before ...

"Oi! Clear out, miscreant child!"

They hadn't even seen them approach.

"Your dad's back," Mongrel sighed.

"My dad's back," Willow agreed.

Mongrel stood up, slipping over her shoulder the dirty brown sack she used to carry what little possessions she claimed to own. "My cue to find somewhere else to be. See you tomorrow?" She started to walk away as Willow's father's curses increased in volume as the boat drew nearer. Willow wasn't sure if he was yelling at Mongrel, the boat, or the sea itself.

Before she could take another step, Willow grabbed her hand. Mongrel gasped as she did, as if she had been bitten by a serpent.

"Maybe, um ..." Where was this going? Willow wondered. She honestly wasn't sure what she was about to say. "Maybe you can come around the house tonight? I'd like to ... continue this conversation, maybe? I can slip out the window when they're asleep." It had been a long day for their parents, and she knew they'd be snoring away as soon as the sun set.

Strangely, as soon as she grasped her friend's hand, her father's cursing had stopped entirely. She glanced at the small boat to see him with a curious expression on his face as he stared at the two.

"S-Sure!" Mongrel answered enthusiastically. She was smiling, and the smile brought one of her own to Willow's lips. "I can--Y-Yeah, I can do that."

From the boat, her father made a show of taking an exaggerated breath before continuing to drive the homeless girl away, though there wasn't as much sincerity in his voice anymore. Her mother was content to simply hide her face in embarrassment.

"Tonight then," whispered Mongrel, slipping her hand reluctantly from her friend's. She trotted away when she seemed to become suddenly aware of how close the boat was now. "I'll see you tonight."

Willow nodded. She was sad that her friend was gone even before she was out of sight. She sighed as she turned her face towards her parents and forced a fake smile.

Her father began tying a rope to anchor the boat to the dock, cursing in frustration as his fingers kept slipping. They ached more these days, Willow knew. Her mother motioned for him to climb ashore and let her finish the knot.

"Daughter!" her father said.

"Father," replied Willow.

"Again we come, it seems, to the part of the day where I tell you not to talk to the strange young orphan woman, yes?"

Willow nodded. "It seems so, yes. It seems we have again arrived at that time of the day. Good catch today?" She hoped to change the subject quickly, though she knew it was a fruitless effort.

"Again we come to the part where I must remind my beautiful daughter ..." Her father paused, his hands searching for words his brain hadn't found just yet. He still had an accent from his old home across the sea, and it always came out the thickest whenever he was coming back from his second home on the oceans. Oh, gods no. Here it came. The titles. "My daughter, whom I love more than the trees love the rain, we come again to the time of the day when I remind you that no good can come of spending time with--"

Willow's mother had finished with the knots and was coming ashore. "Sahrman, in the name of all the gods, shut the fuck up." Willow's jaw dropped. In all her days, she had never heard her mother curse. "Your beautiful daughter, whom you love more than the trees love the rain, has heard this pointless rant more times than either she or I care to." She answered Willow's question. "Yes, beautiful daughter, it was a decent catch. Three today. Plus a fourth that your father wasn't going to tell you about that we won't likely be able to sell."

Her father looked at her mother in surprised confusion, an expression that Willow herself shared.

"Dearest wife, the light that weeps from the stars upon the unworthy earth that is my heart, the blood that flows in my veins like the purest honey I will never again taste, whatever do you mean?" There was a look in his eyes, conspiratorial, like he knew what she was talking about but definitely didn't want his daughter to overhear.

Her mother continued. "One of the little stringy ones that the more theologically inclined in our wonderful little hamlet believe are bad luck and so won't purchase. Your father, the joy in my heart that will continue to beat with our love long after I have sunk into my grave, doesn't want me to mention the poor blind fish in question. This is because he intends to slip it to your orphan friend when neither of us are looking." She smiled at Willow, though the venom in the smile was directed at her husband. "The one whom he surely despises more than any mortal tongue could ever hope to convey."

Her father attempted to look injured and betrayed by the woman he loved more than anything in his life, save his daughter, the one true pride in his eyes. He wasn't doing a very good job at it. Willow smiled.

He started to reply before his wife poked him in the stomach before she continued. "An act he most assuredly has not--Silence, you!--An act he most assuredly has not undertaken every time he possibly can. Because he definitely isn't the type of man who'd take pity on someone despite his own sense of pride and desire to marry his daughter off to some ..." She stopped when she saw an uneasy look come over her daughter's face, realizing it was an uncomfortable topic she shouldn't joke about.

Her father helped her mother step off of the makeshift pier, a bit of chivalry that was entirely unnecessary to a woman used to hard days upon the sea, but one that he continued to display. "Oh, how she wounds me! The moon of my life, the very air that I breathe, the ..." He was running out of flowery nonsense. He must really be very tired. "How she wounds me! Come, daughter, let us flee in terror from this sea creature, this horror from the depths masquerading as the beautiful woman I took as my wife so many years ago." He motioned in the direction of their tiny house, one hand making an overly-grand gesture in an attempt to distract from the movement of his other hand. He slipped a small fish--the fourth fish--into a separate pocket in his jacket. He was unsuccessful in the subterfuge, though Willow wondered if he had really meant to hide the motion. She ran towards him and threw her arms around him.

---

Her father had just enough time to make it to one of his buyers before the sun set. Willow smiled when she noticed that one particular pocket on his jacket was now empty. He seemed giddy after making the exchange, and bragged about how his superior economic prowess had earned them more coins than normal. This was after he had decided--entirely due to his own cleverness and definitely not the idea of another--to begin selling his fish by weight rather than by the individual animal. Maybe her father talked to Mongrel a bit more than he let on.

He danced a bit with his wife, humming along to some tune that was just as likely to have been invented by him on the spot than to be something from his home country. Willow's mother moaned "No, no" over and over in an effort to dissuade him. She failed, as she always did, and was soon laughing and placating him by moving around the room with him a few times before shoving him away and tearing the bread she had prepared for dinner into pieces. Willow always got the biggest portion, even though she didn't need it. Her father would always claim to be full even when she could hear his stomach grumbling all night long. It was an unnecessary gesture, but Willow appreciated it nevertheless. She groaned alongside her mother when he threatened to extract a musical instrument he had brought with him to this land as a young man. It was an instrument that neither of the women knew the name of and certainly weren't interested in hearing played very poorly on that night. Her father feigned being insulted at having his musical talents disparaged upon, but thankfully put the horrid device aside. He was content instead to regale them with a story he had told a hundred times before. More than once he threatened to sing, but was shouted down by his wife and child. Her mother could sing. Her father thought he could sing. There was definitely a difference between the two.

Willow loved the odd little man. She loved them both. She had heard stories from the other young people in the village of their fathers being stern, laying a hand on their wives and children when they were angry. She couldn't imagine her father ever doing something remotely as cruel. Times were tough. No, times were horrible. But no trouble would ever darken the inside of these four walls, no matter the state of the world outside of them. Not even ... whatever it was. The event that had happened long ago. Willow dwelt on the unknown event for a moment, and was surprised that instead of a mild headache she felt something more akin to the sound of a large insect buzzing in her mind. That had never happened before. She quickly turned her thoughts back to the present and away from the forgotten horrors of the past. The sound immediately stopped.

"Once, about noon, just as we were hoping to reel in our second catch of the day, a behemoth swallowed the fish! Twice as long as the boat! Three times!"

Willow looked at her mother, who mouthed the word "Half" and made a small gap between her finger and thumb to indicate its size. Willow hid her smile.

"I lifted my spear, handed down to me by my father and to him by his own father and his father's father before him. I then stabbed down deep into the dark sea to drive the fiend away!"

Her mother made a gesture with her hand to show there was as much truth in that part of the tale as there was untruth.

"It threatened to crest the water, but before it could swallow our boat whole, my warrior wife--the cool breeze that blows through my heart on the hottest summer day--bravely joined me in defense of our catch by stunning it with an oar. An oar! My strong, proud wife is as deadly--more deadly--with a paddle than a hundred of the justly renowned warriors of my homeland. This is true!"

Her mother smiled. "Yeah, that part is true, actually." She leaned her head on her odd husband's shoulder.

The man continued embellishing the rather normal occurrences of the day even while his eyes began to droop and he fought off a yawn. Her mother helped him to his feet. "Time for bed, justly renowned warrior from beyond the sea. Dawn will come early and we get to set out on a new odyssey." She turned to Willow. "Are you going to bed, dear?"

Willow nodded. "In a minute. I might stay up for a while longer and listen to the crickets." She had a strange fondness for the sound, and hoped her parents wouldn't notice the lie.

Nevertheless, her mother raised an eyebrow and smirked knowingly. She knew that Willow was likely going to see her friend, and winked at her daughter. "'Crickets.' You must really love the 'crickets.' Just don't stay up too late, okay? We'll need help with the chores tomorrow."

Something about the way she said "love" made Willow blush. When they had gone to their bed in the corner of the room, Willow slipped into the small closet that served as her own bedroom, opening the shutters on the window just wide enough to slip outside into the hot night air. She sat on the soft ground, listening for the arrival of her friend. She really did enjoy the sound the crickets made, but her heart fluttered when she saw Mongrel approach from the darkness. She had been waiting for her, probably having to endure the sound of her father's bullshitting all alone in the dark.

The orphaned girl sat next to her friend. Willow was happy that the smell of fish seemed to hover around her slightly.

They sat in silence for a while, and eventually she felt Mongrel's head on her shoulder. She was afraid she was going to fall asleep before Willow could return to their discussion from earlier.

She cleared her throat. Now or never. "Um, what did you mean earlier? You seemed very interested in whether or not I wanted to be married off to some farmer's oafish spawn."

Mongrel started to move away, but Willow put her hand to the top of her head and drew it back down to her shoulder. She noticed the orphaned girl held her breath for a moment or two.

"I like you," she whispered, quickly adding, "I mean I like sitting by the ocean with you! If you're married off and have to work the fields all day, that would have to stop. Right?"

Willow laughed. "You're just afraid you won't have anyone to play your stupid pick-up-rocks game with, aren't you?"

Mongrel laughed quietly and lightly poked Willow with her elbow. "Why do you always have to bring up the stupid game? I was bored. Fuck you, I live under an awning, what am I supposed to do all day?"

Willow placed her hand on her own knee, nervously fidgeting with her dress. Why was this so difficult? She noticed her friend slowly reaching out with her hand and she silently took it. They sat together for a few more minutes before Mongrel made to pull away, only for Willow to hold her hand tighter. She looked at her friend questioningly as Willow simply said, "I like you, too."

Mongrel smiled. "Because of the amazing games I think up?"

Willow shook her head. "Because I like you." She squeezed her hand tighter.

"Are you ... sure?" She leaned closer.

Willow pretended not to notice how her friend's breath smelled like fish. She nodded. Her heart leapt as she heard the next words out of her friend's mouth.

"I want you."

"What did you say?"

Mongrel started to look away, but Willow placed a hand on her cheek and forced her to look into her eyes again. "I-I said I want you to be happy! With the farmer's son and everything. If that's what you want."

Willow leaned closer. Her lips were almost touching her friend's. She'd never felt more nervous in her life. "That isn't what you said."

"I know."

And then her father burst through the front door. "Get inside." She had never heard him take this tone before. It wasn't his usual mirthful singsong speech. It was a command. "Get inside now."

Willow noticed he was holding something in his hand. It was the ax he used to cut firewood. "We were just--"

"No. Inside." He didn't even seem upset. He was just staring into the darkness, as if he was noticing something neither of the other two could see.

Mongrel stood, reluctantly releasing her grip on Willow's hand. "I guess that means I'll just head on my way th--"

"No," said Willow's father. "You too. Inside."

Willow knew then that something was very wrong. He wasn't upset that he had caught them in the act of ... of holding hands. There was something else. "Daddy, what's going on?"

He glanced at her for the first time since exiting the house. She had never called her father "daddy."

"The dog. The neighbor's dog."

Willow shook her head, not understanding. Their neighbor had a mongrel, an actual mongrel, that was the bane of her father's existence. It was constantly barking. The sound drove him crazy. The thing never stopped.

So why wasn't it barking?

Her father nodded. "Now you understand. Good. Get inside. Your ..." He looked at Mongrel and smiled warmly. Willow was surprised at the expression. "Your ... friend too. No more talking, inside now. I'll be inside in a moment."

Willow took her friend by the hand. Mongrel shook her head slowly. She didn't want to move. It would be the first time she'd been inside Willow's house. It was likely the first time she would have been inside any house.

Willow held her hand tighter and dragged her along. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, her mother's hand was on her back as she welcomed her inside. She looked strangely at Mongrel, seemingly surprised she had been invited along before smiling warmly at her. Just before her mother closed the door, Willow saw her father walking onto their neighbor's lawn. The other man was outside as well, exchanging a greeting with her father. He was holding his own ax in his hand as they both walked towards a makeshift doghouse.

What was going on?

"Mom?"

Her mother held a finger to her lips and pointed toward her bed. Willow climbed atop it and her mother sat next to her. Mongrel looked completely out of place. She started to move towards an open spot on the wall to sit down before her mother shook her head and motioned for her to sit as well. Mongrel sat down between the two other women, seeming like she'd be far more comfortable laying in a ditch somewhere. Her mother pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around the orphaned young woman and began rubbing her cold bare feet through the cloth as if to warm them. Mongrel looked like she was about to cry at the gesture.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours. Occasionally the sound of her father's voice echoed reassuringly across the lawn. The neighbor's voice would echo in response. Eventually she heard the voice of a few other men speaking as they too arrived. After another hour, she heard the sound of her father saying something silly followed by the nervous laughter of a few of the other men. This should have calmed Willow, but it had the exact opposite effect.

