prey intimately. There were few hunters to cull their numbers these days, so the deer ran free in lands that had once been settled. Sometimes he passed the ruins of human places, littered and fallen into disuse. He skirted those areas in case danger lingered. Even in this form, he knew not to trust his fellow man.
The lion only needed one deer. Hunger snarled in his belly, making him impatient. He needed to strike. Eat. Move . Urgency, but why? There was another task, something he’d forgotten, but he put it aside and focused on the hunt. The delicious scent lingered in the grass, on leaves the herd had passed in its quest for fresh water. He crouched, slinking closer.
They grazed, unaware of the danger, white tails flicking in the hot breeze. With keen eyes, he chose his target. Muscles bunched, the lion sprang and brought down a young buck, just barely coming into his antlers. A clean kill. Blood spilled down the lion’s throat as he devoured his prey in great gulps.
With lazy arrogance, he settled to indulge himself as panicking animals fled in all directions. In this land, the only creature that could challenge him was the alligator. And so on land, he ruled over all he surveyed. A good life, full of contentment and simplicity.
For a while he’d searched for lionesses—coming close to the perfect mate, once. Long ago. Long gone. He ought to have a number of females pacing around him in teasing circles while he lay at the center of their number. But there weren’t any like him here. A few smaller cats who spooked at his scent. Wolves who growled and drove him away when they didn’t attack outright. It was hard, sometimes, being different.
He’d gotten used to it.
Once, he’d had a place. Now he wandered.
The lion stretched, full and content. The sun shone down on his heavy pelt, and with a growl of a yawn, he rolled over for a nap. It was much later when he roused, though in this form he lost some of his awareness of time. He had something to do. Somewhere to be.
The man part that had a name—Tru—roused with a start. Remembered the woman’s words. We’ll head east, then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us. That was right. He had a pride now, a small one, and he would look after them. He needed speed.
East, toward the water, north. Those words meant less to him in lion skin than they would later. But loping toward the sea, he caught the faint scent of people-things. Smoky, oily stink lingered in the wind, carried over distance. More certain, he loped off in that direction.
Because he’d spent the afternoon napping, he did not find them until full evening. They had done as promised, using the guards’ belongings to make a comfortable camp. Tru shifted in the shadows, not wanting to startle either Pen or Adrian by padding in as king of the jungle, though in all honesty he preferred the power of his animal form. His needs were so much simpler.
One day he’d lose the knack for human socialization altogether. Aside from the fear of turning into a feral skinwalker that fed indiscriminately, he longed to leave his humanity behind. Nothing left worth sticking around for anyway.
Silently, he found his backpack. Pen—or possibly Adrian—had been kind enough to toss it into the back of the truck. He dressed in silence, needing those moments to get used to his arms and legs again, and the idea he had a voice instead of a roar. At such times, he lost his customary grace, fumbling with fingers that felt unfamiliar. Occasionally he stopped himself from reaching for things with his mouth, a sure sign he’d spent too much time in lion form.
With a faint sigh, he joined the other two at the campfire.
“You’re back.” Penelope’s tone held a chiding note, as if she’d waited up for him.
It was late. Adrian slept, whereas Tru felt wide-awake after his nap. Not the most considerate decision, but satisfactory after a venison
The lion only needed one deer. Hunger snarled in his belly, making him impatient. He needed to strike. Eat. Move . Urgency, but why? There was another task, something he’d forgotten, but he put it aside and focused on the hunt. The delicious scent lingered in the grass, on leaves the herd had passed in its quest for fresh water. He crouched, slinking closer.
They grazed, unaware of the danger, white tails flicking in the hot breeze. With keen eyes, he chose his target. Muscles bunched, the lion sprang and brought down a young buck, just barely coming into his antlers. A clean kill. Blood spilled down the lion’s throat as he devoured his prey in great gulps.
With lazy arrogance, he settled to indulge himself as panicking animals fled in all directions. In this land, the only creature that could challenge him was the alligator. And so on land, he ruled over all he surveyed. A good life, full of contentment and simplicity.
For a while he’d searched for lionesses—coming close to the perfect mate, once. Long ago. Long gone. He ought to have a number of females pacing around him in teasing circles while he lay at the center of their number. But there weren’t any like him here. A few smaller cats who spooked at his scent. Wolves who growled and drove him away when they didn’t attack outright. It was hard, sometimes, being different.
He’d gotten used to it.
Once, he’d had a place. Now he wandered.
The lion stretched, full and content. The sun shone down on his heavy pelt, and with a growl of a yawn, he rolled over for a nap. It was much later when he roused, though in this form he lost some of his awareness of time. He had something to do. Somewhere to be.
The man part that had a name—Tru—roused with a start. Remembered the woman’s words. We’ll head east, then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us. That was right. He had a pride now, a small one, and he would look after them. He needed speed.
East, toward the water, north. Those words meant less to him in lion skin than they would later. But loping toward the sea, he caught the faint scent of people-things. Smoky, oily stink lingered in the wind, carried over distance. More certain, he loped off in that direction.
Because he’d spent the afternoon napping, he did not find them until full evening. They had done as promised, using the guards’ belongings to make a comfortable camp. Tru shifted in the shadows, not wanting to startle either Pen or Adrian by padding in as king of the jungle, though in all honesty he preferred the power of his animal form. His needs were so much simpler.
One day he’d lose the knack for human socialization altogether. Aside from the fear of turning into a feral skinwalker that fed indiscriminately, he longed to leave his humanity behind. Nothing left worth sticking around for anyway.
Silently, he found his backpack. Pen—or possibly Adrian—had been kind enough to toss it into the back of the truck. He dressed in silence, needing those moments to get used to his arms and legs again, and the idea he had a voice instead of a roar. At such times, he lost his customary grace, fumbling with fingers that felt unfamiliar. Occasionally he stopped himself from reaching for things with his mouth, a sure sign he’d spent too much time in lion form.
With a faint sigh, he joined the other two at the campfire.
“You’re back.” Penelope’s tone held a chiding note, as if she’d waited up for him.
It was late. Adrian slept, whereas Tru felt wide-awake after his nap. Not the most considerate decision, but satisfactory after a venison
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