Deep green eyes stared into the equally green forest. Behind the boy, the windows on a small, sturdy house reflected the sunlight back at the sun, barely visible over the tops of the trees. Wind rustled the leaves, and only the hesitant song of an early-rising bird pierced the soft hissing sound. The dark shadows beckoned invitingly. Quickly, silently, the boy entered the forest.

He was slim and tall, and dark of skin. His hair was an unruly tangle of light brown, and the face underneath it that peered cautiously around for any sign of danger was sharp and angular. He was unclothed save for a loincloth; the sound made by his bare feet was less than that made by the wind.

He ran through the forest for several minutes, until he could no longer see the edge. He stopped then, not even breathing hard, and surveyed his surroundings with all his senses. Up ahead there was a brook which he could hear faintly, and he thought he heard a rabbit in a nearby bush. He reached down and scooped up a handful of the soil, then brought it to his nose to smell. Yes, he would remember this place. The soil fell to the ground as he reached down to remove his loincloth, which he hung on a nearby tree.

Ah, it felt good to be completely free of clothing and other restrictions of civilization! He stood still for a moment, closed his eyes, and let the wind caress his entire body. For only a minute he stood, then opened his eyes reluctantly. Time for my morning run, he thought.

With practiced ease, he dropped to all fours and concentrated briefly, letting the change happen instead of forcing it. He was getting much better; it took less than a minute this time for the grey wolf form to replace his own. He stretched briefly, scratched his nose, and sniffed the area curiously. His world was so expanded as a wolf! He could smell the water in the brook as well as the nearby rabbit who had not yet caught his new scent. This place, like all others, had a distinctive combination of smells about it, which he took great care to commit to memory. Then he took off at an easy lope, not knowing or caring where he was bound.

He ran and ran, sometimes becoming no more than a grey blur, sometimes slowing to a near walk. The shadows of the forest streaked by him, but the scents came to him sharp and clear. Water, leaves, several other kinds of plants, rabbit, caref, fox, and an occasional boar, which he took great pains to avoid. He was a young and very light wolf, and while he might have a chance to kill a bear by using his greater speed and agility, a boar would almost certainly finish him. Even Hali, his father's familiar and the largest wolf he had ever seen, would not attack a boar alone unless Zara (his mother's familiar) or Thal (his father) were in danger.

For miles and miles the boy/wolf ran, until finally he reached the point at which he knew he should turn back. But he wasn't really that tired, and something impelled him to go on. He did, farther than he had ever gone before. On and on he ran, until he saw the trees thinning before him, and smelled the scent of wheat, and he knew he had reached the opposite edge of the forest.

He looked cautiously out from a bush near the edge. Although sight did not reveal much to his lupine eyes, his nose told him everything he needed to know. There was a farmhouse down the hill, beyond the wheatfields, where there lived a farmer with his wife and three or four children -- the scents were somewhat mingled at this distance. There was also the distinctive smell of livestock: chickens, pigs, and horses. Dalzi's mouth watered, and he changed to human form to survey the area better.

But then he remembered his teachings. To steal from these people would be wrong -- what better right to their food did he have? Besides, he saw, he had almost no cover from the edge of the field to the barn where the animals were kept, and farmers were notoriously early risers. And good with a sling.

But, he thought slyly, they wouldn't sling at a lost boy, would they? And once he had thought of that, he knew he was going to visit them. To assuage his conscience, he decided that he would not steal anything from them ... unless he felt they deserved it.

The sun had risen significantly. Squinting at it, he estimated that he had been running for well over an hour, probably two. Ah, well. His parents were becoming used to his disappearances. Hopefully, he would not be missed.

The grass felt warm under his feet as he descended the hill to the field. He couldn't see anybody -- perhaps they were in the house or the barn. And once he entered the wheatfield, he could see nothing but the wheat, feel its dry stems brush against his skin. He deliberately made noise, hoping to attract the attention of the farmer if he were around.

Apparently, it worked. As he emerged from the other end of the field, he saw a burly man standing in a dirty tunic, holding a sling ready to throw. When he saw Dalzi, however, he lowered the sling.