It wasn't long until the trio heard heavy steps outside the door and her father slipped inside, closing the door slowly. He lingered at the crack in the door for a moment before shutting it, staring at nothing in particular for a moment before turning around with a smile.

"Everything okay! Just me being goofy. Neighbor's dog ran away." His voice tried to change to a happier tone, but there was something ominous lingering just beneath his words. "Time for happiness! My old archenemy is gone at last! Love of my entire world, we should break out the whiskey in celebration, but since we have none I think we should all settle for the next best thing. Sleep, yes? Everyone get some sleep now."

Willow and Mongrel looked at each other. Nothing about this made sense. Finally the orphan rose. "I guess, um ... I should get going."

"No getting of going," her father responded. "You stay here tonight."

"W-What?" both young women asked.

"Sahrman? Are you sure?" Her mother slowly rose to her feet. This almost seemed like a conversation they had had before.

Her father nodded. "Always should have. Past time. The gods smile on those that take care of their lost children, yes?" He placed a hand on his heart, suddenly filled with faux outrage. "You should be ashamed, my wife, the night sky that envelops my soul as it does the stars that pale in comparison to her beauty! How could you ever suggest that my beautiful daughter's friend not stay inside where it is warm and safe!"

Her mother made a noise that indicated that perhaps she wasn't the one that had ever stood against such an arrangement. "Of course, my husband, dearest lion that ... light that ... Of course, my husband. Of course she can stay."

He nodded. "Always should have," he repeated as if to himself. "Past time."

Willow was overjoyed. Mongrel looked as if she was facing her own execution.

"Um, she can sleep in my bed?"

Mongrel turned to look at her friend as if she was speaking in some foreign language she could only barely recognize. "What?"

Willow looked away shyly. "There's room," she whispered. Her mother smiled at the pair of them.

"No sleeping in your bed," her father replied.

"But--" started Willow.

"I can sleep on the floor! I-It's okay, I'm used to it! I just ... Thanks, sir." She nodded to Willow's mother as well. "Ma'am. I just wasn't expecting to be able to ever hear anyone say I could stay in their home. Thank you."

Her father shook his head again. "No sleeping on floor." He pointed to the bed his wife and he slept on. "Sleep there tonight. All in same room."

Willow's mother looked at her. She was as confused as any of them.

"Everyone sleep here in same room. I went to bed too early, think I'll stay up a while yet. Watch the sunrise! Such a thing is good for the soul." He took a seat at their table, though he turned the chair so that he could face the door. When he was situated he nodded to the bed. "No more talking. Beauty rest for my girls, yes?" He paused before he added, "All three of them."

Willow was slightly confused at the last thing her father had said, but she pulled her friend back to the bed and slipped under the blanket. Her mother hesitated but lay down next to her daughter. There was barely enough room, but despite the alarm that had sprang out of nowhere on this night, Willow couldn't remember ever feeling more happy.

As she drifted off, she noticed one more strange thing before sleep took her:

Her father was still holding his ax.

---

Dawn came too early. For the first several moments, Willow wasn't sure where she was. She was so used to waking up in her tiny closet, just barely big enough for her small bed. What's more, there was a pleasantly warm feeling on her chest and thighs and her arm was wrapped around something warm and familiar. When she finally opened her eyes she saw the matted dirty black hair of her best friend. She smiled and snuggled closer, happy to stay a moment longer in the wonderful sensation of being half awake curled up to someone one cares about. Her hair smelled like dirt and sweat and was probably riddled with tiny crawling things Willow would rather not think about, but for the moment she didn't mind.

Mongrel whined, shifting her hips a bit closer while still asleep. Willow realized her friend had likely never slept as well in her life, and it was this sad thought that dragged her fully back into consciousness. She rolled over, her confusion at her sleeping arrangements vanishing as she remembered the events of the previous night. Her parents were not present; they had likely already left for the sea. Which meant she was alone in bed with someone she suspected was more than just her friend.

Willow pulled the blanket off of her and rolled out of bed. This time Mongrel didn't shift in her sleep. Willow scratched her neck absentmindedly as she stood, before tucking the blanket around her friend. Let her sleep, Willow thought. Let her sleep as long as she'd like. She found two pieces of bread laying on the table, but decided to leave them both for her friend. She wasn't hungry anyway. Something about last night's events was still bothering her.

She squinted her eyes as she pushed the front door open and was slightly startled to find her mother standing outside. What's more, her father was standing in their small boat but was making no move to disembark. This was odd. Willow had never known a day where she hadn't either woken up after her parents had already left or had been there to wish them well as they drifted out to sea.

"Why aren't you on the ocean already? It's gotta be hours past dawn."

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and motioned for her to take a seat on the rickety bench that her father had built himself. So far it had not collapsed and toppled the entire house along with it. "Your father is taking a break today. We've enough food to take a holiday. And he has a few things he wants to show you. The both of you." She nodded towards the house.

"Mom." Willow hesitated. Something about what her father had said last night was still sitting oddly with her. "What Father said? About his 'three girls?' Did he mean that ... Mongrel is ..."

Her mother was laughing before she could finish the question. "I was wondering if you'd ask that. No, the poor girl isn't the love-child of your goofy ass of a father. The man is hard to deal with some days, but he's loyal to his wife. He'd never dream of having an affair. Also he'd have an easier time wooing one of his fish than convincing someone other than me to sleep with him. Who'd want him anyway? Just me. The first time he was inside of me I couldn't help but laugh when he started in with his 'moon of my heart' nonsense."

Willow recoiled as if she had been slapped. "Mother! That's not something I ever want to hear details about! Ever. Never. I'm using the word 'never' here. I think it's important we agree upon the meaning of that word."

She laughed. "No, he meant what it sounded like he meant. He's wanted to keep her away from you for so long, but he changed his mind yesterday when he saw her eyes and the way she looked at you. We've ..." She hesitated. "We've known you would never be interested in any of the men in the village since before you did. Maybe you haven't even figured that part out yet."

Willow blushed. Meeting her mother's eyes at that moment was an impossibility. "Is that ... okay?"

Her mother sighed. "Of course it is, but ... it also ... depends on who you ask. There's nothing wrong with it. It's how the gods made you ... but ... My love, these are difficult times. After ..." She rubbed her temples. A small headache was forming in the back of Willow's mind at even her mother's thinking about whatever event had caused the world to be like this. "They're difficult times. These days people marry out of necessity more than anything else. There are fewer and fewer children being born, and those that do usually don't see their first new moon. Your father was hoping that he could marry you into a good family, one better off than we are." She paused a moment before sadly adding, "Which is more than half of them, really."

"But ... What if I don't want that? I mean ... I don't want that."

Her mother placed her hand on her daughter's. "My love, we want what's best for you. Love is a wonderful thing, the best feeling in the world, but it fades quickly when your belly has been empty for a few days. And the poor girl is seen in the village as a sign of ill omen. No one really knows who her parents are, but a group of bandits dropped her off here and she's been another mouth to feed for families that already can't feed their own children. You being around her lessened the chances that one of the wealthier families would be interested in you, even with you being the prettiest girl in the village. You certainly take after your mother in that regard." Here she waved innocently at her husband, who in response made a grand gesture of adoration like he was receiving her love from across the distance, catching it in his breast as he sang off tune.

"But I don't want that," Willow whispered again.

"We know. We should've--he should've--seen that before now. I've tried to tell him a hundred times." She sighed. "But none of that matters now. Your friend can stay here as long as she likes. Which I imagine means forever."

Willow should have been happy, but one concern kept nagging at her. "Does that mean there will be strife between us and the other families? The neighbor with the dog, wasn't his son going to ..."

"The neighbor with the dog is a fool, and his son has boils on his face. He hardly matters, nor does the opinion of the other families."

"But won't that ... won't that hurt Father's business? Will people not want to buy fish from us?"

Her mother shrugged as if it was hardly a concern.

"But that's his job. It's how he feeds us."

"Your father's job--our job--is not to catch fish." She pulled her daughter closer, and Willow lay her head on her mother's lap as she used to when she was a child. "Our job is to make your life the happiest it can be."

The front door creaked slowly as Mongrel stepped outside, pushing sleep from her eyes. When she focused on Willow and her mother she shifted awkwardly. "Thanks for letting me stay the night. I guess I should get going."

Her mother nodded. "Yes, you should. To the boat."

Willow sat up, looking at her mother in confusion.

She smiled. "Both of you. It seems as good a time as any for you two to learn the family business, given recent ..." She glanced at Mongrel. "Given recent changes in plans for the future. The boat's not big enough for three, let alone four, so we'll have to take it in turns for a while. Both of you, please try not to push my husband into the ocean when he's explaining how to throw a gods-damned net into the water for the seventh time. Although it's certainly understandable if you really must. For me, the hardest part of learning how to fish was not hitting the man with an oar. Unintentionally or otherwise."

Willow's mother rose to her feet and walked to Mongrel, observing her up close for the first time. "Though there's a bath in your future before that, young lady. And probably shaving this first." Here she ruffled the orphan girl's hair.

Mongrel looked afraid. "Thanks, but ... you really don't have to, Mrs. ..." She stopped. She wasn't sure what the woman's last name was. Neither was Willow, for that matter.

"My given name was Zipporah. My friends used to call me 'Zip.' I hate that name and you should in no way ever call me that."

The young woman giggled.

"I much prefer being called 'Mother' these days." She smiled. "Or 'Mom.' You can use that then. I have a feeling that you'd call me that eventually anyway."

Willow had never loved her mother more than in that moment.

Her mother cleared her throat. "Now then. I'll take care of your clothes. They probably have never known the touch of soap and water. You can borrow some of Willow's in the meantime. They'll be a little big for you, but I think we kept some from when she was younger that should fit."

An off-tune song sung through a nasally voice heralded the arrival of her father. "Good morning, ladies. Sleep was had? Breakfast was eaten?"

Mongrel looked guilty. Willow supposed she had eaten both of the pieces of bread. She didn't blame her.

"This is a grand day the gods have given us! Every day is, but this one in particular. Today ..." He slammed the end of his oar into the ground to put importance on what he would say next. "Today you learn to fish! Willow, you can help my shaky old hands tie the knots and ..." He started to address Mongrel, but hesitated. He turned to his wife. "Light of my life, the very mountains and valleys to whom the sun worships every day and every night, what do we call our new arrival?"

Mongrel looked away. "You know what they call me."

"No," answered Willow's father. "'Mongrel' is a name for a dog. 'Mongrel' is not the name for a pretty girl. Wife of mine?"

Willow's mother touched Mongrel's cheek, gently forcing her to look her in the eyes. "We named Willow after a beautiful tree, one that doesn't exist anymore. But my first daughter was going to be named Tamra before the gods called her away the night she was born. It was my favorite teacher's name. I've always liked the name. Do you?"

Mongrel shrugged. It probably wasn't the response her mother was hoping for, but she didn't seem bothered. Mongrel glanced at Willow, who remembered what her friend said yesterday: "I like hearing you say my name."

"We can figure that out later," her father offered. He was glancing in the direction of their neighbor's house. Willow had just noticed he was standing outside and staring at them. Was this about the commotion last night or something else? "You're a sailor now, so I'll call you my second mate! Willow gets to be first mate. Sorry, but there is seniority to consider with these sorts of things. Give me just a moment, ladies." Here he waved to the neighbor and walked in his direction. Her mother took the opportunity to usher Mongrel inside for a bath.

Willow remained outside, watching as her father spoke to the man. She couldn't overhear her conversation, but she could guess how it was going when their neighbor's voice became louder. He was cursing now and looking in the direction of the spot where Mongrel had last stood. She had a feeling she knew what they were talking about now.

---

Willow proved a quick study in her education of tying knots, although her friend was much better at it. It took a few hours before they got the hang of it. The hardest part was learning which knot was to be used for which purpose and when it was better to use than the others and when it wasn't. It was growing hotter as midday approached, and her father suggested they retire for a break before starting the lessons again when it was cooler. He said that perhaps he'd play his horrid little instrument for a while. Mongrel was excited at the prospect, but her joy was tempered when Willow shook her head at her in discouragement. The poor girl would soon be missing her bed under the collapsed awning soon enough.

They rested in the shade of the porch for a while, and soon Willow's mother brought out a plate of baked squash and a few strips of breaded fish. It was a meal Willow was very familiar with and had grown tired of over the years, but she was happy when she saw Mongrel devour it as if it were a meal fit for a queen. Not that there were queens anymore.

Her father again threatened to subject them to the torture of his lack of musical talent, but eventually wandered away to speak again with the neighbor. The man seemed more relaxed now, and Willow suspected they weren't talking about her any longer. The only words she could make out were "dog" and "ripped apart". Willow and Mongrel exchanged a glance. She had heard it too.

The rest of their education took place inside, where Willow's mother showed them drawings of various fish she had made years ago. Willow had no idea her mother knew how to draw. Paper and charcoal were luxuries unheard of these days, so these must have been made long ago. She pointed out which fish were good for eating--and selling--and which should be discarded immediately. Near the bottom of the page were illustrations of fish with ugly growths on their heads. Her mother pointed out that these should almost always be thrown away, even if it was a fish they'd normally keep. The gods saw fit to make more and more of these now, and sometimes people would grow sick after eating them. During the entire lesson her father kept glancing at his ax.

