Summer was almost here at long last, the long harsh winter and damp spring finally giving way to the warmer months. It was time to air out the house, what little house there was, to throw open windows and pull all the bedding outside.

Later she would limewash the internal walls, it had been a couple of years since she'd last done it and they were growing grey with grime and soot.

After that, she would team up with the other women who lived in the complex and they would dig out the big copper kettle from where it lived in the back shed. It was rarely nowadays, used except for at exactly this time of year. Together they would throw in everything they owned, and it would be boiled until clean, banishing the mould and mildew of winter once and for all. The combined power of bleach and heat achieving what handwashing never could.

It was an exciting, and busy, time of year. In between the painting and the washing, she might stop in at the local school and see if they needed help, or she might take some cookies to her grandma. There was an old man at number seven whose wife had died over the winter, and he was struggling, so she might drop in there too, see if there was anything he needed. The other women wouldn't mind doing his washing either, they had been taking turns keeping an eye on him.

Already she could see the lines being strung up across the courtyard, ready for the big wash tomorrow.

As she settled her basket on her arm and stepped out of the house, ready to go and buy paint Moorheather hummed happily to herself, because on top of everything else, tonight she was meeting up with Brightfeather.

Smiling, she thought of him as she crossed the courtyard, ducking under ropes and avoiding people too busy to get out of her way.

They had been together almost six months now, although not living together, and they saw each other at least three times a week, if not more often. He had bounced between jobs for a while, but at the moment he seemed to be stable, almost literally, as the job he had found was cleaning up after and looking after the dogs at the racing track on the other side of town.

He had lodgings there above the kennels, and although it was noisy, he claimed it was good work and he seemed fond of the dogs.

As she left the estate and headed towards the decorator, she thought of how he had changed over the past six months. His clothes were no longer ragged and too small, which was a little bit of a shame, but only a little. His hair, which had been lank and uncared for when she met him was now, well, not much different, but it was cleaner and fell around his shoulders in a way that she liked. He couldn't grow a beard, but she was fine with that, she liked his face as it was.

His skin was still tanned and dark, and he still had a wild energy to him which made her heart flutter every time they met.

She bounced happily a little as she walked, thinking of the evening. It was her turn to provide dinner, so they had agreed to meet up at the Fish and Fin, a pub on his side of town. She knew the sister of one of the waitstaff there, who claimed the kitchen was clean, and who claimed the food wasn't bad.

She had seen some kitchens in her time, and it was always good to get a confirmation before you started eating, rather than an hour afterwards.

-

They would eat dinner in the Fish and Fin, but she had picked up some little cakes for afters, as something for Brightfeather to take home with him, and she the paper bag under her arm as she entered the bar room.

The sight of him leaning on the counter still made her heart flutter, and she decided that no matter how he Changed in the future, she would always be able to identify him by that little jump, like the strike of a match, that moment where everything flared bright, before the flame caught and settled.

She had spent the day scrubbing down the walls of her home before applying the wash to the plaster, and as she walked, she could feel every muscle in her back, but right now, as he turned to smile at her, all that melted away.

Some rational part of her mind, if such a thing still existed, gently chided her that she might be taking this love thing a bit far, and that she should back up a bit before she got hurt. But that part of her mind was very small and rather quiet, so as she settled down onto the bench seat, she was happy to ignore it.

Life was good right now. Maybe it wouldn't be in the future, life was always changing, but for now, it was good.

-

Dinner was simple; a small amount of cured meat, cheeses and bread. Talk between the two of them was ephemeral, what they had done that day, and what they hoped to do tomorrow. They spoke more for the sake of hearing each other than to convey any real information.

Moorheather recounted attempting to help the widowed man with his washing, only to discover that his hearing had gone over the winter and no matter how she shouted she only got nonsense in reply.

Brightfeather in his turn shared how one of the dogs had gotten free during training, and had gone three times around the track before they caught it.

"We gotta switch him out for tonight, the bookies weren't pleased!" he spoke between bites, waving his fork around, "but he wasn't hurt, so it's all good, we switched him out for Blink, who was supposed to run tomorrow, so-"

There was a bit of dialogue over how the whole schedule had to change, which dogs had days off and which would be switched in if another was injured or sick, and Moorheather listened happily, whilst also considering that they both probably worked more than any of those dogs.

