“I suppose you must humor an old lady, eh, boy?”

I choke on a laugh. I don’t know exactly what to say to her words, except that I am humoring her.

She tisks at me. “So I see. Now, this wall been here since the inception of this little town. It’s a bit of a landmark for folk. I keep telling the council to get rid of it, but they deny my wishes.” She shakes her head.

A glint in her eyes has me wondering if she didn’t do a little manipulating to get that exactly as she desired.

“Now, would ya like to see what I came out here in the middle of the night to show ya?” she asks, her face lifted in something resembling excitement, even if she isn't smiling.

I pause amid watching the shadows. It’s the time of night where all who should be in bed, are; and the ones who shouldn’t be out, are. The clouds block out the moon, but still I feel its healing touch on my back, working its way into deeper tissue and soothing my muscles. I roll my shoulders, letting the moon do its work.

The surrounding buildings remind me of the first night I was here. Thank goodness the cloying scent of smoke and the sharp tang of silver are absent. For a split second, screams seem to rend the air, but as I duck and feel my wolf come forward, my nails lengthening and ears tapering, I realize—it wasn't real.

I really need to get ahold of myself.

I breathe deeply of air, smelling the lingering hints of people and their normal routines, allowing the scents of spices and baked goods, animal sweat and dung, and chemical dyes for cloth and rugs to bring me back to firm reality.

Noise is practically nonexistent, except for the call of a cat and the bark of coyotes far into the distance. Every once in a while I hear a clatter in a building or a shutter slapping in the wind, but otherwise the dark silence before the dawn is nearly complete.

“My ancestors built this long ago.” My eyes snap to Morgana's face. The accent is gone, and for a moment I could swear her appearance isn't the old lady anymore... but something more. Her reminisce sounded... young. She catches me eyeing her and immediately adopts a more slumped posture.

“‘Nough bout that, boy. Now, come closer. Don’t want no scallywags gettin’ the wrong ideas about me wall.” She grumbles some more under her breath, but my ears hear it loud and clear. “Now where did the... ahhhh... what idiot put it there? Didn’t the skrisaur know there’d be old ladies getting into this place? They designed it as a youngster—had to. Bet they paid for that in their later years.” She cackles at herself, getting down on one knee to pry or meddle with something low on the wall.

I chuckle, thinking of the large, lazy, bear-like creature who have a tendency to forget where they stuck things. The skrisaur has an arm-like appendage that grows from the middle of its chest... and falls off every five years or so, similar to a deer antler. Plus, they put stuff up out of their reach, the one arm being much longer than their chubby necks and stocky legs. It’s a sight to see—a two legged, beady-eyed fiend trying to jump into a tree and grasp its honey comb with its teeth. They are often seen as a dumb animal... but I know better and have the scar to prove it. It’s better not to tangle with one protecting its young.

“Mhmm. There ya go. Easy does it now, old friend. Don’t wanna break one of your gears.” She pats the wall fondly, and I jump as a portion in front of me begins to growl and twitch.

Then a door sized portion slides open, revealing a dark and dank interior, spitting out a cloud of stale dust that makes me cough. Morgana just laughs from three feet over, where she conveniently missed the dust cloud.

“Beauty before age, my young friend. Be my protector, won’t ya?” the lady says.

I eye her. Somewhere in that sentence is something I should take offense to, but I can’t quite tell what it is. She is no help, just cackling and chuckling under her own humor.

So I shrug and go first. If she stabs me in the back... oh, well. She saved my life—if she wants to take it now, I’m not sure I’d stop her.

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A few steps into the interior, I glance back, only to get blinded when she strikes flint against the wall, causing a white light to flash against the greys of the walls.

I put both palms to my eyelids, rubbing until the threat of tears dissipates.

A hand probes my forehead. I strike the area in front of me, but hit nothing.

“No one understands the easiest way to fight a wolf is to turn its advantages against it.”

My heart beats against my ribcage, begging to be let free. I try to blink away the spots in my vision, but all I see is white.

