The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [19]
So what was this?
The lead male turned back to the others and nodded at them in a way that seemed not at all houndlike. A lead male would bark and tell the others what to do in a commanding tone. Not guide them to do what he asked in a way that was considered polite only by humans.
Humans indeed. The hound looked again at the five. Two and three. This was not a pack, not even a small one.
This was a family.
And since there were no families of hounds that she had ever heard of, she could only draw one conclusion: they were not hounds.
They wore the bodies of hounds, but that was all.
As they came closer, the hound became more certain of her suspicion.
They did not smell like hounds. They did not move or speak like hounds.
And they did not look at the hound or the bear as one animal looks at another.
Suddenly all her questions seemed answered as the animals transformed before her very eyes. The five hounds became humans, one after another.
A man and a woman, and three children: two girls and a boy, the youngest of all, perhaps five years old.
“We show ourselves to you. Then you show yourselves to us,” said the man. He had an old, puckered scar that ran the length of his face.
The bear shook his head in a clear negative.
The scarred man set his jaw and took a step forward. “How shall I know that you are not sent to destroy us unless you also show me your magic?” he said in a dark tone.
The hound made a whining sound.
The man stepped closer, and when the bear went down on all fours in a show of submission he put a hand on the bear’s shoulder. The man closed his eyes, then nodded.
“Ah, I see.”
What did he see? He certainly did not speak to the bear as he would to another animal. Nor did he look at the hound that way.
“Come, then. I am Frant and my woman is Sharla. We will welcome you with such as we have.” His gesture included the hound as well.
The hound found herself warmed by the family’s ease in the presence of animals. She would never have suspected that she could be with humans again and not feel discomfort.
But these humans did not live in a castle and wear foolishly uncomfortable clothing. They did not seem to have ridiculous rules and lists of names and polite words to offer as they stabbed one another in the back.
It was almost like being in a pack again.
And yet she would not say that they acted like hounds would, either. No hounds would accept two strange animals into their pack, even if they were not afraid of the damage they might do.
The hound wondered if perhaps she had changed a little as well.
All of them moved together back toward the rocky outcropping.
After a few steps, the hound noticed that the boy changed back into a hound.
Then the female, Sharla, shook her head at him sternly and he took the shape of a boy once more. The boy was more comfortable in his hound form than his human one, it seemed. The girls were more obedient, but the hound suspected they felt as the boy did—that they belonged in the forest, with the animals, more than in a village with other humans.
They found a copse ahead, and there Sharla prepared a varied meal. There were roots and berries to satisfy the bear, but also plenty of meat for the hound.
The hound thought that the animal was fresh killed, but she noticed that it was an old one, and that one of its legs was withered. A mercy killing?
It was tough, but better than nothing at all. At least the taste of the blood was fresh, and the meat was not cooked.
She noticed that one of the girls and the boy ate more of the meat than either of the parents and the other girl. And the bear, of course, ate only the roots and berries.
For her part, the hound ate meat, but not as much as she would have liked. She was used to gorging on a feast, and then going without for days on end. But such were the compromises to be made with humans.
The fire was not large, as a human might make. It was just enough to cook a few roots and then Sharla kicked it over and buried it. No fire kept for light and the feeling of protection