"And what would a waif like you be doin' trompin' through my wheat?" he asked fiercely.

Dalzi feigned fear. "Please, sir," he said, quavering, "I been lost for days. In th' forest. An' I saw th' house, and hoped there might be those 'at would feed me here." He looked at the sling. "But if y' don't like strangers ..." He was proud of the accent; it was something he had picked up from their neighbors and he waited anxiously to see if it was convincing.

The farmer pocketed the sling with a laugh. "Sure, come on in," he said affably. "I was only thinkin' that it might be someone after th' farm again. But bandits wouldn't make so much noise." He motioned Dalzi forward, then stopped him. "And we'd better get ye covered afore th' wife sees yer." He stripped off his tunic, revealing a powerful torso with rippling muscles, and handed it to Dalzi.

Reluctantly, Dalzi put it on. It reached almost to his ankles, and he had to roll up the sleeves in order to be able to see his hands. He didn't like the rough feel of the coarse fabric, but it was all part of the game. He followed the farmer closely.

The house was made of solid stone blocks, with a front porch which was occupied by a large woman sitting in a rocking chair. On her lap she held a baby, and on the floor of the porch a boy that looked to be about six years old was playing with a set of wooden toys. She looked up as Dalzi and the farmer approached.

"What have you brought home this time, Zach?" she asked jokingly. Her accent was very light, her voice full and rich. She had light blond hair, in contrast to Zach's, which was a brown slightly darker than Dalzi's.

"A young boy who's lost his way," Zach replied, walking up onto the porch. Dalzi followed. "Have ye anythin' to fill his stomach with?"

She lay the baby in a cradle next to the chair and got up. Dalzi saw as she did that she was not really large; that had been an illusion created by the loose dress she wore. She was not exactly thin, but she moved gracefully. He followed her into the house.

She walked slowly, giving him time to look around the small room, but all he saw was the stone roof. Even at home, the roof was thatch, and he could feel the sky, even if he could not see it. This was rather like being in a tomb. Though the windows were open, and fresh winds blew through, Dalzi still could not shake the eerie feeling that he was under the earth. He hardly noticed the sturdy wood furniture, nor the lovely clay figurines that graced the mantel of the fireplace. His hands clenched at his sides, he waited while the woman dished out some porridge and set it on the table.

As he sat down on the offered chair, the farmer walked in, carrying the baby and accompanied by his son. "Well, we're all here t' see if th' young 'un's appetite belies his size." He chuckled, then looked around the room. "Well, almost all. Where's Alicia gotten herself to, then?"

His wife replied, "She's out feeding the chickens." She extended a spoon to Dalzi. "Here, ... Ay, where are my manners? My name is Falda, and the man whose tunic you're wearing is my husband Zach. He's carrying Greg, our youngest, and this scamp here," she gave the six-year old an affectionate cuff, "is Jared." As she finished, the door opened once more, and a girl walked in, about fourteen, Dalzi guessed -- his own age.

"Ah, Alicia, what timing you've got! Come meet our guest," Falda continued. Turning to Dalzi, she said, "This is Alicia, our firstborn."

Dalzi stood and bowed gracefully. "My name is Dalzi," he introduced himself.

Silence reigned for a moment, then Falda laughed. "Ay, the boy's been taught manners," she chuckled.

"Aye," Dalzi said between mouthfuls of porridge. "Me mother be very taken wi' them."

"And who are your parents, Dalzi?" Zach asked, leaning closer.

Dalzi shoved a spoonful of porridge into his mouth to avoid answering the question immediately. Thinking furiously, he converted lupine names to human. "Hal and Sara," he said when he had swallowed.

"Hal and Sara," Zach mused. "I don't know them. Live 'round here?"

Dalzi nodded. "Oth'r side of forest," he explained.

"Oth'r side?" Alicia spoke up. "T'ain't nothin' on th'oth'r side but monsters 'n' shapeshifters." Her voice had a curiously pleasant ring to it, and Dalzi found himself more and more often turning to look at her face, only to be turned away by her suspicious glare.