Dinner was more of the same, much to Mongrel's joy. Willow gave her portion to the girl under the table as if she were a dog, more out of habit than necessity. Her mother had been content to trim her friend's hair rather than shave it. Willow thought that longer hair suited her friend better, but certainly understood the need to make it more hygienic. Her mother had been happily surprised that there weren't as many crawling things in the hair to contend with as she had feared. Willow's old clothing looked ridiculous on the poor girl, though she didn't seem to mind. She kept tugging at it as if she wasn't comfortable wearing it, but also seemed to cherish it like she had been given some sort of priceless treasure. She was likely in amazement that for the first time she now had choices in what clothing she could wear. She said that she felt strange about being clean for once, although she seemed happier when Willow told her it made her look very nice.

When it was time for bed, Willow and her friend both looked at each other uncomfortably. Her father initially wanted to keep them all in the same room again, but he was obviously exhausted after sitting awake throughout the previous night. After a nod from his wife he motioned towards the small closet that served as Willow's bedroom. "It's comfier, I think, than that lumpy bed my beloved wife and I sleep on. Still, straight to sleep, girls. Tomorrow morning we get to learn which of you can keep their breakfast down when they're bobbing on the sea."

Mongrel followed Willow into her room, looking away shyly when Willow disrobed to step into her nightgown. She did so more slowly than she normally would and couldn't help but smile when she saw the girl's eyes linger on her bare ass. Willow lay down first, and motioned for her friend to join her. Mongrel stared at the ceiling, anything to keep from making eye contact. Willow lay on her side, facing her friend and smiling.

"Is this okay?" she asked. Mongrel nodded. "I mean, not just the bed and everything, but staying here?"

The orphaned girl cleared her throat. "It's ... It's weird."

"Sometimes weird is good."

Mongrel nodded. "This is one of those times I think."

Willow smiled. "Good. How are you feeling?"

Mongrel made a strange noise, half a sigh, half a whine. "I keep expecting to be asked to leave. Or to wake up."

Willow took her friend's hand and tugged her softly until they were facing each other.

"Um, what we talked about before?" Mongrel paused, probably hoping her friend would finish the thought without her having to vocalize it. When she didn't, she was forced to continue, "Last night, I mean. Do you ... feel that way about me?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, Mongrel. I do. Do you?"

Mongrel nodded. "So ... what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." Willow smiled. "But I look forward to finding out."

"Tomorrow, after we get back home ..." Mongrel paused, the word "home" sounding so strange coming from her lips. "Maybe we could take a walk? Just the two of us? And talk?"

Willow tightened her grip on her friend's hand. "I'd like that very much."

Mongrel smiled. Her crooked teeth seemed adorable to Willow. "Good."

Her father's voice echoed through the thin door, much closer than it needed to be. "Sleep now, ladies, yes? Tomorrow, adventure on the high seas!" Willow heard her mother say something, and her father exclaimed "Three!" as he walked away. "Three! There are three tormentors in my life now! Three!"

The two young women giggled, pressed their foreheads together, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

---

It was dawn when Willow was startled awake by the sound of frantic pounding upon her door. Again she was confused about waking up in an unfamiliar situation, but was happy when she saw Mongrel's brown eyes staring into hers with a similar expression of confusion as she too was suddenly forced awake. Willow smiled and blushed as she noticed they were still holding each other's hands, and that Mongrel's leg was draped over hers.

The pounding continued, louder now than before. "We're up!" cried Willow. "We're up, we're up! For the gods' sake, the sea isn't going anywhere!"

The door was flung open so quickly it bounced off the small bed before being wrenched open again. Willow expected her father to be on the other side, though she supposed he would have woken the pair by singing some tune he had made up on the spot. Instead, it was her mother, and the look of alarm in her eyes was unlike anything Willow had ever seen.

"Girls, get up. Now!" She was actually tugging on Mongrel's arm, urging them to get out of bed. Was there a storm coming? A fire? "Something is wrong. Your father's gone."

Willow was getting scared. "What? Where? Gone where?"

"I don't know, he just suddenly took his ax and went towards the neighbor's house while he thought I was still asleep. Something is very wrong."

The pair exchanged a look. Mongrel moved towards the door as Willow slipped on her tattered shoes. They didn't have anything that fit Mongrel's smaller feet, but she doubted her friend cared. She'd never had a pair of shoes of her own anyway. "I'll go look," she said. She was used to snooping around the village to stay abreast of its events.

"No you won't," ordered her mother. "I will. I want you both to run towards the boat and shove off a bit. Stay where you can see the shore, but don't come closer until one of us calls for you. Willow, you can manage that, right? Just paddle out a ways and throw the anchor, but be ready to pull it up again."

Willow nodded. What in the hells was going on?

"Shit," her mother suddenly exclaimed. "The knots. I'm the only one that can undo your father's silly knots. Wait here, I'll go get the boat ready. Do not leave the house, do you understand?"

The pair nodded. Willow's mother hugged her, then hesitated for just a moment before hugging Mongrel as well. Then she was gone and racing towards the shore, slamming the door shut behind her.

Willow stared at her friend before asking her, "What's happening?" as if the other young woman had magically come into some revelation of their present condition. Mongrel shook her head, her mouth agape, lip trembling in uncertainty, then looked out the door in the direction of the neighbor's house.

A few moments passed before they heard the sound of a man screaming. Willow was sure it wasn't her father's voice, though she still screamed "Dad!" before she pushed her friend aside, raced out the door, and began running across the lawn in the direction of the neighbor's house.

Her friend's voice called out to her as she ran, yelling that they were supposed to stay inside. Willow continued running. She was fairly sure the sound had come from their neighbor's small barn. The door was open, which in itself was unusual. She had never known it to not be locked.

Willow slowly pushed the door open, the creak of the large door sounding like some small animal being strangled to death. The interior of the barn was dark and Willow had to push the door open further to let the light inside. Mongrel caught up with her, putting her hand on Willow's shoulder as they both saw what was laying on the floor.

Willow only beheld it for a moment before her friend pulled her away, forcing her head to her shoulder with her small but strong hands. "Don't look! Don't look!"

It was a carcass, torn to shreds, its organs leaking their fluids into the brown dirt floor. Willow was confused at what she was seeing until she realized it had to be the remains of the poor dog that had been killed two days ago. "It's the dog! Mongrel, it's the fucking dog! It's okay!" It was a horrible site, but why was her friend acting like it was something Willow in particular shouldn't see?

And why hadn't they buried the body by now?

And why was it wearing clothes?

Mongrel was trying to pull the door closed with one hand while tugging at her friend with the other. "Come on. Come away. Let's get to the boat. Let's just get to the boat."

Why was it wearing clothes?

Willow shoved her friend away hard, and ran inside the dimly lit barn to stare again at the lifeless mass of flesh and gore, bone and sinew, piss and shit that had sung her a song every day since she was a little girl.

Why was it wearing clothes?

Because it wasn't the dog.

"No. No no no." Willow wasn't crying. She couldn't. Because it wasn't her father. There was no way it was. It wasn't possible.

"Willow, please! Let's go to the boat! We need to get to the boat!" Willow must have pushed her friend harder than she meant to, because the girl was just now getting back on her feet. "Please, we aren't safe here! We need to go!"

There was a bit of hair. Blond hair, the same hair her father would run his fingers through when he tried to look handsome in front of her mother, grinning his goofy smile as he talked about how she was the joy of his life. One of his eyes was closed, but the other stared unblinking and frightened in her direction from where it lay inside a bit of leaking pink flesh. It couldn't blink now. It didn't have an eyelid. The jaw had been ripped off on one side. One arm lay outstretched, palm up as if waiting for his beloved daughter to take his hand so he could lead her to their tiny boat the way he had when she was a small child. The other arm was nowhere to be found. There were broken ribs poking through his shirt. A pair of shredded trousers. And yet, oddly enough, it was her father's shoes that finally put aside all doubt as to what she was looking at.

Willow could only scream. Gradually she was able to babble incoherently, the words "no" and "gods" repeating themselves over and over between every other breath. Then it was back to screaming. Mongrel was shaking her now.

"Willow, we have to make sure your mother is okay!"

That thought finally seemed to bring Willow back to her senses enough so that she was able to weakly nod, turning away, praying that what she was looking at was part of a horrible nightmare. Her face felt cold and she was only able to take a single step before she was on her hands and knees, vomiting bits of fish, bread, and squash on the ground. When her throat was clear she whispered, "I'm sorry," though she wasn't sure who she was apologizing to. Quietly, her voice distant, she whispered, "My mother made that for me. I shouldn't have spit it up. I'm sorry."

Mongrel began forcing her to her feet, dragging her away from the horrible sight. "Come on!" Willow glanced back towards the barn for a moment, nearly stumbling as her friend pulled her away. The wind on her face made her feel a little better after voiding her stomach. She continued following when her friend let go of her hand.

A crowd was forming now. Men, women, children. Some of them had axes in their hands; one had a makeshift club that was probably part of an old bedpost. Most had nothing other than the expression of alarm on their face. There was someone standing at the back of the crowd, much taller than the rest, their face hidden by long, shaggy hair. Willow didn't have time to dwell on who this stranger may be. As they neared the shore, screams were heard from more than a few voices as they investigated the barn, the townsfolk slowly realizing the severity of the situation.

Tears were finally falling from Willow's eyes as she saw her mother. She thanked the gods that she was okay. She was walking towards them, her steps becoming unsure as she beheld the look on her daughter's face. Willow embraced her mother, slamming into her so hard to almost send them both toppling. "Mama. Mama, oh gods no. Mama."

Her mother wrapped her arms around her. Willow felt like a child again, her mother soothing her after she had awoken from a nightmare. She hoped that would be the case soon enough. "Willow? My love, what's happened? Where's your father?" She looked to Mongrel for an answer when one wasn't presented by her daughter, but the orphaned girl could only shake her head. "Willow? Willow, answer me! Where's your father?!"

Willow finally released her mother, looking into her eyes, her lips trembling. "Daddy's--"

"In the barn. In pieces. Over there."

The voice didn't come from Willow. Or Mongrel. Or any creature seemingly born of this world. The gods had nothing to do with whatever owned that voice. It was cold, gravelly, wild, but more than anything it was the sheer apathy in it that frightened Willow. It was relaying information to a wife about her husband's murder like it was discussing the weather or the yield of corn this season.

"Daddy won't be home for dinner."

The woman was massive. She would've towered over the largest person Willow had ever seen by a head, standing seven feet tall at the least. Her hair was shaggy and brown and hung down past her waist. Dirt clung to her body. She had likely been living in the wilds for some time now. Her eyes were a warm shade of brown, almost friendly if it weren't for the circumstances. Her clothing was a plain brown shirt and breeches that one would find in any peasant's closet. She wore no shoes, her nails long, dirty, almost pointy. If it weren't for the size of the woman and her horrible voice, Willow wouldn't have thought she was anything other than a villager she'd never noticed, or perhaps a beggar looking for a meal. The only other odd thing was the thick brown hair on the back of her arms and on what part of her legs Willow could see.

No, there was one other thing. Her hand. One hand seemed normal, although again its nails were longer than anyone who worked in the fields all day would ever possess. They were dripping a reddish black liquid that Willow hadn't yet processed the origin of. But her other hand ...

Her other hand was solid black, like it had been dipped in tar, though it appeared very dry. Stranger than this, as several lines of blood slid down her arm, they disappeared as they reached her blackened wrist, not soaking into her skin but simply fading away as if the blood were afraid to touch the hand.

"Willow," her mother whispered. "Tamra. Get to the boat. Now." Willow was confused about the second name, but her mother had evidently decided on Mongrel's new name after all.

The strange woman looked away, staring into the sky for a moment. "This is the one?" she asked no one. Her eyes slowly turned in Willow's direction, although her face was still turned away. It made her look eerie. Crazed. Insane. "Are you sure?"

"Girls." Her mother's voice was stern. "The boat. Now."

Willow and Mongrel took a few steps backwards before a foolish determination entered Willow's mind. "No. I'm not leaving you."

The strange woman giggled. "Aw, she's so sweet! You must be very proud, mommy." Again she looked into the air, as if speaking to the gods. "Why do you need this one? Doesn't seem like much. Not that it matters to me, I guess. You do remember--" She laughed. "You do remember what happened last time, right? I seem to recall she didn't work out so well for you either."

Willow only then noticed her mother was holding a knife.

The stranger had noticed it as well. "No no no, mommy. Let's be reasonable. Let's be smart. You're still young. You can have another one. I only need one." She looked away. "That's right, isn't it?" she asked herself. "Just the one?" She glanced dismissively in Mongrel's direction. The horrible woman took a single step before something unexpected happened. A shovel connected with the back of her skull, though she barely seemed bothered. Willow hadn't even seen anyone else approaching, but now noticed that a few of the other villagers had arrived.

Willow was confused for a moment before she recognized the face of the neighbor's son, boils and all, as he brought the shovel overhead again for another swing. "You aren't welcome here!" he warned. "Get the fuck out of our--"

And then his head no longer existed. The young man's face seemed to have imploded. The stranger didn't seem to have struck him, nor move at all. But she must have. Bits of brain and bone were now dripping from the woman's arm, the gore again vanishing before it touched the skin of her blackened hand. How had she moved so quickly?