At the end of the meal Brightfeather smiled, and she felt her heart melt again as she gazed across the table. He made a 'wait' gesture with one hand, and then rummaged in his pockets. A moment later he produced two paper tickets, he smiled a shy grin as he proffered them to her. "I got us tickets to the races tonight, you wanna go?"

-

The races were fun. She didn't bet, Brightfeather wasn't allowed, being deemed too much in the know, and she had never picked up the habit, but she enjoyed listening to him talk with confidence about the dogs. Which ones were running well, and which the trainers thought could do better. They made little informal bets between themselves, and she came away from the experience richer, if not in money, then at least in spirit.

Walking out of the tracks, the evening sun finally starting to fade, Moorheather looked around with interest. She hadn't been to the track before, or even this side of town much, but she had heard it mentioned in conversation. The place had been built almost a decade previous by one of the local nobles, who had, unsurprisingly, made their fortune in breeding dogs. It hadn't taken off as much as they'd hoped it would, but it had made enough money to keep itself going. In the years since, a small village of associated industries had built themselves up around it, selling everything from bets to dog food.

The streets were lit by old-fashioned oil lanterns, and they were busy even this late in the evening, as the two of them walked arm-in-arm away from the track. She could feel the coolness of his skin against her arm, and it gave her goosebumps.

Her great-grandmother had kept dogs, and there was a painting of one of them hung in her bedroom. It was a small thing, the size of a child's hand, and Moorheather made a note to look at it when she got home. It had been around most of her life, but she couldn't recollect ever looking at it with more than a passing glance.

She made a mental note to ask grandma about it, the next time she visited. She hadn't gotten around to going today, but the weather tomorrow promised to be good, maybe she could go in the evening after the washing was done.

-

Lost in her thoughts and enjoyment of his touch against her arm, she was startled by an exclamation from Brightfeather, and then she was being pulled towards a brightly lit shop. From the looks of it, it had only just opened, and a small crowd was starting to gather around the open front.

"Look, look", he pointed into the shop, and she walked up to look, missing his touch. The front was open a the top, but the lower half was barricaded off with boards. As Brightfeather leant on the boards, staring down, she was startled by the joy on his face.

Curious, she walked closer and peered down to see what had got him so excited.

Inside the pen were a whole gaggle, a whole herd? She wasn't sure of the terminology, a whole group of puppies. Different colours and different ages, they were running around the open floor, trading a piece of leather or wool between them, a child's game. Their shapes weren't those of the racing dogs they had seen earlier in the evening, she wondered at that. She didn't know much about dogs and hadn't expected there to be such variety.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

As she looked over them, watching them tussle and fight, one at the back, a sort of white and ginger colour, reminded her of the painting she had been considering earlier. Smiling, she pointed it out to Brightfeather and then tried to beckon it closer.

As she reached into the pen, the whole flock surged towards her, yipping and falling over each other, all fighting to be the first to get at and lick her hand, their toy forgotten in the scrum.

She pulled back before they could reach her, not enjoying the thought of their spit coating her hands, but she laughed all the same as they continued to yip and tumble at the boards. Brightfeather reached down and ran his hands over them with affection, but the one she had indicated stayed near the back of the pack, out of reach. It was a little smaller than the others, younger he said, and rather outcompeted by its friends.

He petted the writhing mass of dogs for a moment, before giving her a grin. Then, before she could stop him, he clambered over the barricade, earning himself a shout from the attendant, who she had previously failed to notice, and laughs from the others around them.

He waded confidently through the throng, not afraid of their noise or energy, before scooping up the little ginger and white pup and heading towards the back of the shop. The attendant, looking flustered, put aside the newspaper they'd been reading and walked up the greet him, but the noise was too loud for her to hear their conversation.

A moment later one of the mob grabbed the newspaper and ran off with it, inspiring laughs from those watching, and there was a brief tussle before it was retrieved by Brightfeather, all while the puppy he was holding desperately attempted to reach his face.