"Alicia!" Falda scolded sharply. "Don't take such stock in those tales. Dalzi here is proof that they're false. And you, Zach, let the boy get some food in him before you go questioning him. He's still growing, I'll wager. How old are you, Dalzi?"

Dalzi swallowed quickly. "Fourteen," he said.

"Why, Alicia, he's a year your elder!" Falda exclaimed.

The girl scowled at the floor. "I'll be fourteen soon," she muttered.

When Dalzi had finished the porridge, the family relaxed on the porch. Zach offered to guide him through the forest the next day, and he accepted with feigned excitement and gratefulness, knowing that before the moon was high in the sky, he would be gone. Alicia kept looking at his tunic -- and him - distrustfully; he continued simply to look at her.

Later on in the day, when Zach was working in the field and Falda was tending the children, Dalzi was sunning himself behind the house when he heard a voice above him.

"Ye haven't fooled me, y'know."

He looked up, startled, to see Alicia's face looking over him. "What d'ye mean?" he asked curiously.

"My parents are a bit thick," she said by way of a roundabout explanation, "and it don't seem odd t' them that y'should be walkin' 'round a forest wi' no clothes."

He stared at her. "My tunic was torn to shreds," he said.

"Then why have ye no marks on yer face?" she asked triumphantly.

Caught, Dalzi realized his only chance was to enlist her as an ally. "Okay," he said humbly, "y'caught me. I'm not really from th'oth'r side of th' forest -- I'm from th'farm a few miles south. I ... I heard 'bout ye," he said, suddenly inspired, "and I decided to come a'visitin'." He looked down at his feet. "I ain't got no friends my age."

She looked down at him. "Me neither," she said sympathetically, sitting down beside him. "Who tol' ye 'bout me?"

He looked away. "Oh, someone."

She snorted crossly. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the hum of insects in the fading summer heat. After a few minutes, she said cautiously, "So ... ye wanna be friends?"

He looked over, surprised. "Sure," he said.

"Good," she said, jumping up. "C'mon." She ran in the direction of the barn.

He caught up quickly. "What're we goin' to see?"

"Ye'll see," she said mysteriously. She led him in the direction of the barn, but instead of going in the wide front door, she walked around the side to a smaller door and opened it. He followed her inside.

It was dark inside, and again Dalzi felt the tomb-like atmosphere. He jumped when the small door banged shut behind him, and smelled the air nervously while waiting for his eyes to adjust. There was a scent in the air that made him very nervous, but it was so faint he could not identify it. If he shifted to wolf ... he almost forgot about Alicia. She tapped him on the shoulder, startling him, then motioned to a square of blacker darkness in the floor. "Go on," she said. "It's safe. There's a ladder right under 't."

It took all of Dalzi's self-control to let his legs drop into the darkness until he felt the ladder. Every nerve in his body was screaming for sunlight. Nevertheless, he managed to descend the ladder safely, and she joined him quickly at the bottom. He noticed that she had closed the trap door.

"This way," she said, leading him through the darkness his eyes were only now beginning to pierce. A turn here, a low beam there, and at one point Dalzi thought he heard the click of a lock, but he wasn't sure. Then they stopped, and he heard Alicia striking a flint. Sparks flew, and soon she had a small fire burning, and Dalzi saw clearly where he was.

He was in a small room, decorated with dead flowers, some live flowers, pretty stones, and various other odds and ends. It was very obviously a secret hideaway of hers. Dalzi recognized the atmosphere of such a location; a clearing in the forest served much the same purpose for him. He was impressed, however, not only with the amount of things in the room, but also with the secrecy of the place.

"Wow," he said. "This 's really good. How'd ye find 't?"

"Accident," she answered, pleased at his reaction. "I tripp'd over th' trapdoor one day. I think my gran'father knew 'bout it, but Ma and Pa don't. An' even if they foun' the door, they'd still never find this 'cept by accident. There's lots o' rooms down here."

Dalzi looked around again, at the ceiling this time, and found what he was looking for. He had felt a slight breeze, and he thought he saw the dark patch in the ceiling where fresh air came in. He still shivered a little; the oppression was unavoidable.