The boy's father was screaming incoherently as he leapt into the air, intending to drive the pointed end of his two-pronged pitchfork into the madwoman's chest. He fell to the ground in two pieces, his belly separate from his waist. He seemed to still be alive for just a moment, his eyes focusing on Willow's in a way she'd never forget before the light left them a second later.

"Every fucking time," the woman whispered. "Every fucking time. Why can't you ever make these things easy?"

Her mother turned away for just a moment to look at her daughter, a word on her lips. Willow would never learn what the word was supposed to be. "Boat" or "run" or "now," probably. Willow would wonder which word it would have been many times in the nights to come before she would drift into a troubled sleep.

The woman's movements were slower this time, more deliberate as she sliced her mother's throat with her long nails. She used her normal hand this time, the one that still dripped with her father's blood as well.

"This will be easier without you in the way, mommy."

Willow shrieked and fell to her mother's side as she clawed at her throat, reaching for her daughter as if begging for help as her lungs were filled with her own blood.

"Shut up!" the monster hissed into the air. "I know what I'm doing! Not like you care anyway."

Willow sobbed and held her mother as she was dying. This couldn't be happening. Half an hour ago she was warm and safe in her bed holding the hand of someone she loved. She was happy. This couldn't be happening.

Mongrel was tugging at her shoulder again. "The boat's free, we have to go, we have to go, we have to go!" She was glancing between the murderer and the crowd, although the latter was slowly dispersing as they decided that protecting their own children was more important than trying to help the daughter of the strange family that lived by the sea. Mongrel was sobbing as well now. "The boat, we have to go, the boat!"

"No thanks," answered the monster as if she were talking to her, although it was hard to tell who she was addressing as that seemed to change from moment to moment. "I get seasick easily." Willow's mother was no longer breathing. One last red bubble formed and spread across her lips and then she was gone. The stranger was leaning forward, moving to grab Willow's blonde hair in her bloody fingers.

Mongrel screamed and suddenly Willow's mother's knife was in her hands and was soon buried in the cheek of the murderer. The madwoman instinctively recoiled from the pain, inadvertently causing the sharpened blade to slice completely through her cheek. The stringy flesh hung in tatters, blood pouring from the creature's exposed gums, her teeth gnashing in fury. The woman snarled as she tore the strip of flesh from her own face as if it merely annoyed her, leaving half her teeth exposed to the open air. "Ow."

She moved again, far too fast to see. She was suddenly holding Mongrel by the neck with one hand, dangling her a few feet in the air as she kicked uselessly. "You're sure that this one isn't the one?" Blood was pouring from her mouth. "She seems to have more spirit."

"No!" Willow screamed. She couldn't lose anyone else today.

"Shush. It'll all be over soon." She was looking at Willow, though she nodded at the young woman she was holding in her hand. "You must really like this one. She's very loyal. Such a good pup." The last word caused the woman to pause. She blinked a few times and almost seemed sad for a moment before her eyes fixed on Mongrel again. "Okay. Sure. Whatever."

The muscles in the woman's arm were tightening, but it didn't seem like she was squeezing her friend's throat. Rather they seemed to be swelling. The thick brown hairs on the back of her arm seemed to be lengthening. Her other hand, the eerie dark one, flexed as her nails began to grow longer, piercing the ends of her fingers as they shifted into claws. Through the ruins of the stranger's mouth Willow could see her dirty yellow teeth were sharpening, her canines outpacing the others as she opened her mouth slightly, drool and blood dripping onto her shirt. Her warm brown eyes had turned a shade of yellow and seemed to glow even in the morning light.

"I like this one," the creature whispered as she looked into Mongrel's eyes, her long tongue licking the blood away from her mouth. "Shame."

There was a crack and then Mongrel's legs stopped kicking. Willow could only stare. She had no more tears. She felt suddenly distant, as if she wasn't even there.

"What?!" The monster looked this way and that into the sky. "Why?!" She paused, listening to whatever demons were whispering to her in the recesses of her insane mind. "You're going to have to explain this one." She took a few steps, then hurled Mongrel's body thirty feet away into the sea as if she were a doll. Willow couldn't move. She kept telling herself this was a dream. She wasn't there. She wasn't there.

The stranger leaned over her, her shirt splitting at the sleeves as her arms were suddenly filled with corded muscle. "I usually remember to take my clothes off before this happens. Not like there's a tailor on every corner these days. You can appreciate how annoying that can be, right?" She began to wipe her bloody hand on Willow's shirt as if it were a towel. "Thanks."

The creature stepped back for a moment, regarding Willow as if she was just noticing her. "Yeah. I guess you're right. What do I do now? Oh. Right." She leaned over Willow again, and poked her lightly on the tip of her nose with a still-bloody claw. "Run. Now. I usually don't have to tell people that." She twisted her neck unnaturally as her back cracked, her mouth starting to slide forward into a snout one would find on an animal. Perhaps a demon. Willow watched with a sickening fascination as the skin on the ruin of her face started to regrow. When she could focus on Willow again, she said simply, "Run, little girl. Run or I'll eat you like I did your father's trachea. Run--"

'Away.'

Willow did. Or rather she stumbled, numb and cold towards her house. She didn't even look at the creature as she shut the door, the smell of her mother's cooking from the night before still lingering in the room. As she stared at the back of the closed door, one thought stood out above all others.

The stranger hadn't said the last word. "Away." It hadn't come from her. It had come from nowhere. And from everywhere.

---

Willow felt as cold and tired as she did at the end of that terrible day as she finished the story. She'd thought about the scene every day since it had happened, but she had never actually recalled the events of that day out loud before. She hadn't ever needed to.

The monster sat on the floor. It also appeared to have run out of tears, its mismatched eyes staring at Willow from the darkness. The sun was just beginning to peak over the trees, and Willow was now able to make out more of the thing's features. Its fur was just as she'd remembered from later that day, matted and different shades of brown, black, blond, and gray. It was less frightening in the gloomy daylight, just as anything frightening usually was. Everything else was as one would expect. Claws, teeth, pointy ears, tail. Willow was surprised to find multiple sets of breasts running down her torso, but the thing was an animal after all.

Willow was silent for a moment as if waiting for a response from the animal before her. When none was offered she finally asked, "Don't the monsters turn back during the daylight? It's that way in all the old stories."

The creature was motionless, its eyes focused on nothing but the past, but finally it shook its shaggy head. "No. Doesn't work ... like that. Besides ..." It looked at Willow with sad eyes. For a second she thought she heard it whine like a dog. "I don't want you to see me like that."

"I already have. You're smaller than I remember."

"I always was," the creature whispered.

Willow was confused. She noticed something strange about the creature, aside from the obvious. It took a moment, but she finally realized the thing's fur pattern was the same on both of its hands, a mixture of different colors. "Your hand."

The creature looked at its paws, turning them palm up as if they were strange things she'd never noticed before. "What about it?"

"Why isn't it solid black?"

"It never has been," answered the monster.

Willow suddenly screamed in frustration, stood, and kicked the fireplace hard enough that she hoped she hadn't broken a toe. "You fucking ... You aren't ..." She faced the monster. "You aren't the one. Are you?"

It shook its head again. "No."

"But you seem to know me. How?"

It looked away. "I've known you for a long time, Willow."

Willow paused. She hadn't told the creature her name. "Who the fuck are you? Were you ... Were you there? That day?"

The creature nodded. It seemed like it couldn't look her in the eye, its ears drooping and its tail tucked between its legs.

"What, in the trees or something? Watching your friend tear my family apart?"

"I was closer than that, Willow."

"Stop saying my FUCKING name!" Willow sank to her knees, picking up her knife as an impossible thought suddenly invaded her mind. "No. Fuck you. No."

The monster nodded again. When it finally looked at her, its eyes were no longer yellow and orange. They were a friendly shade of brown that Willow was once very familiar with, although specks of yellow and orange still remained.

"No." Willow fell on her ass as if she had been struck. "No no no. How? Bullshit. No."

"Give me a moment," the creature implored. It crawled onto its hands and knees, seemingly bracing for something. "It's easier to talk when I'm the other way."

Willow wasn't sure what the creature meant at first until she noticed it was shrinking. Its muzzle was receding, its massive frame dwindling slowly, its claws shrinking back into its long fingers. Its face was still that of a monster as it looked at her, but human features were slowly being recognizable. Four sets of large breasts were sinking into its chest, its fur thinning until bits of pale skin could be seen here and there under the matted fur. Its teeth were shrinking as well, and she noticed for the first time that they were crooked, just like--

Willow found she wasn't as bereft of tears as she had believed. She started to reach out to the creature kneeling before her, its tail shrinking away, its legs slowly shifting so that it could walk more comfortably on flat feet. It flexed its tongue a few times, probably testing whether or not it was now capable of more easily forming words.

"I guess it's my turn now." It cleared its throat, wiping a string of drool on the back of its still hairy arm.

No, Willow thought. On the back of her arm.

---

Mongrel was already several feet underwater now, though still close enough to the surface that the swell of the waves caused her horrible pain in her shattered neck as she was tossed this way and that. It was the only pain she felt. That was merciful, she supposed. She had never been a good swimmer, but she would certainly have tried to make it back to the surface and help her friend, if only she could move her arms.

Or her legs. Or anything. Her eyes seemed to be the only part of her body she had control over, for all the good they did. Saltwater stung them as she forced them open. It was growing dark, either because she was sinking further away from the sun or because she was preparing to cross over into whatever cruel new world awaited her after this one. She wished she had been facing upward. It would be nice to see the sunlight glittering through the waves before the darkness took her. Gradually the pain in her neck seemed to fade away, as did the burning sensation in her lungs as the last breath she would ever take fought to escape. It wasn't so bad, really. It wasn't so bad.

The one thing that still worried her, even at the very end, was whether her friend was safe, or whether she was already dead. Maybe Mongrel would see her on the other side. That would be nice. She loved her. She was sorry she'd never got the chance to tell her that, but she was sure Willow knew it and felt the same way. Most people these days don't get to know what love is like. Willow's parents almost certainly had. Perhaps a few others in the village, if they were lucky. But she'd gotten to hold the person she loved during their last night together, and that was a comforting thought as she started to die.

Please be okay, she thought. I love you, and please be okay. I'd do anything to protect you, to hold you, to grow old with you. I'd give anything to make the monster go away.

Would you? The words popped into her head forcefully, her subconscious perhaps seeking to make her doubt her own words. What if you could stop her? What if you could save your friend?

Of course I would, she answered herself. I'd just be killed all over again, but I'd try. Maybe hold the creature or monster or whatever it is off long enough for Willow to escape.

But would you want to stop her? If you could? Do you want to stop her?

Where were these thoughts coming from? She'd talked to herself before, sometimes even argued with herself. It was something to keep her mind occupied with while she shivered and cried herself to sleep. She supposed everyone talked to themselves at some point or another. But this wasn't like that. It was like there was someone else with her in the darkness, in the cold, in death.

'I won't ask again,' the voice warned. Its tone was calm but impatient, like an adult trying to talk to a distracted child. 'Do you want to be able to stop her?'

Mongrel realized there was something else with her, within her own mind. It wasn't her subconscious speaking hypotheticals as the world slowly faded away. Something was asking her if she wanted another chance to fight back against her own murderer.

Yes, she told the voice. Whatever you are, yes, I want that. I don't care if you're the voice of one of the gods, or some demon or spirit or djinn. I don't care if it costs my soul. I want to tear the bitch apart.

'Good,' the voice answered. 'Now swim.'

Mongrel's eyes were clear now, and the breath burning in her lungs drove her to kick her legs and frantically swim towards the surface even before she realized she could move again. As she did, she noticed she was surrounded by a sea of fish, more of them than she could ever believe existed in the whole world. There must have been hundreds, thousands. She wondered for a moment what was happening, but then her head broke past the surface and her lungs were screaming in agony as she filled them with the cool morning air.

She wasn't terribly far from the shore. She saw the woman standing on the beach, facing away from her. She followed the mad creature's line of sight and sobbed with joy as she saw Willow walking into her house and shutting the door. She was alive. For now.

Thank you, she told the voice, though it gave no response. She paddled awkwardly like a dog towards the shore until her feet were kicking against wet sand and she slowly hauled herself onto solid ground.

Now what? It was only a matter of time before the horrible stranger would move towards her friend. But what was she going to do to a woman who moved so fast she couldn't even be seen and had casually snapped her neck and tossed her into the sea as easily as if she'd thrown a pebble?

'Patience.'

Was that the voice again? Nothing made sense anymore.

Mongrel crawled forward, staying low to the ground. Surprise was the only advantage she had. The knife had to be still laying somewhere close to the woman. The bitch wouldn't be able to move so unnaturally fast as she did when Willow's mother's blade was sticking out of her back.

Something was off about her. She seemed even larger than before, and she was tearing her shirt off as she stalked not towards Willow's home, but the barn Willow's father had died in. Several men were shutting the door while others had moved to the back wall. They must have felt they could bar the door and keep her away from their children. The madwoman paused after a few steps, dropping to all fours and growling like an animal as the swell of her spine pushed against her skin. Why was there so much hair on her back? Mongrel thought she could see a tail growing from her backside. Was she some sort of demon?