He played it up for a moment, waving the paper over the throng and letting them jump for it. They could achieve a surprising amount of height, but their landings left something to be desired, and after a minute of play, Brightfeather gave the laughing crowd a wave and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Moorheather hovered by the barricade, torn between following him, and her slight fear of dogs. They were friendly, she knew that, but there were so many of them, and despite their cuteness, they still had scratchy little claws and wet little faces. She had also thrown on a summer dress that morning rather than deal with the hassle of trousers and she feared they might tear up her legs.

She wondered what had caught his eye about it. What if he'd seen something wrong with it? A part of her grew increasingly more worried as he failed to return. He was soft like that, and working with dogs meant he knew all about them. He had helped with training the dogs in the circus, and he had once told her all their names, as well as the names of all the goats and ponies.

As she was finally convincing herself to either step over the barrier or to find her way around the back of the shop, Brightfeather reemerged. The puppy was balanced on one shoulder furiously licking his ear, and a grin on his beautiful face. She forgot her worried as she saw him, her stomach doing a little flip. She resisted the urge to wave like an idiot as he trotted over to her, and she helped him over the barrier, the other holding the puppy in place.

After a moment to adjust the dog, they continued their walk as if nothing had happened. She gave the puppy a confused look, which inspired a wriggling fit as it attempted to reach her, but it soon gave up, sighing and settling where it stood, held in place with one hand and watching with interest the passing sights.

It was such a tiny thing, she thought. Its floppy little ginger ears, its fluffy white body, and its strangely human eyes. It was a bit like a baby, and the burst of energy in had shown the shop was starting to wane, giving way to sleepiness.

Brightfeather caught her looking, and grinned, showing his teeth. "She'll be a great hunting dog when she's big." He patted the puppy on her head, and then had to take a moment to deal with the wiggling, "but we used to use this kind in the circus for tricks, so she'll be smart enough to learn other stuff, too."

Moorheather nodded, "she's very cute." She hesitated, not sure what to ask next. If he was going to show her or train her for hunting, or how he had afforded it. Even as somebody not in the know, she could tell that it wasn't a breed designed for racing, those dogs were sleek and slim, the opposite of the bouncy little thing on his shoulder.

They walked in comfortable silence until they reached a dimly lit park. Somewhere along the way, the puppy had ended up in her arms, and she was admiring the softness of its fur and the feel of Brightfeather's hand against hers as they petted it.

As they settled down onto a bench, under a flickering street lamp, she finally decided on her question: "What're you gonna name her?"

Brightfeather blinked, before shaking his head. "She's yours, you name her!"

Moorheather stared at him, and then down at the puppy in her lap, and then frowned back up at him. "I…"

She stared back down at the puppy, and then back at him again, "what?"

He reached over and ran his hand over the dog's ears, "I'll help of course, 'cause you're gonna have to train her a bit, but she'll be a good dog when she's grown."

Moorheather kept frowning, confused and somewhat speechless. "I don't understand?"

She ran her hands through the fur, and the puppy snuggled its nose into her skirt, sighing with happiness. "I… But it's yours, you bought it, didn't you?"

He shrugged, "I got some money from a mate the other day," a wink, "she made some good bets and gave me a cut, don't go telling."

He gazed down at the dog and his expression was distant, "I never had a need for money, once I had food and somewhere to sleep. It's been a bit different, livin' here, but not so much." He hesitated, "She'll be a good dog."

He stared down at the puppy and his grin faded into worry.

"You don't want her?" He bit his lip, "I can take her back if you want. The owner knew me from the tracks, he'll take her back if I ask. I can't keep her at work, the runners would knock her about too much and we don't have a spare kennel."

Biting his upper lip, he reached for the puppy and started to stand, "I'll take her back, I shoulda asked, I just thought-"

Moorheather shook her head, heart jumping at the thought she might have upset him. She held on to the pup as he reached to take it, causing it to bite gently at her hand, "it's ok, it's fine. I was just surprised, was all."

What was she saying, she knew nothing about dogs, but the look on his face and the uncertainty in his voice were breaking her heart. "I can take her to work with me, or one of the women'll look after her."

She ran through the scenarios in her mind. Most of the pubs she had worked at had a basket in the corner, she could teach it to sleep there, probably. She would have to watch that it didn't fall into the canal, but it should be safe enough. She cleaned houses two days a week, but that would be fine, she could take it with her and the owners would never know. They were always out whilst she worked anyway.

