An angry buzzing fills my ears as the arrows draw near. This is going to hurt.

I yowl like an angry cat I swear I am not related to. No self-respecting wolf makes such a sound, and I will forever deny it.

A lucky arrow burrows high in my hind leg. The pile of stacked up refuse I was aiming for is going to be a bust. I'd like to say the arrow threw me off... yet, if I'm honest, I vastly overestimated my strength. For example, a good five feet short underestimated.

A clearing of pure, hard-packed dirt is going to break my fall. I don't know if I’m strong enough to land it, especially with the girl still clinging to my neck. No roll will be feasible. I'd squash her.

At full strength, my bones would take the landing painfully, but without breaking. As is, I am unsure how much the silver has striped from me. This is going to be painful.

A giant man materializes in front of us a mere horse length before I go splat. I attempt to redirect my fall — mid-air — with flailing paws, but it's too late; I collide with the giant. Time slows. I feel the thump, thump, thu’dump in my chest as arms encircle me to grab the girl. He smells of sweat and fear, but also of sawdust and, strangely enough, cookies.

I almost grasp his jugular and end him, but an image flashes into my mind. The young guard, his unseeing eyes staring at me with accusation... I killed him not an hour ago. I can’t do it. This weakness is going to get us killed.

Instinct demands I kill. I tamp down the urge and clamp my jaws shut, sharp incisors catching my tongue. Ow.

A grunt escapes the man. He lands on his rump when 200 plus pounds of wolf falls over six horse lengths. He catches us as if he were an oversized oven mitt. Yet, the only cushion we have is the near-nonexistent gut on this guy. I'm unsure this landing is any better than hard ground.

The impact is jarring, despite this... cushion. I yelp as the arrow is burrowed further into my hock. A cracking sound comes from the man, and I wince in empathy as his ribs take the brunt of impact.

The man maintains his arms around the girl, confirming she stays in place as I gain my bearings. She whimpers like a young pup... or maybe that was me.

“You both be a’right?” the man asks, his voice a high-pitched wheeze as he gets his breath back.

I try to cough in a breath. It takes a few panicked moments to get the air back that was knocked out of my aching lungs. I try again and get enough to nod at the man. His skin is the dark shade of a Kul’Tum with their swirling black tattoos. Hazel eyes watch us with concern as we gain our bearings.

He pulls his hood back up before his burly arms pick me up to deposit us on the ground. My head hangs low. Disjointed half thoughts enter my brain.

Hurts. Girl. Mother. Barry.

It feels as if Silver delves into my veins, setting them afire... which isn't far from the truth. The girl on my back shifts slightly and the man touches my shoulder.

“Hey, you sure your a’right? That shaft needs removed.”

It’s enough to jerk me from the pain and weakness. I’ve got to go. Get this pup to safety. I grit my teeth and meet his eyes. The kindness there is almost my undoing. But, I promised to help this girl and I will see it through. I nod again—the only thing I can do in this form.

I look around and see the fifty townsfolk fighting the mayor and the jingoist. The guards who were stationed around the edges? They join the townsfolk to fight against the jingoist. My jaw drops in surprise. This is a full-blown revolt.

The soldiers cut down the jingoist with precision, and the townsfolk... well... they are doing well, for an untrained bunch of loggers and farmers.

The hacking they’re doing reminds me more of the laborers I’ve seen harvesting wheat with a sickle. I almost smile when I spot a man swinging a sickle and almost severing the legs of a purple cloaked man.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I’m honestly not sure who is more surprised, the jingoist that the man almost took his legs off with said sickle, or the farmer that the sickle actually worked to some extent as a weapon. Another man comes behind the jingoist and clocks him on the noggin with a wooden mallet before either the purple cloaked man or farmer recovers. The farmer nods to his neighbor then chases after another with a battle yell and upraised sickle. I truly do smile when the jingoist runs, but quickly let it drop when I feel my fangs. I should remember that looks more like a snarl in this form.

The man beside me chuckles at my surprise. “Not all are in line with killin’ small ‘uns," he says. "Get her to safety, Shifter. I must help me neighbors.”

I turn, looking back at the fight, but the man reads my urge to fight.

