Shift

It was fifty degrees outside. The hard-baked ground burned under his paws as he trudged across the plain. His shaggy coat nearly dripped with sweat, matted with burs and bristling. Thistles cling to his flanks as he weaves through the long weeds.

He hates being stuck in fur but this form is better adapted to the heat, and easier to hide in. Ears tuned to any human sounds on the plain, he sets his nose to the ground, scenting for safety, water and food. As the sun dips toward the distant horizon he knows he will be sleeping in fur tonight, dining raw with teeth and snarls. Sleep, if it comes, will be intermittent. Snatching moments between sounds, until he moves again, following the moon in an empty sky, colour bleached from the world.

As a child, his shift brought him joy - chasing butterflies and his siblings' tails in their garden, hidden from the world. Before the reveal. Before the hunters. His mother, unable to shift herself, would clean his fur after playtime, till it glowed golden in the light of the setting sun. She was gentle, working out the tangles with her fingers before gliding the brush smoothly through.

He didn’t know enough to fear the future. His Sire did. Worried for their lives and how they would live yet he trusted his partner enough to allow his children traditional schooling. Human schooling. They were careful to never show themselves outside the sanctuary of their garden. Love for their mother and respect for their Sire ensured the three siblings honoured the restrictions placed on them.

He had walked home from school alone one day, not knowing where his brother and sister were. They were older and usually met him at the gate. When he couldn’t scent them nearby he decided to head home. To find mother and Sire. Walking past a news outlet he noticed the headlines “Predators Pretending to be Human” and “Demons Walk Among Us” followed by grainy images of a partially shifted wolf, hind legs bearing human skin, human eyes twisted in pain as a mob drove spikes into his chest. A state of emergency had been declared as awareness of shifters spread like wildfire across the continent.

He didn’t realise he’d dropped his bag and jacket until he was off the roads and crossing the field closest to their garden, four legs pounding instead of two. His Sire met him at the gate, wearing fur as his mother bundled things into bags, sibling racing to her bidding. Before he knew it they were boarding a train west, others like him crushing in. He knew his life was lost. He had yet to learn how much more he would lose.