I wait, allowing the staleness of this internal tunnel to be used to my advantage. I listen, the very movement of air a whistling in my ears as they twitch. A breath of air parts the air before me, and I twist, allowing the hiss of something that smells of leather and herbs to streak past my face.

A cackle makes me twist my head. Pain lances through my skull as an explosive sound echoes down the tunnel. I grasp both sides of my head with a grimace, ringing making me practically senseless, except for taste, which isn't much help in a fight.

Unless you intend to spit acid on your enemies.

Acid spit would be helpful, I reply.

You can't spit upon what you can't see. The voice is much too haughty for my current... situation.

I stumble back. Something on the ground catches my foot and I end up flat on my back with a sharp object kissing my throat.

I kneed the ground with my hands, trying to find something... anything... to protect me. Instead, all I feel is cold, hard stone.

The ringing in my ears recedes, and a shadowy figure appears before my eyes as my body works to recover.

"Child, I care not that you think yourself a monster." Her voice is soft and her blurry form becomes more distinct. "Because I will tell you right now, ya ain’t. I've seen monsters. I've killed monsters. And I would kill you, were you a monster. But again, ya ain't. That's just a lie from the enemy to keep ya down and out, not able to reach your full potential for worrying 'bout yerself. Grand-Mamma always did say that the things you worry 'bout ain't the things that'll bite you in the hinny. Have a little grace, hun. On yourself and those 'round you."

The pointy object abruptly retreats. My eyes recover, and the first thing I see is shining metallic eyes from the supposed old human lady.

“Why?” I ask quietly, the ringing in my ears almost gone.

“To show you,” she replies, her wrinkled and broken frame at odds with the intensity of the inhuman golden gaze.

“What?” I ask, decidedly confused. “To show me what?” I repeat, a minuscule bit of anger seeping from my soul into my voice as I lean forward.

She turns her head away. When she looks back, the smiling, gap-toothed face of the healer stares back at me with normal, perfectly human eyes.

She pats my shoulder with a wrinkled hand. “You’ll know in time, deary,” she says, looking down at something and cackling to herself. “Oh, yes. You’ll know in time." Her voice grows strangely fond. "You've finally come out to play, old friend. This world has vast need of you.”

That’s when I follow her gaze and notice something hard but surprisingly warm gripped in my left hand. There, in my grasp, is a dagger. A black thing with a silver center on the guard. It is pitted with rust around the blade's edge and encrusted with dirt. Did I pull this from the ground? If so, how?

But it feels... right. I twist it in my grasp, already debating the best anti-rust baths and how it needs to be oiled to look spiffy. That's when I remember where I am.

I look up sheepishly, unaware of exactly how long I was looking at the blade.

That’s when I find Morgana... gone.

Great. How'd you lose the creepy old crone? Don’t you remember how she attacked us?

Of course I remember, dipstick. But the blade...

Eyes front and center, soldier. Quit becoming so entranced you lose sight of how we are inside a wall—alone—with no way out.

Oh.

‘Oh’ is right.

After a few panicked moments, I get up and make my way to the door, careful to check for any traps. The walls seem to close in, my heart pounding within my chest.

It’s a miracle the door opens with a simple lever from inside. I crouch, gathering myself as I breathe deeply of the night air, the panic slowly receding as I see the stars above and feel the grit and stone beneath my fingers.

I wonder just what Morgana and her ancestors are, and how powerful a being it is. The feeling of being at her mercy... that is not something I am soon to forget. Golden eyes can belong to many creatures, but her ability to blend in is uncanny, even to my sense of smell and trained eye. There are very few possibilities that come to mind, and all are powerful and dangerous.

A seelie perhaps? Or even a Phoenix. The shape-changer... that is likely. They are known for wisdom, long lives, and being a bit... odd. I suppose it is perfectly acceptable to be different after living for a thousand years.

I came away with more questions than answers... when the old healer promised me answers to get me out of bed in the middle of the night with a seemingly inane task. I sigh, running a dusty hand through my hair.

That is just like Morgana. The old crone is indeed crazy... but I'm beginning to suspect she's crazy intelligent in ways that puts even me to shame. I wouldn’t doubt she did this just to confuse the heck out of me.