She frowned down at the sleeping animal, working all this out in her head, while Brightfeather danced from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with himself.

Gently, she ran a hand over its head. Its skull, her skull, their skull, was so small and fragile. What if it got into an accident, or hurt, what was she going to feed it, where would it sleep? She would have to find it a bed.

"It'll be fine," she murmured, lost in thought, "I'll make it work."

"I'll come back to your place and help, if you want." Brightfeather's voice was small, and she looked up at him in surprise. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she had almost forgotten he was there.

At some point, he had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he looked more unsure than she ever remembered seeing him. Not even on that first day, where she had watched him hover around the edges of the square, working himself up to coming over.

Mind made up, she nodded to herself and scooped the dog up into her arms, not as confidently as Brightfeather might have, but she was getting the hang of it, would get the hang of it.

This was fine.

-

There was no streetlighting on her side of town, but she knew the area well, and they made it back to her home with no incidents. Somewhere along the way, Brightfeather had gone back to carrying the puppy, holding it in his arms like a baby, and she watched him as they walked, thinking.

"So dogs sleep at night, like humans," he explained, "and she's old enough to eat regular food, you'll have to get some meat for her. She needs different food to the runners, but I can give you a recipe for what we used to feed the circus dogs-"

The night was dark and still around them as they walked. In previous places he'd been they would have been able to walk above the shops and houses, but not here, and Moorheather wondered what that would be like, to be amongst such wildness so late at night. The town wasn't lacking in vegetation by any means, but the land had always been scrubland. Cold winters and bedrock close to the surface meant that there wasn't the substrate to support forests like there was further east.

"Have you thought of a name for her?" Brightfeaher asked, and she was startled out of her thoughts, staring down at the small bundle of fur in his arms. What would be a good name? She had never had a pet before, not even a cat or a bird.

Moorheather opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, as names flew past her. Ginger was too generic, too easy. Silky, Soft, and Sweet all too much alike, descriptors, not names.

Frowning, she almost tripped, but she was caught by Brightfeather, and her heart skipped a beat at both the thought of dropping it, and his hand on her arm. All thought of names left her for a moment as she leant into him, thinking of things she liked. Biscuits, Candles, Brightfeather, Teapots and Tealeaves.

She frowned at that last one. It was a stupid name, and it was a human name, anyone who heard her shout it in the street would look for a child, not a dog, and she would keep having to justify it to people.

She dismissed the thought and ran her mind through different things as she walked, things she liked and names she had heard in the past. It was as they were crossing the courtyard outside her home that it came to her.

"Her name is Peanut."

Brightfeather scrunched up his face in thought. She had said it as one word, not as a name, and it didn't sound like a real word.

"I know the words seperate like," he spoke slowly, "but what's a Peanut?"

She hesitated, "I think it's a sort of berry that grows in the south? I learnt about it in school, small animals eat them."

He nodded as if this was sage wisdom, and not a half-remembered tale from her childhood. "It sounds small. Peas are small, and she is a small dog."

They continued their walk across the courtyard, ducking under the washing lines, almost invisible in the dark.

She passed him the dog, and he waited as she opened the door and lit the candles, before pushing his way in, opening the door with his shoulder. He hadn't been here much, and it made her feel happy and fluttery that he was sharing her space, a mood only heightened by the lateness of the night and the hushed surroundings.

As the door closed behind him and the room darkened, now only lit by the candles, she wondered if this was what Changers felt when they talked about magic. The sense of something unseen in the air, more a mood than a tangible thing.

Unsure of himself, Brightfeather hovered by the doorway for a moment staring into the middle distance, before pulling himself back with a start and moving towards the armchair near the stove. It was a stuffy old thing, but comfortable, and he carefully deposited the sleeping puppy onto the cushions.

"Careful you don't sit on her," he warned, and his voice seemed muffled in the darkness. "Little Peanut."

He breathed out through his nose, staring down at her shrouded shape, almost invisible in the dark recesses of the chair, the brightness of her fur fading into the darkness if she looked directly at it.

"I'll come back in the mornin'", he sighed, and reached down and ran a hand over the dim form one last time, "make sure everything-"

He stopped as her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and she smiled at him as he turned, his face so very close.

It turns out, there's no need to come back if you're already there.