"Thanks fer showin' me this," he said, seeing that she was still looking at him. "It's really keen."

"We're friends now," she said. "You kin change shape. I won't tell."

Dalzi, surprised at the sudden change of subject, was speechless for a moment. He considered actually shifting, but the warning had been firmly driven into his head that he must never change shape in front of anyone but his parents and brother. Finally, he shook his head.

"I'm not a shapechanger, Alicia. I tol' ye that."

She looked disappointed, and he didn't want to disappoint her, but there was nothing he could do.

"Okay," she said resignedly. "Let's go." They left the barn in silence, and she did not speak to him again that day.

Night. The house was sleeping quietly when Dalzi padded silently out the door. He left the tunic on a chair, and ran fleetly and quietly around the wheatfield and into the forest. The night air was chill, but he would not have exchanged it for the warmth of the house for anything. He breathed in a sigh of relief when he reached the forest, and exchanged hands and skin for paws and fur. Joyfully, he sprang into the forest.

Behind him, in the house, Alicia withdrew her face silently from the window. Her mother muttered something in her sleep, but Alicia paid no heed. "I was right," she whispered to herself, but she could not tell whether she was excited or frightened, just as she did not know if the tear trickling down her face was one of anger or one of sorrow.

* * *

The woods were not much different to Dalzi the wolf than they were by day. He could see only a little less, but the scents were slightly different. Some were nocturnal animals he recognized, while others were unfamiliar. He avoided the unfamiliar scents as best he could; they gave him a feeling of unease.

He had been loping easily along for about half an hour when he came across a human scent that he recognized as Zach's. Curious, he followed it. It was difficult to trail, for it was almost totally covered with a stronger scent that he did not know, but which tickled his nose. He had only followed the scent for a few hundred yards when the ground fell away beneath him, and he fell and fell.

Pain lanced up his left foreleg as it crumpled beneath him. He yelped, rolled over onto his back on the hard surface he had landed on, and lay still. A shower of leaves and dirt rained down on him. When all was quiet once more, he smelled the area around him, keeping perfectly still.

The strongest scent that came back to him was the dank, musty smell of the earth. He was in a pit, and then he caught another odor that raised the hackles on his neck. There was wolf scent here -- and death. He whined softly, smelling the blood of other wolves all around him, then changed back to human to see what he could see.

The first thing he noticed was the pain of the transformation. It hurt, hurt his left arm as it never had before. Examining it, he could see why. It was misshapen, bent at an awkward angle. Broken.

The second thing he noticed was the smell he had recognized in the barn, but been unable to identify. He knew now what it had been, and whose trap this was.

He sighed. In time, he knew, Zach would visit his wolf trap, but what would he say when he found Dalzi there? Dalzi did not want to have to explain to the big farmer why he had left so quickly and secretly. The farmer might be dense, as Alicia claimed, but there was a limit to everything. Dalzi's father had warned him of the farmers' dislike of sorcery, and he had no wish to experience it firsthand. Therefore, he had to get out.

He tried jumping, but his good hand could not get a firm enough hold anywhere to pull him up. If he could reach the lip of the pit, he could make it out, he decided, even with only one good hand. But it was beyond his reach.

But, he thought, is it beyond the reach of a wolf? Congratulating himself on finding the solution, he braced himself, then made the change.

It hurt even more than the last time. But he did not need his forelegs to jump. The ghosts of dead wolves encouraged him as he crouched, leapt -- and struck his forelegs against the wall of the pit some three inches below the edge. He yelped again as his broken paw convulsed in pain.

Idiot, he thought. It's a wolf trap. Of course it's too deep for a wolf. Nevertheless, he tried again, putting all his muscle behind the jump.

This time, he felt his toenails scrape along the edge before he fell. He lay gasping for several minutes, waiting for the pain in his leg to recede and thinking about his problem. The boy could get out if he could reach the top, but he could not reach the top, and he could not climb with a broken arm. The wolf could get to the top -- barely -- but could not get out from there. Therefore -- and the pain in his arm seemed to vanish as he concentrated harder on his solution -- he would have to change in mid-jump. In a matter of seconds. Dalzi did not know if he was that good. Nevertheless, it was his only chance.

