The next day begins just as the others have. Morgana checking my wounds, breakfast, a big no to tea, then the daily drills.

The folks are up to twenty laps around the enormous training courtyard, and I will up it to twenty-five tomorrow. They’re ready.

“Sir!” I turn to find Jim jogging to me, the one Bob had bullied shortly after I began their training.

He huffs to a stop, bow staff steadying him as he leans it onto the ground. The staff has become more and more an extension of himself than a separate entity. After the fight with the Bob the Bully, he became of one mind with the staff; despite his bruised ribs—or perhaps, because of—a deep respect grew within him of what the staff can do.

I don’t particularly like its use, but pain is indeed a good tutor in the art of war. But there are better ways.

I haven’t seen Jim without the staff in his hands since we began, unless I forbade him from having it as we ran through bare hand forms. Nor have I seen a more natural bowman. Not something I would have guessed, considering his fight with Bob.

“Sir. Bob…” Jim gets out at last. Well, speak of the devil, “he is going to try to make you turn wolf and attack. Heard him bragging 'bout it to a few of his friends.”

A grim smile turns my lips. Just the sort of challenge my wolf has been aching for.

I clap him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Jim. I’ll handle it.”

He pales at my elongating teeth and nods, quickly drifting back to fall in with the others who I allowed to spar today at ten percent, a mixture of soldiers and farmers, all coming together with heart to work and defend each other and their city.

Today, sparring is all about control. I much more greatly fear a man in full control of himself than one devoured by anger.

One can be manipulated. Anger is easily lured. Controlled precision, on the other hand… that’s dangerous.

I also taught a lesson on terrain and how to fight dirty. The rigid sparring of points is nothing compared to life and death situations, and there is no honor in a dead man. So I told them to use the dirt and rocks at their feet. Throw it into faces, trip the other man up with a sword, go for the legs. Sparring is well and good, but it can also get one too accustomed to it killed.

I see Bob with a few buddies coming. I swallow a deranged grin and wait.

The soldiers shuffle, a few looking as if they will come to my defense should I need it. Others glare at me, and I wonder if I'd be better off in a tavern full of drunks if this brawl gets out of hand.

Bob doesn’t waste a moment. The three buddies at his back must give him courage.

Too bad it’s not enough.

‘Ol Bob the Bully comes within a foot of me. His shoulders are stiff, his lips turned down into a scowl, and his brown eyes glitter with anger.

He still has to look up at me.

“Why should we listen to a were-mutt? A Kursk abomination. A man-eater!”

I almost smile, but we’re garnering attention. Better to keep a straight face and bait my trap. “A monster?” I ask softly.

“Yes! A monster. One who will turn on us. We rescued him, but he’s wild. Just look at those eyes. We wouldn’t trust a wild wolf not to bite the hand trying to feed it. Why do we trust this creature? Just look at him. He spends more time in the wild than he does among civilization. He’s not a tame animal. He can’t be trusted.” Some of the folk murmur in agreement, the sound of clicking armor sounding harsh to my ears as the soldiers and farmers shift uncomfortably.

I stand still, weathering the storm of his words with no expression except acceptance. One thing I will say, he’s a lot better with words than I expected. I may have underestimated him, and I would prefer to stay in this town for another day while the pigeon flies my message. But if they kick me out, I will find another way.

“And who is the one devoting his time to help our town? Who is the one who almost died saving my granddaughter from a certain, painful death? Who is the one weathering you without snapping your neck?” David steps out from behind Big Tim. “Bob Jugger, you know as well as I, if this man wanted you dead, there is nothing any of us could do. He bested you without a single blow. I wouldn’t provoke him, were I you.” David steps back with a shrug, as if what happens next is not upon his shoulders.

I nod and put my fingers upon my heart in a small salute.

Time to bait. "I will be pleased to show you once more why I am skilled enough to teach you."

His jaw slightly drops. I grin inside.

"I can show you why I was able to help you run jingoist from your town, and why I can do it again. This is a place worth defending." I pause, throwing my voice to the rest who watch.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"This town filled with souls who have shown me the true meaning of neighbors. You have something here that I have never seen in all my travels to this extent. You have a community. A family. You push for the same goals and strive to become better by lifting each other up when your brother or sister stumbles. Don’t change. There is a simple wonder here that saved a monster coming through and graced a prisoner with a place anyone would be most honored to call home, if I didn’t already have one to return to." I smile at the folks gathered.

Woman with baskets in their hands from bartering in the market watch me warily, but also with optimism. Children peek from behind their skirts. Since this is the second to last day I'm here, some of the soldier's and farmer's families came to watch.

I smell hints of amused citrus, confused bitter-sweetness, and the rotten apple stench of a prideful man who will do anything to have his way.

“Let’s settle this. You choose the weapon.” I say at last.

His eyes light from within with a manic sort of glee, and I have a feeling I just stepped into a wolf sized trap.

“I choose the weapon of the Hunt. One wolf against four men. For what fairness is there in a trained wolf against one little townsman? I would be dead.”

Well, at least he's not a total idiot.

I know the ancient right of the Hunt. If a Shifter was accused of man-hunting, they had the right to defend themselves in wolf form on a hunt. Should the Shifter escape without harming the hunters, the Shifter was declared innocent. If not, well... death was rarely swift. It was created to kill off my ancestors in the Empire.