There was a small natural embankment where the thin beach ended and the grass took hold. Mongrel crawled under it, trying to stay out of sight until she could think of what to do. She was surprised not to feel sore or injured. She didn't even feel tired. She rubbed the back of her neck, testing it for any sort of strain, but the only oddity she felt were her fingernails scratching against her skin strangely.

"What?" She examined her hands, finding her nails looked very much like that of the creature that had torn her new mother's throat out. The nails were growing longer, curving slightly before they seemed to split her fingertips as they grew into sharp claws. Tiny black hairs were forming on the back of her hands and her knuckles. She turned her hands over and saw the skin on her palms looked puffy, as if she was suddenly growing severe blisters. They were darkening as they grew, turning from pink to tan to brown as they continued to swell.

"What the fuck is happening?"

'What you asked for,' the voice answered. 'Give it time.'

Mongrel glanced left and right, searching for the source of the whisper in her ears. She glanced out to sea, expecting some spirit to be hovering just above the water, but instead only saw the white and gray bodies of thousands of dead fish rising to the surface. The voice seemed neither masculine nor feminine, nor did it sound like it was coming from some unknowable god. It was just a voice, one she couldn't attach any sort of description to if she tried.

Looking back at her body she saw her toenails had gone through the same change as her fingers, and as she flexed them they dug small furrows in the cold sand. The hair on the back of her hands was slowly spreading up her forearms, and there was more of it on her legs than she'd remembered. She had always seemed to have more of it than her friend. Willow had teased her about it once. But it was now growing from her from the top of her toes halfway up her shin before disappearing under her borrowed pants.

She was growing hot now despite the cool morning air and had to wipe sweat from her brow, causing the hair on her arms to lay flat as she did. She was panting like a dog now, a small bit of spit gathering in the corners of her mouth.

"What's happening?" She fought to get the words out between her panicked breaths. Her voice sounded different, lower and hrasher. "What's happening to me?" She pulled at her shirt, trying to relieve herself of the heat. As she did, she touched another patch of black hair that had formed on her collarbone.

"Have to see," she said as she slipped her shirt off and tossed it aside. The hair had grown between her small breasts, swirling around her nipples and trailing down to her naval before disappearing underneath her waistline. "No! No, what is this?!"

'I apologize. I assumed you were asking me a question before. I'll assume you're just babbling incoherently now. That seems to happen a good deal during this part. I should, however, warn you that I've heard the next bit can be quite painful. But it will pass, and it will get easier over time. Please let me know when you're ready to proceed.'

"No!" Mongrel screamed. "Wait! What's happening? What are you doing to me?!" The hair had thickened now so that it covered her body, wrapping around her sides to connect to the growth that had already taken place on her back. She brushed away a string of drool before it could slip from her mouth, noting how sharp her teeth felt against the inside of her cheek. "It's going to hurt? Why?"

'I don't know how to respond to that question. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that particular sensation, and I have a few too many things I'm occupied with at the moment. Patience, child.'

The voice sounded irritated, as if Mongrel's transformation was an inconvenience. However, as the promised pain arrived, Mongrel couldn't think of anything other than the ache deep inside her arms and legs as new muscles started to swell. She seemed to be growing taller now, as more and more of her legs could be seen as her shins stretched past the cuff of her breeches. Her skin was pressing more and more against the inside of her pants, particularly in the crotch, as more than a few threads began to tear loose from the seams. In the back of her mind she was concerned that she was going to ruin the good clothes that her new family had given her, perhaps forgetting for the moment that they could no longer be concerned with such matters. Still she carefully slipped her claws beneath the waistline and pulled them away, gasping as she saw how the thick hair now covered her entire body. Patterned splotches of black, brown, blonde, and a bit of gray were forming chaotic swirls and patterns here and there across what she was now realizing was a coat of fur. Her mouth dropped open as she noticed the presence of six rather large pink bumps forming on her torso, the bottommost almost level with her sex. Poking them with a finger resulted in a strange feeling that was simultaneously pleasant and uncomfortable, like something abrasive rubbing against her ...

"Nipples? I'm growing nipples? Teats? Like a-a ... You're turning me into a monster! Like her?!"

'I thought that was already understood. Have you not been paying attention?'

She was breathing harder now, which drew attention to the ridges forming across her abdomen as tight muscles formed just underneath her skin. She rubbed her belly with the rough pads on her hands, but pulled her arms away when she noticed something was happening to her privates. The hair between her legs was now indistinguishable from the rest of her fur, albeit perhaps a bit thicker. Still, it wasn't thick enough to hide the swell of her lips as they pressed away from her body, growing to a triangular tip around her clitoris. Her breaths became more shallow as she watched a very intimate part of her body shift into something repulsive, something she'd expect to see on an animal, like a--

"A dog?! You're turning me into a dog?!"

'I'm not sure what that is. Some sort of animal, I assume? No, you aren't turning into a dog. I'll be back with you in a moment.'

She recoiled in fear of what was happening to her body, her breath coming faster and faster. It was like the voice was distracted, trying to be in two places at once. She screamed as her feet began to stretch, her shins shrinking slightly even as the balls of her feet grew wider. She'd be forced to stand on the front half of her foot now, if she was even still capable of walking on two legs when this was over. She was shifting uncomfortably, her ass grinding into the dirt and sand as her hips swelled wider. Her pants had started to break apart at the seams. She rolled over, standing on four legs in a way that she was horrified to find was very comfortable. She felt an unfamiliar shake in her chest that she'd never experienced before, and glanced down to find her breasts were swelling larger. Rubbing her hand down her torso, she found a similar growth was happening with her other teats as three new pairs grew underneath her originals. She screamed in fear and disgust. Being in this position made her feel good, like the warmth she'd felt when she was laying in bed with Willow. Almost like she was an animal waiting for its mate in order to be--. She tried to keep her thoughts from derailing. "Oh gods, that's not supposed to happen. Stop! Please stop! I don't want this!"

'Yes, you do. At least you did. Are you sure you are no longer interested in saving your friend?'

Mongrel looked at Willow's house, happy that the person she loved wasn't capable of seeing her in this monstrous form, one so similar to the creature that had slain her family. "No," she whispered through blackened lips, her jaw and nose even now sliding forward. "No, I still want to do that."

'And do you feel stronger? More capable than you were a moment ago as you were drowning beneath the sea?'

She nodded. The voice was right. The pain was receding as her legs continued to stretch and her arms swell with more muscle than she'd ever be able to possess as a normal person. She felt the press of a tail between her legs against her slit as it grew. As the pain dwindled, she felt powerful, stronger than she had ever felt in her impoverished life. "Y-Yes. I feel ... good almost."

'How very nice for you. Almost finished now. You'll find HER in the barn.'

Except the voice hadn't said "her." It had said a name, but instead of the word it had come out like the whistle of a freezing cold wind blowing through the trees. It didn't seem intentional, like the voice was covering up using the madwoman's name, but like the name itself was erased from her mind even as it was spoken.

Mongrel raised her body, sitting back on the balls of her feet, crouching like an animal with her tail swinging back and forth behind her as she watched the final changes take place. The swelling in her arms finally stopped, leaving her with a strength she'd never known. Her eight breasts lay heavy on her chest, thick black teats poking through her mismatched fur as they finished growing. They reminded her she was a beast now, and seemed like they would be an encumbrance if it weren't for the swell of strength in her back and legs. The voice had said something about it getting easier over time. Did it mean the transformation? This was going to happen again? Did that mean she'd be able to change back to normal some day?

The sharp pain returned for just a moment as her maw finished forming, a long muzzle ending in a cold black nose and rows of teeth she would soon use to sink into the flesh of the monster who had ruined her life. She howled to the heavens as her nose was filled with the rotten stench of dead fish. She knew the murderer would have heard the noise, but she couldn't help herself. Perhaps she'd still have some element of surprise. The bitch would come outside to see what was causing the noise and then she'd tear her chest apart and eat her insides.

'Perhaps,' the voice replied to a question that hadn't been asked. 'SHE is waiting for you.'

Again, the name had been spoken, but vanished before Mongrel could make it out. It didn't matter now. The remains of her pants fell in tattered pieces to the ground and she gasped as she felt the breeze on her puffy canine sex. She forced her eyes away from that part of her body, not wanting to be reminded that she was now an animal.

Mongrel rose to her feet, happy that she seemed to be able to still stand on two legs as easily as she could on four. She took one step, then another, marveling at how light on her feet she felt despite her bulk. She began trotting towards the barn, noticing black smoke was now pouring from its windows. The sounds of screaming women and children were coming from inside the structure. Mongrel began to run faster, finding it easier, even automatic, to slip onto all fours as she began tearing clumps of grass from the ground with her claws as she raced towards the confrontation. When she was twenty feet away she leapt, clearing the distance easily before bursting through the door, broken wood and a cloud of ash heralding her arrival. Before her paws touched the ground, she noticed that in the short time between beginning her leap and landing that the sound of screaming was now absent.

She squinted through the smoke and recoiled as she saw why. Everyone that had taken shelter was on the ground now, their mutilated bodies slowly being enveloped in flame as the dry hay began to turn the barn into an inferno. Women, children, men, it hardly seemed to matter to the demon before her. Mongrel was disgusted with herself when for a short moment her stomach growled and her mouth watered at the smell of the cooking meat. She forced herself to focus on the only other living thing in the barn, the monster who had caused all of this.

She was facing away from Mongrel, though she seemed aware of her presence. She was definitely larger now, brown fur similar to her own standing on her shoulders and pointed ears poking through her hair. When she turned around, Mongrel was surprised at the expression on her face. She had expected her to be laughing maniacally, sneering, perhaps gloating, like some villain out of the old fairy tales. Instead she seemed merely sad for a moment with perhaps a bit of surprise etched on her bestial face as she took in the form of the fellow monster standing before her. "Ohhhhh. Oh, okay." She sounded almost bemused. "THAT'S what you're doing? That's what this was all about?"

The stranger sighed, shook her head slightly, then smiled, drool dripping from fangs nearly too large for her still growing maw. "Took you long enough. I guess these things take time, though." Why was she not surprised to find Mongrel in this body?

The question was quickly pushed aside as Mongrel leapt at the beast, slashing and biting until she realized she was again being suspended above the ground as the murderer held her in one hand. It seemed she was just as helpless as before. What was the point of all of this?

The stranger tossed her outside of the barn, following her outside as she slipped out of her pants, her naked body a silhouette before the burning building. "Too hot in there. Let's do this outside, okay?" She suddenly looked away, her face sneering in annoyance. "I don't care. I didn't want to do any of this. I had to deal with all of this shit, the people and the kids and all of it. Now I get to do what I want to do. I'm entitled. Fuck off." She returned her attention to Mongrel, flexing her claws as her hands started to resemble paws. They were the same sort of creature now, that much was apparent, but she seemed content to only shift partway.

Mongrel returned to all fours, growling and drooling as she stalked in a circle around the stranger in a way that felt right. Some instinctual part of her predatory mind was telling her that this was how an apex predator acted when preparing to confront another. The stranger laughed at the motion and nodded almost as if she was impressed or amused. Again Mongrel leapt, but the madwoman was suddenly not standing there, and she felt five deep gouges slash against her back before she landed on the ground. She used her momentum to roll into another crouch, preparing again to pounce before realizing the stranger was nowhere to be seen. She toppled forward as her lower back radiated in pain as the woman kicked her from behind.

She was everywhere. This was impossible. Mongrel snarled and lashed out blindly, biting in the direction she hoped the stranger was standing, although she knew she would no longer be there even before her jaws closed shut again. "Bitch!" she hissed, somewhat surprised that she seemed capable of still forming words.

"Language," whispered the stranger into Mongrel's ears as she was again lifted into the air and tossed aside, although this time it seemed like there was no force behind the throw. The stranger was standing still now, slowly stepping towards her as her legs shifted, her gait now matching that of the creature feebly crouching before her as she stood on paws instead of feet. "I have feelings, you know." She paused just out of reach before saying simply, "Hit me."

Mongrel cocked her head to the side like a dog. "What?"

The woman held her shaggy arms to either side, providing an opening Mongrel didn't expect to be offered. "Hit me."

"Why?" Mongrel was more afraid of the creature now than she had been before.

Her eyes were glowing yellow like twin portals to some forgotten hell. "I want to see what you can do. So hit me."

Mongrel looked around the battlefield. She wasn't an unthinking animal; she knew this was a trick. The monster would kill her--again--if she got within arm's reach. Perhaps there was something else, something she could use to surprise her. Instead, she received her own surprise when the feral beast was suddenly standing next to her, her glowing yellow eyes cutting into her thoughts like a scythe. "No no no. We're not doing strategy here. Just fucking hit me."

Mongrel hesitated for a moment, then sliced at the woman's legs, hoping to trip her while lunging forward to bite at her torso. She was surprised when the move seemed to work and she felt the copper taste of blood on her tongue.

The stranger didn't seem bothered. "Not bite. Hit."

Mongrel acquiesced, slamming the palm of her paw into the stranger's head, turning her hand as it connected to tear some of her flesh away from her forehead with her long claws. A sickening crunch like the sound of a snapping branch came from the woman's neck. Mongrel felt a strange sense of pride when she saw the stranger fall to the ground, cradling her head in pain.

