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2008-12-14T12:41:05Z

With his prince gone and friend missing the shifter was left to his own devices for the night. It was never in his nature to keep busy, his greatest sin Sloth, and as the winter came his life seemed to come to a standstill. It was like that for every equinox and solstice, even his powers would seem to ebb and leave him in one form for a startling amount of time.

The form he took now was of a faun, the appearance deer-like overall but much thicker than that of a true cervine. Hooves and horns appearing to be made of gold, but it was nothing more than an illusion, the same hard bone of a normal deer’s. The tawny-gold of his main coat was speckled with dark brown spots, the same of an immature deer, and near-white along his stomach and inner thighs. It had been little over a week in this form and he had gotten over the awkward movement in his gait, having gone from walking on four paws to two hooves in his switch from manticore to faun.

His travels, or lack thereof, in isolation led him to a hot spring away from the towns he would frequent, and without any hesitation he took the opportunity for a respite from the cold.

Bathing was uneventful other than taking his time to find a cove of water-work rocks to settle down on comfortably. He rejected anything even remotely displeasing him, swimming about the springs lazily and rolling over in the water as he went. Even as his hooves made it more difficult to do so, he couldn’t help but try, and eventually found a place to settle himself down and simply enjoy the heat of the water before tiring himself out.

He was even able to remain prone like that for a good hour or so before a desire for more made him drag himself from the water and head into the nearest town. Tremors racked his body from the sudden cold. Before his dip he hadn’t bothered with clothing, a faun’s body built sturdy enough for the weather and his own layer of fat acting as insulation, but now with his fur soaked through he could feel the harsh weather and tried to curl in on himself for warmth. However, he pressed forward, his trip already started, and ducked into a local tavern on the edge of town.

The tavern was little known, a place for dog breeders, sometimes in front of the tavern and bartering with a passer-by, convincing them that they did indeed need a good hunting dog, or tracker, or companion. Whatever fit in with what the breeder had in stock and the passer-by had in his wallet. Inside the tavern was the only place to escape from the desperate salesmen. The breeders that frequented the tavern were more discerning about their canines; they would mock and tease the dogs with lower ranking, bred only for markings by the vain or horrid and ugly mutts bred by idiots who knew nothing of the art. A common topic was how the dogs were clearly ill-fit of anything, whether it be hunting or tending to children because of how inbred the animals were for their markings. They were half-mad things, identical to their siblings for the sake of being aesthetically pleasing, and had none of the character or nobility of a true hunting dog. The breeders that were mocked were done so rightly in the eyes of the others, for they would pass up on a dog of excellent skill and temper for studding because it would have a plain and tawny coat.

At first the shifter had a few eyes drawn to him, as if quarry had wandered of its own free will into the wolf’s den so to speak, but the golden color with imperfections of dark brown and blue eyes were recognized by a couple of the men and women and they turned back to their conversations. While the shifter didn’t keep any dogs of his own, he did enjoy hearing the stories the breeders would be more than happy to share with anyone who’d listen, and he had been by enough for the people who noticed him to acknowledge that while his form may change he could still be identified by markings and disposition.

A brief word with the tavern owner gave way to the faun being permitted to use one of the older and less valuable bear pelts as a cloak, free of charge as long as he managed to keep up his bargain of it being returned before the next sunrise. He remained in the tavern long enough to warm his chilled limbs and listen to a few breeders discuss the merits of using albino mothers, as the poor saps they mocked were wont to do. In the end he didn’t understand much of the argument and left, a good deal warmer and more comfortable than when he left the hot springs and eventually putting the albino mothers and their unfortunate whelps out of his mind.

The day had given way to night by the time he reached the marketplace, only a few stalls still out and the only things on display were the things the owners would never miss. That was, of course, just what the faun told himself as he took a few of the smaller and flatter candles, flint, and a small torch. His other stop was the library, letting himself in, and with proper manners leaving his burden and old pelt at the door as he wandered along the halls. He knelt down to take one of the books he had been borrowing from the collection off and on, carrying it back to his other items and scooping them all up to start his journey back.

He had barely beaten the sun to the tavern, and the owner seemed to know it. But she didn’t press the matter other than giving him a cool and even look as she took the pelt back from him. He continued on the path to the hot spring, an easier trip now that his fur had dried, and traveled along the bank until he was where he had grown comfortable, then restless. He struck the flint with a dry, nearby rock and lit small torch first, then the candles. He set them adrift in the water, tail curling up happily as he found his assumption was correct, the wax did indeed float and the flames danced along the water’s surface delightfully. He set the torch into the ground, forcing it down to keep it from falling over, either onto himself or into the water, and eased back into the warmth he had left before. He took a moment to submerge himself, the water too much of a temptation after his cold journey. Once he resurfaced he moved to sit upon the rocks under the water, letting his hands dry before he reached up for his book, opening to the creased page and reading under the torchlight. He continued that way for, content and warm, as the last shadows of night gave way to the dawn.

Tales of the Golden Shifter

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