“Go, Brave One, we will finish this.” From beneath his cloak, he brings a broadsword twice as long as my arm.

He swings it with an ease borne only with one well acquainted with the blade. I steal a backwards glance as he enters the fray, just long enough to see an archer race into a side alley to better enable him to draw upon the village folk and soldiers.

A growl rips past my throat as he draws and sends a bolt through the chest of a man. His next misses the brown-eyed man by inches. I make my choice.

The thrum of the chase rushes through my blood, making my wolf huff in appreciation and pushing the pain away to the back of my mind for later consideration. This is the way of the Wolf. Present purpose, the pack, and the hunt.

I rely on heightened senses and my wolf’s innate sense of direction to lead me. Flashes of gray shapes, blue light, a few silver streaks, and dark, huddling forms pass as I lope down back alleyways and between and through a few stalls for selling goods. The people I pass know to stay out of the way of a Kursk. The cloying, chalky scent of fear hovers around those I leave behind.

The girl clutches my sides with her knees as if I were a horse, her hands entangled in my mane hard enough to pull painfully at my neck, but that's the least of my issues at the moment. I go slow and steady at a lolling lope that's easy to ride.

After a few more twists and turns, my nose makes out the oils of a well-maintained bow and the earthen scent of wooden bolts with the sharp tang of silver-coated tips. Good. I’m where I need to be.

I lay down, snaking my nose around to nudge the girl's leg with my nose, asking her silently to hop off. She gets the hint and drops off my back.

She winces as the cold dirt of the back alley hits her bare, blistered feet. I know precisely how she feels. I'm grateful the dirt rubbed off most of the silver from the cage, even as the blisters remain. Surely that’s a sanitary way to clean wounds. Amusement makes my heart lighter for a moment.

I urge the girl back into a dark corner sandwiched by stacks of refuse, then shiver as I feel the silver rushing through my veins with each beat of my heart, urging me to lie down and die.

I nudge her again. Stay here, little one, I silently plead with her. She nods as if she can hear me.

“I can,” she whispers through trembling lips.

Shock runs through my veins. You can hear me?

“Yes,” she says. Her blue eyes meet mine with a hint of humor at my incredulousness.

I’ll have to get over my surprise later. This night is filled with mysteries.

I must go over there and help fight the bad men. I will be back as soon as I can. Stay here and hide until I come for you. No matter what, ok?

Her bottom lip trembles, but she clinches it between her teeth and nods.

Brave pup. I lick her cheek and she giggles, then I’m gone.

The back alley stinks of waste and vomit. A creak of leather draws my eye to a jingoist sitting behind an overturned table that reeks of ale and Rush. Any party goers fled the scene many hours past. The man is sitting there, releasing arrow after arrow into our ranks. Our ranks? Where’d that come from?

I shake my head to dispel the thought.

He’s killing people! Get on with it, doofus!

Thanks, internal voice.

You're welcome.

With a huff, I turn my mind back to the problem at hand. Alrighty then, here goes nothing. I pad on silent paws around trash piles and puddles that stink of things I do not wish to ruminate on. My wolf is in pure ecstasy at the thrill of the hunt. It’s been much too long.

I creep behind the jingoist using the talent of a silent stalker of the night. The squash of something beneath my foot makes me cringe. That was awfully gross.

I look up into the eyes of the jingoist.

Not this time.

A growl rumbles from my throat. My legs bunch, four springs ready to pounce as the twang of a released string reaches my ears for a third time this night. I leap the bolt, beyond pleased to miss the pain. The bowman's eyes widen in fear, and the sharpness of the emotion fills the air.

My paws hit his chest, even as he fumbles with the sword at his side. His fear fills my nostrils and makes my wolf vibrate in the thrill of the hunt. The man topples when my weight crashes into him, striking his head on the side of the nondescript wall at my right.

With a nudge of my nose and a bite to his hand just enough to draw blood, I ensure he's not faking it. I ignore the little voice demanding I kill him to protect. I’m done killing... if I can help it.

I meet the eyes of the dark-skinned giant. He gives me a thankful nod before knocking another jingoist to the ground with his hilt.

I turn and pad back to the girl.