She spat, drool and blood falling aside as the madwoman's maw lengthened, her own transformation finally finishing. "Good! Better than I thought. You can't tell, but I'm actually stewing in anger right now. And more than a little bored, so ..."

She never finished the sentence. Mongrel suddenly found herself sliding backwards, slamming into a tree, then a fencepost, then the already crumbling side of the burning barn. The stranger was fast before, but now it seemed like she had been holding back all along. She felt the weight of the creature on top of her, now resembling a larger version of her own monstrous self, her mouth filled with fangs, her breath hot on Mongrel's face. She felt the stranger's fingers in her own maw as they pressed hard against the top and bottom of her mouth, opening her muzzle wider than it was designed to move. Mongrel felt a stretching sensation as the sinew and ligaments in her jaw started to come apart. There was a ringing in her ears as pink dots started to form in her vision.

'Enough.'

The madwoman still held Mongrel's jaw wider than it was supposed to go, though she was no longer applying any force.

'I don't want her dead. I have plans for her. You know this.'

The stranger let go of Mongrel's head. She clasped her paws over her jaws, cradling her face and recoiling away from the monster. "I was just waiting for you to say 'when.' Can we please be done here? I really don't understand why half of this was necessary."

Mongrel coughed, blood and phlegm falling from her maw. She looked in horror at the woman, then to the sky, the woods, the buildings, wherever the voice was coming from. "You're ... You're talking to it? You were talking to it, too? The whole time?"

The stranger shifted back into her human form far more swiftly than Mongrel would have believed possible. There was a sad look on her face before she had even finished changing. She nodded, then sighed. "I guess that's why you wanted me to throw her into the ocean? Give her some distance, time to change?"

"You've been talking to it the whole time," Mongrel repeated.

The woman walked closer. Mongrel tried to crawl away from the impending pain she knew the monster was about to inflict upon her. Instead the woman made a soft, comforting sound as she crouched above her. "Shh. It's okay. We're not fighting any more." She rubbed her fingers through the soft fur on Mongrel's neck. "Why does she look so different from me? She's pretty, in a way. Like a stray that's so ugly it's cute."

'A different species,' responded the nothingness. 'Still a wolf, but different from any you've seen before.'

"Why?" asked the woman that Mongrel was now learning wasn't quite as insane as she had once seemed.

'So that I can tell the two of you apart.'

The woman closed her eyes slowly, her face now bearing an expression of dread. What was happening? None of this was making sense.

The wind again, then the voice whispered, 'It's time to leave. East.' It must have used the woman's name, but the word was gone again. For a moment, however, it seemed to linger in Mongrel's mind for a bit longer than it ever had before.

"And why did I need to kill all of them?" The woman motioned towards the burning barn, the bodies of the people inside now completely hidden by flame as the roof started to collapse.

The voice was silent for a moment before responding with, 'She needed a reason to agree to the change. You needed to present a threat.'

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. I mean why didn't you tell me to stop? What was the point of having me continue killing all of them after she had agreed to your little bargain?"

Again it was silent before answering dismissively, 'I forgot they were there.'

The woman closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip, and shook her head in anger. "Gods damn you," she whispered. When she opened her eyes again she was looking at Mongrel. "She's coming with us?"

'No. She can remain. I'll find a use for her. Eventually.'

"Good. She's gone through enough today." The stranger touched the top of Mongrel's head softly, almost petting her as she whispered, "It had to be done. There was no other way. I'm sorry. You don't believe me, but I am." Then she stood and walked away into the surrounding forest, leaving behind her the ruins of the lives she had ended that day, those of the dead as well as the living.

Mongrel watched her go. Her jaw seemed to reknit itself quickly, and when she was able to form words again she began to call out for the voice to give her some sort of answer as to why this had happened. But it was gone. Everything was gone.

She sat alone for a long while, lost in her own mind until she felt something hard connect to the back of her head. She recoiled, fearing the stranger had returned, but instead saw a group of what remained of the village had gathered, seemingly ready to take advantage of Mongrel's injuries in order to drive the monster away. They were shouting, flinging rocks, bricks, whatever was at hand at her like she was a wolf that was threatening their livestock.

"No," she whispered. "It wasn't me. I wasn't the one who did this. I'm not like her. Please."

The orphan young woman then saw something more horrible than everything else she had witnessed that day. Willow was among the crowd, sobbing and staring at her through eyes reddened with tears and smoke and hate. She was screaming alongside the rest of them. She lifted a stone and tossed it at the beast. Mongrel didn't attempt to move as the stone slammed into the side of her head. She crawled to her feet, yellow and orange mismatched eyes staring at her love as if hoping she might recognize who she was. She held her hands towards her, pausing as she noticed how monstrous they had become. Just like the rest of her.

The beast dropped to all fours, whispered "goodbye" to the only person she would ever love, and crawled into the forest. Away from the only home she'd ever known. Away from the hope of a better life that she had dared to believe in for a few precious days.

---

For the past hour, Willow hadn't taken her eyes off of one particular splotch of mold on the rotten floorboard. A beetle was crawling across it, this way and that, with no particular goal in mind, heedless of this horrible world or its own place in it. The sun had fully risen, the darkness slowly dispersing, the dawn bringing to light old wounds in the abandoned house and the people sitting in it. As the monster on the floor had continued its tale, speaking seemed to become easier for it as its mouth shifted closer towards something one would find on a human being. Closer, but not completely.

"She wasn't crazy," Willow finally whispered.

"No," answered the creature, shaking its head. "Not crazy. Just horrible. Just evil."

"And she was working for ... what? A god? A spirit?"

"I don't know." The creature shuddered. The motion was probably caused less by the chilly morning air and more from thinking about the voice's possible origin. "I don't know whose voice it was. I don't want to know. But that was how it happened."

Willow nodded. "I believe you. It talked to me, too. Once. When it wanted me to go back in the house. I heard it, too." She was quiet for several minutes as the meaning behind the life she'd led for ten years tried to readjust itself. "So it's really you, isn't it?"

"What do you think?"

Willow looked at the creature that she had learned long ago people referred to as a "werewolf." But it wasn't a werewolf sitting beside her now. It was her best friend. And it wasn't.

Mongrel's body was still covered in hair of various colors, although her filthy pale skin could be seen between the individual strands. The hair on her head hung to the floor from where she sat, matted and with an entangled twig or leaf here and there. The twigs and the dirt hinted at what sort of life she had lived for the past decade. She held her hands palm up and to the side, as if she were a performer making a show of her own body. Come and see the monster, her sad smile seemed to say. Come and see the freak. Her claws remained, several inches long, though perched upon the fingers and toes of human hands and feet. Additional teats grew down her torso, though she had only one pair of breasts now, much larger than the ones she had when they lay together on her bed a lifetime ago. She was lean, possessing a runner's physique, strangely much healthier in appearance in that way than when they had lived in the village. She draped one leg over the other, trying to hide her sex, although in the moment Willow saw that it looked much like that of a dog or a wolf. Every square inch of her was filthy, rough, disheveled. Did she live in a cave? Some sort of wolf's den? She smelled like a wild animal, an unpleasant scent lingering around her. It stirred something primal in Willow's mind, an ancient ingrained instinct telling her that humans were supposed to flee from the predator before her.

Her face was the worst, because it was the most recognizable. Eyebrows that met in the middle, long sideburns trailing down her cheek and jawline. Her nose was tinted a darker color, her lips solid black. She gave a small, sad smile and Willow could see crooked yellow fangs for just a moment. Her teeth looked unnervingly similar to the way Willow remembered them, ungainly things more used to gnawing on scraps of trash than actual food. The only noticeable difference in her teeth now was that she seemed to have regrown a few of the missing ones. Her eyes were the deep brown she remembered, but tinged with speckles of nearly glowing light, yellow in one, orange in the other. She looked away in embarrassment as her freakish body was being examined. But as Willow took in the profile of her face, she started to recognize more and more features of the young woman she had once hoped to spend her life with. A nose bigger than it had any business being, pouty lips she had dreamed about kissing for so long, eyes that begged you to stare into them for hours on end.

"Yeah," Willow finally said. "It's you."

Mongrel turned her head towards Willow again, though she stared at the ground, hiding her eyes in her unkempt hair. "Yeah. It's me. Sort of."

"Why don't you ..." Willow cleared her throat. "Why don't you turn back all the way?"

Mongrel took a deep breath. "Because I can't."

"What?"

She rubbed the thick growth on the back of her arm, not quite fur, not quite hair. She hugged her knees, laying her chin on her arms as she looked at the woman she had known ten years ago. She looked so tired. "This is as close to normal as I can become. I'm stuck like this."

"But, the other one. The crazy one. She looked like a regular person when she first appeared. Taller than anyone I've ever seen, unnaturally so, but normal." Willow winced as she said the last word, hoping Mongrel wouldn't take offense. Normal. Mongrel was far from normal.

"I think something went wrong," she replied sadly. "When I changed. It was talking to both of us at the same time. It said it wanted me to look slightly different from her, but I don't think it meant keeping me from turning back all the way. Why would it need that? Maybe that's why it never called on me."

"It never made contact with you again? In ten years?"

Mongrel shook her head, then whispered sadly, "Thank the gods, it didn't. It just left me like this. A freak."

"Then what was the point?!" Willow was angry, but the only person available to direct her anger towards was the one person least deserving of it. "Of all of it?! Why did they come there in the first place?! Why did ..." Willow unclenched fists she wasn't aware she had made. "Why did my mom and dad have to die?" she asked more softly.

"I don't know." Mongrel shook her head. "None of it makes any sense. Nothing ever has."

Willow felt sick. The rabbit she had last eaten felt like it was going to come up again. "Did you ... Did you not ever think to come back?! To the village? To me?"

Mongrel nodded. "I stayed close. At first. For a week or so. Hiding in the woods. I'd sit outside your house listening to you crying, wanting nothing more than to go to you. But I hadn't figured out how to change back yet and ... Willow, I didn't want to see you look at me the way you did when you and the others chased me away." She nodded towards the ruined entrance of the cabin. "Or the way you looked at me when I walked through that door. I couldn't go through seeing that. Not again."

Willow looked away. "I looked for your body. The whole week. Waiting for it to wash ashore. It was the last thing I'd ever want to see, but I wanted to give you a proper burial. I thought several times about taking the boat out, leaping into the sea so that I could join you."

Mongrel whined as if she had been hurt. "Don't ever think that."

"I'm ..." Willow wanted to take her old friend's hand, but she held back. Things were so different now. "I'm sorry. About the rock."

Mongrel laughed softly. Willow hadn't realized until then how much she had missed the sound. "It's okay. It didn't hurt, and you didn't know. Eventually you moved on. I hoped maybe you'd found a better life somewhere else. With ... someone else. I didn't know you were looking for the bitch. If I did, maybe I would have--"

Mongrel stopped talking as Willow leapt towards her and wrapped her in her arms. "It's you," she sobbed. "It's you."

The pair held each other, sobbing quietly. The poor thing smelled worse up close. When they finally let each other go, Willow saw streaks of dirt running down her friend's face following the path of her tears. She wiped the tears away with her thumb. She wanted to touch her in as many ways as she could, just to reassure herself that she was real. That she was alive.

Mongrel looked away, and for a moment Willow felt hurt. "You should go. I don't want you to see me like this. It was better before, when I was changed all the way." She smiled sadly. "I'm less of a freak when I'm a monster."

Willow gently forced her friend to look back at her. "You're not a freak. Or a monster. You're you."

Mongrel shook her head. "No, I'm not. I'm not me. Not the real me. I've changed so much."

"So have I," Willow whispered, taking one of Mongrel's hands in both of her own. "Everything I've done since, everything I've done trying to find her. I-I've done some bad things, Mongrel. Some very bad things."

"Do you ..." She hesitated. "Do you still like listening to the sound of crickets? I remember--"

Again Willow interrupted her, this time by placing her lips against her friend's. Mongrel let out a muffled squeak of surprise before Willow gradually felt her clawed hands on her back. She broke the kiss for just a moment before kissing her again, her cold hands making her feel as if they were lingering on something sacred, like the hem of the robe of some forgotten saint. Mongrel's skin felt so cold, her lips tasted like old animal flesh. Slowly her old friend returned the kiss in earnest, placing her clawed hands on Willow's cheeks, running her fingers through her hair desperately as if she were a lifeline to an old life she thought she had lost long ago.

They finally broke away. Willow whispered, "I thought I'd never be able to do that." She smiled. "It's you." She touched her friend's chest, her hands, her shoulders, anywhere she could, all the while laughing at herself for saying the same words over and over.

Mongrel nodded, slowly at first, then more quickly as if she had finally come to reach the same conclusion. "Yeah, Willow. It's me."

"I love you," Willow whispered. "I always did. I wish I'd had said it, back before all of this happened. I can't believe I'm sitting here with you now to say it. I love you."

She hoped her friend would say the same words back to her, but she only furrowed her thick brow, her dark lips trembling. "I'm disgusting, Willow. I'm more animal than person. You shouldn't have to--"

"Shut up. You're not." Willow tucked a few hairs behind her friend's pointy ear, her fingertips holding onto the ear. It was soft, and so very cold. "You're beautiful. Just like you always were. You're you."

Mongrel looked at her own hands. "But you deserve someone better, someone normal. I just ... I want you."

Willow wanted to kiss her again so badly. "What did you say?"

"I want you to be happy," Mongrel whispered.

Willow smiled as she remembered her reply to the same lie all those years ago. "That isn't what you said."