But it is also a way to prove myself. A hunt at that moment sounds like an excellent option.

My grin is slow and menacing. The four men before me grow pale and stumble back.

“There will be no such barbaric practices in my town!” Healer Morgana suddenly hisses at my side. I jump.

I catch Heather, Jace, and Tim stifling laughter at my surprise. I frown at them. Which only makes Jace have a coughing fit.

Morgana scowls at Bob, and he winces as if struck.

I gape at the healer. How did I not hear her?

She gives me a gap-toothed grin and waggles her cane at me. “I won’t have my patient relegated to something he’s already proven. No man-hunter has as much control as the man before me. As Elder I proclaim him innocent without need of trial.”

Elder? Healer Morgana is the Elder of this town?

She pats my cheek in a rare show of affection. It says a lot that I don’t flinch.

“Ya were wild, Sweetie. Now ya’re adopted into our little town. How does it feel?”

My mouth drops. She closes it for me with another smile and a crinkling around her eyes.

“I—I should’ve stayed wild. I didn’t sign up for this.”

Many of the people around us grin. Some even chuckle.

“Too bad. Ya’re already adopted.”

They laugh at my face. I’m not sure what it shows, but it’s not my normal stoicism, that’s for sure.

~~~

I take a shortcut showed to me by Tim through the dark allys behind the main ale houses on the way back from the bathhouse that night. It is here that I’m ambushed by the thugs from earlier.

A chuckle rumbles from my chest.

“You’ll be sorry you were ever born, Were-mutt.” He tries to sound so bad. He really does.

But it’s nothing I haven’t heard a thousand times.

I can smell the tangy silver from here, and it tickles my nose as if I’d been in hay.

It’s not the quality stuff of the jingoist. That would burn my nose at this range.

One of the bigger men cracks his knuckles. I grin, but it's covered by the dark night. They don’t see my elongated fangs.

A fight ensues that I wish was longer. All I have to do to the first is sidestep, grab the man by the back of his shirt, and toss him headfirst into the alley wall. He lands in a pile of... yeah, that's excrement. Fitting. He now smells to humans how he smells to me.

This is fun. Think we can make them all go splat?

I internally shrug. Let's give it a go.

The next runs himself into a wall when I trip him, landing with a splat and a groan. I toss him over to his buddy, his body making a smacking, sucking sound as he lands in the embrace of the dark substance.

I turn just in time to jump back from a tug on my arm... the knife parting my sleeve and leaving a scratch beneath that burns with the silver. The man backs away with a grin, the hard eyes of Bob the Bully glinting. My wolf snarls inside while I am just happy to get Bob in a place where I can do exactly what I wish... without the audience of hundreds of men.

I keep the wolf down, not allowing the change pulsing through my veins to come for me. Not yet.

I want to do this human.

Bob gestures for me to attack. He is making this way too easy. I leave the pile of human excrement moaning behind me.

Bob throws something, and I barely dodge the spray of white particles, some landing on my arm and stinging with the zeal of a hundred ant bites. Silver Sprinkles. And no, they are not as delightful as their name makes them sound. They hurt.

I growl something unintelligible to human ears, and Bob's eyes grow wide as he realizes he may have vastly underestimated me and vastly overestimated his silver. He backs up a step, but I am not letting him away that easily.

It only takes three steps for me to grab him by the shoulders and shake him like a dog shaking a squirrel. His teeth clack together and his eyes roll in fear. His trousers become dark as a puddle grows beneath him.

I wouldn't do this for many folk, but in special cases, my wolf just gets the better of me, even in human form. Once I'm done shaking him around, I pick him up and toss him to the pile of his buddies.

He lands with a splat, right in between his two friends, and deep enough he has to splutter and dig his way through the... mud... in order to breathe. With a loud sucking sound, he finally emerges from the top and sucks in a loud breath of reeking air. He reaches with shaking hands to uncover his eyes, mouth and nose.

My internal demon rides high. That was priceless. Can we do it again?

I chuckle.

I look at the last man, not making the mistake of losing sight of an enemy again.

He throws his hands up and backs away. "I ain't got no need of that. So sorry to bother you, Your Kurskness." He bows two or three times in quick succession, then turns and darts from the alley as if the hounds of the abyss are on his tail.

The grin parting my lips is pure bliss as I gaze upon my handiwork. I just wish Jace and Tim were here to see it. They'd get a kick out of this. Maybe someday I'll tell them.

The thought surprises me. I'm a loner, and I like it that way. I have no need of anyone to share in my victories.

We're wolf. We will always long for pack.

I will ignore that... because I have no rebuttal.

The Masters would be disappointed in the tiny scratch creating a trail of blood down my arm. I can't find it inside myself to care, even if I am slightly disappointed in myself for underestimating Bob. It could have been much worse.

I look one last time at the men, moaning in both pain and disgust. One gags and another scrambles onto his feet, only to fall back into the pile when his boots decide that mud and slick bottoms don't mix. He knocks Bob back under.

I whistle a merry tune as I merge back into foot and wagon traffic under the light of gleaming mage lights as I head toward the inn. That was fun indeed.