He struggled to his feet, panting. Readying both his mind and his body, he paused for a moment to pray to his lupine ancestors (despite his human heritage, Hali assured him that he had as much right to pray to them as natural wolves did), and to the humans' gods. Then he sprang, and changed.

A wolf left the ground, and a demi-wolf again caught his toenails along the edge. But Dalzi hadn't counted on the pain in his arm/leg, and as he winced involuntarily, he lost his grip and fell again.

Falling as human wasn't nearly as bad; he could land on his legs and hardly jar his arm at all. But he knew he would have to change twice more -- at least -- in the near future, and that was not a pleasant prospect. He decided to try to fix his arm, at least temporarily.

His mother had taught him the rudiments of first aid, so he knew that the best thing he could do was to try to snap the bone back into place. Though it set his arm on fire every time he touched it, he finally managed to push the bone in his lower arm back into a normal-looking position. He had to rest again after that, and he noticed as he did so that the moon was directly overhead. So much time gone by!

Finally, he was ready. He let the change come, and noticed that it hurt much less this time. He hoped that his setting had done him some good. Crouching down, he leapt once more, and once more gave up his paws for hands. And this time, the sacrifice was worth it.

His hand clawed at the edge, fingers scrabbling for a hold. His fingers dug in, sunk into the soil, and he pulled himself up. When his muscles were stretched taut, and he felt he could hold on no more, he swung his legs until his feet caught on the edge. Gratefully, he rolled over and breathed in the fresh air, hardly even noticing that his arm was pushed out of shape again.

For most of the night, he ran in human form. He did not even want to find his loincloth; he just wanted to get home. For hours and hours he ran, until he felt he had to be there. He stopped tiredly, and decided to accept the pain of the transformation to try to get a good scent that would lead him home. Quickly, he changed to wolf.

Yes, there was the familiar scent! He nearly barked for joy. But then he caught another smell, one that he cringed from in fear. And as he cringed from it, the bear came charging toward him. He growled fiercely, but he knew it would sense his injury, and then it would be only a matter of time.

It stopped nonetheless, perhaps curious, perhaps intimidated. He took that opportunity to leap at its throat.

He got in a good bite, but it managed to swat him away easily. He lay dazed on the forest floor, and it began to advance slowly. Change, he thought, I should change ... But he could not muster the necessary concentration. He could smell the thing strongly now, its overpowering reek filling his nostrils. Ancestors help me, he prayed. I don't want to die!

A silent shape flew in the night, tearing at the bear's throat and knocking it over. Roaring its rage, the bear tried to rip the shape to pieces, but it never seemed to be able to lay a paw on the shadow. Eventually, it stopped trying, and a few minutes later, it was no longer able to try.

Dalzi lay silent, feigning death. He did not want to tangle with this thing. It came over to him anyway, and suddenly he recognized the scent.

"Hali!" he cried in the tongue of wolves, struggling to his feet. Hali came closer, sniffing him all over.

"Well, cub," he said. "You've made a fine mess of yourself."

"Oh, Hali," Dalzi replied, "I'm so glad to smell you."

"You're a favorite of the ancestors, my cub. If I hadn't been out hunting, you'd now be dinner for a bear."

"I know, Hali. But I've had a long day, and I'd really like to go home now. Can I tell you about it on the way?"

"Of course. But Dalzi, remember this. I don't know where you got that broken leg. I suppose it could have been a lot worse. Nevertheless, you are still a cub. A strong, agile, and old cub, to be sure, but still a cub. And someday soon, you will be able to go wherever you want, whenever you want, and do whatever you want. For now, remember that there are those who will not watch out for an errant wolf cub. But there are those who worry about one. Please remember that, Dalzi."

Dalzi bowed assent, chastised but somewhat angry. "I will remember, Hali."

"Good," Hali licked Dalzi across the muzzle. "I'm glad you're safe, little one. Let's go home."