"I know."

They stared at each other in silence. Willow started to kiss her again, but instead rose to her feet, holding out her hand. "Come on."

Mongrel took her hand reluctantly. Again Willow had to fight off an instinctual need to recoil away from her old friend. There was something in her very being as a human that told her she was not supposed to be anywhere near a werewolf, let alone do what she was about to do with one. But it was a small, unworthy thought that was swiftly put aside when Willow realized her friend had likely never held the hand of another person in ten years. Slowly Mongrel wrapped her clawed fingers around her friend's wrist, careful not to scratch her, as Willow helped her to her feet. She stumbled a bit and had to grab hold of both of Willow's arms to steady herself. Willow used the momentum to pull her friend closer and embrace her, breathing in her scent.

"Come with me," Willow said softly as she tried to lead her friend away.

Mongrel nodded, although she seemed strangely awkward as she tried to stand on the balls of her more-or-less human feet. "O-Okay, but ... Um, it's easier for me like this." She dropped to all fours, crawling low to the ground as she followed Willow. This would take some getting used to, but there was nothing Willow was looking forward to more.

Willow had set up her ragged tent in a clearing next to the ruined house. There was a thin layer of frost on top, but the fur walls still felt warm as she pushed the flap aside and motioned for her friend to enter. "Come on, it's warm." She gave a shy smile. "Or it will be soon."

Mongrel kept looking unsurely from the tent back to her friend like a stray dog being let into a house for the first time. She finally pressed the flap open with her head and entered. Willow followed her, pulling her boots off as she went. The poor woman looked like she would be more comfortable sitting in a cold cave somewhere. She started to sit on Willow's fur bedroll, but slid to the corner of the tent, sitting instead on the cold ground. Willow looked confused until Mongrel said, "I don't want to get dirt on your bed."

Willow grabbed her friend's arm and pulled her onto the warm fur mat. "It's okay, Mongrel. Don't be silly." For a moment she had wanted to call her "Tamra," though she couldn't remember where the name had come from. She lifted her heavy fur blanket and wrapped it around her friend, rubbing her shoulders to warm them. "Don't you get cold? Out here?"

Mongrel slowly nodded, but offered no other response. Willow couldn't imagine being alone out during the winter nights for all those years with no one to talk to but the ghosts of the past, although she realized that her own life was much the same.

Willow pulled the furs around the both of them and pulled Mongrel down with her until they were laying next to each other, looking into each other's eyes, just as they had all those years ago. Their fingers were intertwined just as they had been on that last wonderful night, though Mongrel's fingers trembled, the hair tickling Willow's hand as it did. Her eyes were different now, and yet very much still the same. The expression on the strange creature's face immediately changed to one of comfort, as if she were just now remembering what it felt like to lay in a warm bed, even if it was just a bedroll. They were content to simply hold each other for nearly an hour, Mongrel finally resting her head on Willow's chest, as they slowly reassured themselves that this wasn't just a dream. Willow finally shifted closer as her hands trailed from Mongrel's shoulder to her side. "You don't have to be anymore." Slowly she slid her hand higher, the thick hairs feeling soft against her skin as her friend gradually warmed. She gradually touched her lower until she felt the swell of her large breast. "Cold or afraid. Or alone. You never will be again."

"Are you sure?" the creature moaned. "Are you sure that you want this?" She gasped as Willow gave her answer by brushing her warm thumb across Mongrel's thick nipple. She leaned forward, breathing in her friend's strong scent as she kissed the nape of her neck. Her skin tasted bitter, like old sweat and cold dirt, and still Willow couldn't remember tasting anything better. "H-Have you ever ...?"

Willow shook her head. "You were the only one I ever wanted. You still are. You?"

Mongrel smiled like they were young again, like the past ten years had never happened. "Never exactly had the opportunity living by myself in the wilds, you goof."

They both giggled childishly as they had so many years ago as they sat by the sea every day. Willow leaned in for another kiss, but Mongrel pulled away.

"W-Wait, there's something you should know. When I get, um ... You know?" She blushed. "Feeling happy? In the mood?"

Willow raised a brow.

"It causes me to change. I-I've never been able to stop it. I-I seem to have like, I dunno, a heat cycle now. Like a dog. Sometimes it lasts for days, and I can't change back. I just ... You should know that, okay?" She looked away. "I'll probably go back to being the other way again."

"Would you still be in control?" Willow asked. "You wouldn't hurt me, right?"

Mongrel whispered, her lips so close now that Willow could feel them barely grazing her own. "I'd never hurt you, Willow. Ever. Even when I'm a monster, I'd never do anything to hurt you. It'll just be ... weird, I guess."

Willow smiled. "It'll be weird then. Weird is fine." Mongrel gasped as she felt Willow's fingers trace the contours of her strange sex, the inside of the tent growing steadily warmer. "I want you in whatever form you're in. You're mine."

"I love you." Mongrel finally said the words Willow wanted to hear for ten years, the ones she never thought she'd ever get the chance to hear. She shuddered as she felt Willow slip a finger between her strange lips, the tightness providing some resistance. "I-I'm going to cum."

Willow giggled. "Already?"

"I-It's different for me!" She was still blushing. "It happens a lot! Like a LOT-lot."

Willow pushed the fur blanket aside and slid lower down her friend's body, kissing her belly several times as she did. Her skin was slick with sweat, though Willow knew it wasn't entirely due to the heat of the tent. Gods, her smell was so much stronger the closer she got to the space between her legs. "Good," Willow whispered. Mongrel shuddered and made a high-pitched howling noise as soon as she felt Willow's tongue upon her sex. She trembled and for a brief moment scratched the top of Willow's head painfully with her claws before pulling them away for fear of hurting her. She clawed at the bedroll instead until Willow heard a tearing sound from the fabric. Mongrel decided to place her hands instead on her own breasts. Willow leaned away, looking up into her friend's face as she gnashed her teeth, a bit of drool forming in the corners of her black lips, her eyes flickering rapidly.

"You really weren't joking about that, were you?" Willow laughed. Mongrel shook her head, briefly opening her eyes before shutting them tight again as her orgasm continued. "What's it feel like?"

"Good!" she screamed, raising her hips off the bedroll before slowly lowering them. "Really, really good. I-I used to touch myself outside your window sometimes, when I started feeling this way about you, but--."

Willow laughed. "You creep!"

"I know, I'm sorry! It didn't feel like this, though." She panted, her tongue hanging from her mouth. It was now long enough to touch her cheek. Every part of her lover's body was so unusual now. Willow couldn't help but think how strange it was that she was now making love to the sort of monster she'd hunted for ten years.

"Part of the change, I guess," Mongrel continued, swallowing hard. "I-I don't know if it's like this for the other ... other ones like me. Whatever I am. At least there's one good thing about being like this. It's--Fuck! Wait! It's starting."

Willow heard a wet snap coming from her friend's feet as she watched them slowly lengthen, thick black pads forming on the bottoms of her toes and her soles. She traced the pads as they formed, rubbing the thick flesh and her toes slowly in a way she hoped felt nice. She pushed a layer of dirt from between a few of her toes. Her friend's body was so strange, but so interesting. Mongrel tried to lightly kick her feet, although Willow held them still. "Does it feel good?"

"No!" Mongrel suddenly laughed. "Tickles!"

Willow smiled. "No, I mean, all of it? Changing?"

Mongrel held her hands towards her friend, beckoning her to come closer, though Willow stayed where she was. She was right where she wanted to be. "Sometimes. It depends, I guess. If I'm angry it happens quickly. Like my body is getting ready to defend itself. If I'm hunting prey it changes slowly, like my body doesn't want to make as much noise. If I'm ..." She licked her lips as she blushed, the redness standing in contrast to the dark hair on her cheeks.

"Aroused? Wet?" Willow gave a lupine smile of her own. "Right here?" She again leaned forward to taste her friend, a musky wetness touching the tip of her tongue. The thick black hair between Mongrel's legs was becoming matted as she grew wetter, even as her canine pussy continued to swell.

Mongrel nodded. "Then, yeah. It feels good. You don't have to put your lips on it. Down there. I wish that would change back more than any other part of me. I hate that it stays like that. I hate it more than all the rest." Her jaw cracked as she moaned loudly and rubbed her chin with the pads on her fingers as if to soothe it. "I want to ... I want to touch you now. Is that okay?"

Willow nodded. She wanted nothing more. "Of course. After I make you howl a few more times." Ignoring her friend's words, she slid her tongue into the tight slit, smiling as she saw Mongrel writhe on her bedroll, a high pitched yip escaping her lips. There was something Willow enjoyed in turning her predatory lover into a mewling, helpless creature. She wrapped her hands around her legs, pulling her closer. The musky smell was off-putting, but the more she tasted it the more she started to enjoy it. She felt the muscles in her lover's legs begin to twitch as her pussy seemed to enlarge further, her legs swelling with muscle as her transformation began in earnest. Willow was glad she had opted for a larger tent. She watched as the teats close to her groin swelled, turning from pink to dark crimson to black as breast flesh formed just underneath them. She turned her attention to one, licking it slowly, spitting out bits of dirt and a few stray hairs that stuck to her tongue before she enveloped the teat with her mouth.

"No-ooooh! Wait, not there either!"

Willow stopped, pulling her head back quickly. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

"No, it-it's just ... I shouldn't have those either. It's kinda gross. Oh gods!" Any further complaints were drowned out as Willow placed her tongue again on the tip of the teat, caressing its twin between her fingers as she cupped her growing lowermost set of breasts.

"If it doesn't hurt, then shut up and stop being silly. Besides, these are kind of fun." She resumed suckling at the teat, then moved up to her third set, giving herself enough room to again slide first one finger then two into her lover's strange pussy. Mongrel was clawing her topmost breasts as they continued to swell, her eyes shutting as her tongue grew longer. Willow could tell Mongrel was going to cum again. Before she could, Willow slid her fingers deeper inside those strange lips, wanting to make her lover feel as good as she could as the waves of another orgasm rolled over her. Her jaw cracked again as her nose and jaw slid forward just a bit, her tongue lolling from her jaws, drool and sweat now soaking into her bedroll. Willow started to turn her attention to Mongrel's second set of breasts but laughed when she saw her friend had beaten her to them, lightly scratching and tweaking at teats swollen to twice their previous length and width. Her friend was sweating profusely, the strain of the change probably taking more out of her than she let on. The tent was growing humid, the thick musk of her arousal seeping into the walls. Willow simultaneously hoped and feared that the smell may linger in the fur walls for days or longer.

Willow slid her own coat off of her shoulders, tugging at her shirt to provide herself some relief from the surprising heat of the tent. Mongrel whined as she felt Willow pull away, upset at being momentarily denied her friend's touch. Willow laughed as she slid out of her shirt, tossing it aside. Mongrel smiled as she took in her friend's half naked body, panting as her need grew. "I ... Willow, I ..." She started to raise forward to touch the other woman's breasts, but leaned back down, raising her hips off the bedroll as her tail started to form. As she slowly lowered her hips again, she moved to touch herself, but her hand was slapped away by the smaller human woman. She growled playfully as the yellow and orange flecks in her eyes grew larger until the mismatched glowing eyes of a wolf glared at her.

"No." Willow's voice was determined, but still playful. "No touching. This is mine now. Understand?"

"Yes," Mongrel agreed. Her voice was now deeper, a harsh grating growl just behind every word. "It's yourrrss. All yourrrrs." Mongrel wrapped her legs around her lover, the odd angles of her elongating feet serving to pull her closer. Willow returned to her new favorite place, her tongue questing for her friend's clit, finally finding it just below the triangular tip of her strange sex as the creature howled loudly. She slid her hand underneath her pants, finding her own clit, her fingers circling it as she continued to taste her strange lover. The change seemed to be happening faster now as Willow saw her four sets of breasts had finished swelling, each pair growing slightly smaller as they progressed down her torso, the bottommost slightly rubbing against her expanded, swollen pussy. Mismatched fur had completely covered her pale skin, trapping her sweat and scent beneath a thick undercoat. Willow found the patterns of black, brown, blonde, and gray seemed to battle against each other as the fur grew, forming chaotic patterns that she found strangely beautiful. Her observations ended as the creature roared, her voice now no longer remotely human, as another orgasm rolled over her. The sound was almost frightening. Her hands were stretching into paws, still functional thumbs present but sliding along with her stretching wrists to make gripping anything awkward. Her muzzle had finished growing, a slavering maw replacing the lips that Willow had longed to kiss for so long. She wondered how kissing her lover would feel now, and very much looked forward to finding out.

As Mongrel's orgasm continued, Willow sat back, pulling her wool socks off and slipping out of her breeches. She couldn't remember feeling so wet, so empty, as she did at this moment, but knew there was a solution to the problem readily at hand. "I want to try something, okay?"

The wolf nodded, barely aware of anything but her own pleasure, shifting slightly to allow her tail room to finish growing. She was absolutely massive now as her paws moved awkwardly from one set of large breasts to another, her legs threatening to spill out the front of the tent as she fought for room. Willow crawled atop her lover, again kissing her teats as she went. Her curiosity was abated as she placed her lips on the creature's maw, her tongue sliding against the sharp yellow teeth before it was forced aside as Mongrel tried to intertwine her own tongue with her lover's. The sheer size of her wide tongue made the exchange awkward enough to cause them both to laugh. Finally they adjusted to the size difference and Willow kissed her friend deeply, her fingers running through the thick fur on Mongrel's neck before lightly touching her twitching ears. She broke away, a string of thick drool connecting the two for a moment. Willow thought she heard the beautiful monster growl out the words "love you," although it was harder to tell with her voice as deep as it was. Just in case, Willow returned the words before leaning back, straddling her lover between her second and third pair of teats. She took her strange paws by their wrists and brought them to her own breasts, the touch of the rough pads feeling equal parts abrasive and wonderful on her nipples. She brought one paw to her face, kissing her before her lover placed the paw on her cheek. There was love in the strange, feral eyes that had been there ten years ago, a tenderness and longing that not even Mongrel's warped form could hide.

"You're beautiful," whispered Willow. "You always were, but like this you're ... You're beautiful."

The creature whined again as Willow shifted, pulling away and turning just for a moment before straddling her again, this time facing away from her and towards the entrance to the tent. She slid back slightly until her own sex was above Mongrel's maw. She moaned as she felt the creature's hot, wet breath on the blonde hair between her legs. Her growl seemed to rumble through Willow's body in a pleasant way as she slowly lowered herself. She laughed again as Mongrel must have misjudged the difference between her cunt and her lover's maw, gasping as she felt a cold black nose touch her ass. She let her lover adjust her posture until she was at a better angle and then gave a high pitched moan as her world suddenly melted in on itself.

The massive tongue wasted no time with foreplay, slithering into Willow's depths as she rubbed her face against Mongrel's lowest pair of breasts, her fingers sliding through the sweat in the creases where one set began and the other ended. She loved the feel of their warmth and softness against her cheek. She shuddered as the massive tongue pulled and pushed, in and out, in and out, the lapping of the bestial tongue feeling strange and wonderful as it slathered her pussy and asshole. Then she felt it reach into her, into parts of her body she never wanted anyone but this wonderful creature to ever touch. Willow almost forgot what she had intended as she reveled in the strange sensations, but soon turned her attention back to her friend's own sex. The creature's deep, powerful growl swiftly became an almost piteous whine as her lover nuzzled and licked at her needy cunt, swollen to almost the size of her own face. The pair remained in this position for what felt like hours, with Willow crying out for the gods several times as she weakly pressed her face into her lover's abdomen and lowermost breasts before returning to her slit. Mongrel for her part seemed trapped in an endless series of climaxes, one leading swiftly into another as she howled, slavered, and whined, an apex predator one moment, a helpless puppy the next. More than anything else, Willow loved the exploration of her tongue as she found which parts of her lover made her feel good. She giggled as one spot in particular caused her lover to shiver and whine, her fur feeling wonderful as it slid across her belly. She started to say something, but then screamed as the wolf found her own clit.

They continued this way until Willow's body shook and she screamed as she started to come. Mongrel, sensing her lover's impending orgasm, drove her tongue deep inside. The strong, wet muscle writhed against every part inside of her finally brought about her own orgasm. She smiled, relishing the warm afterglow but gasped again as her lover showed no signs of stopping, the long tongue simultaneously rubbing her clit as it probed further. She almost screamed for the wolf to stop, to give her a moment to rest, but whenever she tried to form the words they would just out as another pleasured scream. It was almost too much, and Willow loved every moment of it.

An hour passed this way until the pleasure in her loins faded into a sort of blissful exhaustion. The creature seemed to sense this and slowly began tenderly licking the outsides of her folds, then the sensitive skin where her leg met her groin. Willow had the feeling that her lover would be more than happy to continue for several hours more.

Now drenched in sweat, the pair relaxed, Willow's sweat soaking into Mongrel's furry belly. Once Willow attempted to rise to her hands and knees, intending to crawl to her lover in order to lay face to face, relishing in the afterglow of a pleasure the young woman had never expected to feel. She laughed as she slid back atop the creature, her body too exhausted to even raise itself up. Mongrel whined questioningly before realizing the problem, then moved to gently lift her soaking wet friend in her strong arms and pull her into an embrace.

"Thanks, you," whispered Willow weakly as she kissed the cold nose of her strange lover before pressing her lips to the creature's maw again. She felt like she could sleep forever, here in the warm arms of her one and only love, the arms so long yearned for but never expected. She lay her head on the werewolf's neck, laughing happily as she felt the large heart beating within her chest. She looked again into the creature's eyes, intending to say something but soon forgetting what it was as she felt the contentment of simply looking into those mismatched fiery pools. It didn't matter what she was going to say anyway. They were together. That was all that mattered now.

That and the sudden touch of a slobbery tongue licking her entire face from chin to forehead. Willow groaned. "Ew, hey!" Mongrel continued grooming her as Willow playfully pushed her away, though she certainly didn't want to be anywhere else. The creature continued lapping, ignoring her lover's protestations. "Okay, that's enough, Mongrel! That's kinda gross. Like kinda really gross, actually."

Mongrel stopped in mid-lick, seemingly just becoming aware of what she had been doing. Willow heard a growl that sounded suspiciously like, "Sorry."

The pair lay together quietly for a few moments before Willow sighed, groaned, and said, "Okay, fine. Go ahead." The creature panted happily for a moment, then returned to its grooming as Willow couldn't help but laugh.

When Willow seemed to be sufficiently slobbered upon, she cuddled back into Mongrel's chest, relishing the warmth of her fur, the press of her teats against her belly, the swell of her breasts, the smell of her lover's sweat mixed with her own. Her fur reminded her of the scent of cedar, rustling leaves, and old sweat, but mostly it reminded her of her best friend and the woman she loved. Willow's eyes drooped, but she fought off sleep for as long as she could. Being asleep was the last thing she wanted; she wanted this moment to last as long as possible.

A forced whine came from Mongrel's throat. She had to struggle to get the words out, but she finally was able to ask, "Where did ... you learn ... to do that?"

Willow smiled, trying to hold her lover even closer, her fingers entwining in her warm fur. "In a tent. In the woods. With a large monster that I love so very, very much." She felt the creature's paw on the back of her head, and then she lost the battle, slipping into a happy, dreamless sleep. It was the first night in ten years she had slept in her lover's arms. There would be many more nights just like it.

---

It was growing dark again as Willow woke. As she opened her eyes, she found herself in the arms of the strange woman she loved. She was happy that the sensation wasn't surprising in the least. It felt right. It was how it was supposed to be. Mongrel was already awake, content to simply look into her partner's eyes as she slowly woke. She was no longer in her monstrous form, transforming back as they slept to the almost-human body that Willow was finding more and more beautiful the longer she spent with her.

"Can we do it like this too?" she finally asked. "Sex? The werewolf was great, amazing, but do you think I could also make love to you like this?"

Mongrel nodded. "I think so. Maybe. We should certainly try. I'd have to really concentrate, though. Which is hard to do when you're touching me here." She pulled Willow's hand between her legs again, and Willow laughed to feel the wetness there. "Want to go again?" Mongrel whispered hopefully.

Willow kissed her. "What did you do to the shy little waif girl I fell in love with?"

"I think she's still here. Somewhere. But you might have to check me over to see if I'm hiding her somewhere. Somewhere wet." She stretched her arms and started to rise before Willow pulled her back down into her arms. She breathed in the sour scent from her armpits before nuzzling closer. They lay together in each other's arms staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

Eventually, thoughts of the world outside their own embrace slowly intruded, as they always seemed to do. "What do you want to do?" Willow finally asked. "After this? I mean, I'm staying with you forever, obviously, but--"

"Sure," interrupted Mongrel, smiling as she touched the tip of her lover's nose with her long tongue. "Until you start throwing rocks at me again," she joked.

"Safe assumption that won't happen. I mean ..." Willow hesitated. "I know this is going to sound stupid, even before I say it."

Mongrel's smile died. "You still want to find her. I know."

Willow looked into her love's eyes. "Is that bad? It's bad, right? Tell me it's stupid and I'll forget it. We'll build a little cabin in the center of the woods. Hide there forever, hunting and foraging and fucking every day. We'll grow old and cranky together and our teeth will fall out as we continue to love each other more and more every day. I'll forget the whole thing, and we'll just--"

"No," Mongrel again interrupted. "You won't. You'll never forget about her. You'll always think about her. You ... have nightmares? About her?"

Willow slid her fingers in between her lover's own, squeezing her hand tightly. "Every time I'm asleep. Every single time. Except for just now, I mean. That was the first time I can remember waking up happy instead of dreaming about seeing her slash Mother's throat open and turn Father ... And turn Father inside-out."

Mongrel was quiet, and Willow was afraid of what she may have been thinking. Finally she whispered, "Me too. I see the same thing every night. Every fucking night."

Willow nodded. "I hate her. I hate her so much. I know that's bad. I know it's consuming me, shrinking my soul little by little every day. She might be dead by now, or on the other side of the world, or anything in between. But I want to find her. I need to find her. I'll never be able to really rest until I do."

"I know," Mongrel whispered. "Okay. So we find her."

Willow raised up on her shoulder, her hands drifting automatically to her partner's chest. "You don't have to."

"Yes, I do," replied Mongrel. "If you do, then I do."

"I mean, I'd love for you to. But you don't have to. It was my family she killed."

Mongrel shook her head. "She didn't kill all of it. I'm your family, too. So we go. Together. And ..." She held Willow away for just a moment as the other woman leaned in to kiss her. "And they were my family, too. Just for a few days. But they were my family, too."

They kissed, exchanged "I love yous," and returned to silently staring at the ceiling.

"I heard something," Willow said. "When I was looking for her, I mean. An old woman in a tavern told me that she'd heard that werewolves could sense other werewolves. I suppose that's nonsense, but ... Do you ever ... I don't know, feel her? Sense her? Like that?"

Willow had expected Mongrel to immediately reply that she hadn't, but instead she was quiet for a moment before answering, "Yes. And no. I feel ... something. Like there are others in the world, but not nearby. More animal than human, driven into the wilds away from the world by ... whatever happened long ago. I can feel them, but it's just a faded thing, like a memory of an event that never happened. I'm sorry, that doesn't make much sense. It's hard to explain.

"But," she continued. "When I think about her, try to 'look for' her ... It's like part of the world ceases to exist. Like there's just a massive hole there, like an entire area--miles and miles--just fades away until I stop looking for her. But the void seems to move, depending on what day I look for her. The hole will seem like it's in the northwest, but then a week later I'll think about her and now it's in the south. I think it means she's still alive, moving around, but ... something doesn't want her found."

Willow suddenly felt cold despite the warmth of the tent. The woods seemed a little darker as they both thought of what that "something" was.

"Willow, she'll kill us." Mongrel gripped Willow's hand tighter. "You have to know that. When we fought, I couldn't even see her move. She was so fast, strong. And that was at the beginning, when she seemed like she wasn't really trying. I don't think we could do it, even if it wasn't for ... whatever the other thing is. That voice. But ..."

Willow looked at Mongrel. There was a bit of restrained hope in her voice. It made Willow feel even more afraid.

"I could ... I could, um ..."

"What is it?"

"I could make you ... y'know, like me. A ... whatever I am."

"A werewolf?" Willow asked.

Mongrel's eyes suddenly darted to her partner's. "That's what we're called? I don't know how, but I know that we can do that. I think it's how ... 'my kind' reproduce."

Willow looked shocked. She hadn't ever even considered that. It sounded insane, along with everything else in her life now.

"I just don't know if it would work, and even if it did what it would be like. I get the feeling I'm not a 'normal' ... werewolf." There was a strange look on Mongrel's face, like it wasn't the right word to use. "Would it even work? Would you end up like me, not able to change back all the way, or-or ...?"

Willow sighed and smiled. "I don't know, but ... that doesn't sound so bad. The two of us together, if we were both transformed, would stand a better chance, I guess. Maybe that's the only way--"

"Willow, it might kill you!" Mongrel squeezed her hand. "I just got you back, I don't want to ... Forget it. I-I wish I'd never brought it up. There's too many things we don't know. But ... maybe we could find another werewolf to do it? A 'normal' one? Maybe they'd be able to help?"

Willow nodded. "Maybe. But for now, I think it's best I stay like I am. One of us needs to be able to walk around in towns unnoticed, gather information, that sort of thing. I've ... gotten kinda good at that over the years. After that ... Fuck it, yeah. Sounds good. Romantic. Let's be monsters together."

"Really?! 'Sounds good?" Mongrel seemed completely confused.

"Hey, running around in the woods naked with you? Forever? I can think of far worse ways to spend a lifetime."

"Oh." Mongrel pulled her closer. "I guess when you put it like that. Yeah, I guess that sounds nice." She paused. "There was ... one other thing. Something that may help us find the bitch."

Willow's eyes went wide. There was a strange tone in her friend's voice, like she was about to say something that frightened her.

"Whenever it ... the voice ... whatever it was. Whenever it spoke her name, the word was ... I don't know, scratched out. Like scribbled away on a page that doesn't exist or ... It's so hard to put into words. Just a feeling. Like the spirit was bending the world around her name to keep anyone from hearing it. But ..."

Mongrel sat up. The thick hair on her back was standing on end. Willow touched her lower back softly to comfort her.

"At the end, the word lingered in my mind for a while. It faded away quickly, but over the years it came back to me, like a forgotten thought that you have to fight your own memory to remember. But it came back. The voice, it said ..."

Willow sat up, placing her hands on her love's shoulders.

"It called her Lura."