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The wild man sighed. “Once the unmagic has spread too far, there will be nothing left for me to do. No more twists in time, no more transformations of those who will come to hate me for my work, no lonely, cold winters spent with only my own fears for company. Not long at all.”

The bear was moved. If he could help—in any way that did not involve taking more magic on himself, and risking the hound with magic—he would do it.

“I would—” he began to offer. Perhaps he and the hound could come visit now and again and alleviate the loneliness. Or they could fight the unmagic here and now, by other means. The wild man had only to tell him how.

Of course, the bear knew, looking at the wild man, that he had already tried all else. This was the last possible hope.

And yet why should the bear be the one to save the magic? What had it ever done for him? He had seen only its worst side. He had never been able to wield it himself. Why should he help magic, and all those who had it, when he would benefit not at all?

Because of the unmagic.

The unmagic had destroyed his home. That was his enemy. Was that not one of the lessons he had learned as a bear? He had nothing to fear from those who wielded magic truly, for the good of humans and animals alike. He had already helped Prince George willingly, in aid of magic. He did not like to think that he simply held a grudge against the wild man for what had been done to him.

He knew what he had been and could see little else that would have made him what he was now.

But he did not want to go back. He realized now that what he feared was not to be transformed a second time, but to go back to the foolish, shallow boy king he had been.

He did not want the hound to see him that way.

He opened his mouth and touched her shoulder with his paw.

But she would not turn to him.

She pressed her head around his bulk and stared at the gap in time.

The bear looked at the wild man, who wore a surprised expression, though not an unhappy one. “You must know that she will be given a choice as well,” the wild man said.

But it was he the wild man wanted, to send back in time as a king! How could the hound—

The wild man said only, “See how the magic calls to her.”

Indeed, the hound leaned into the gap in time, her body taut with longing.

“She is a hound,” said the bear, though ashamed of himself for saying it. She was not only a hound. He knew that. But it would be easier if she were.

“She is who she is,” said the wild man.

The bear gave up speaking to the wild man and spoke instead to the hound. “It is not for you to go there,” he said stubbornly.

The hound spoke to him without turning back. “I will go where I wish. You do not own me. I am not a king’s hound, to be bought and sold, or bid to go here and there.”

There was such vitriol in her speech that the bear was taken aback.

“I will go,” she said again.

“But…what place will there be for you there? You are a hound. I will be a man.” Had he already moved to accepting that he would go?

The hound said, with a movement to her shoulders that seemed very much like a human shrug, “Then I will be a hound who is a companion to a man. I have been a hound who is a companion to a woman before, and did well enough.”

The bear shook his head. “They will not see you as I do. They will think of you as an animal.” It was only part of his fear, but it was true enough.

“Let them think whatever they wish. It is not their opinion that matters to me. It is yours. And my own,” said the hound.

“You do not know humans as I do,” said the bear. “You do not know what they can do, how they can cut with their words, with just a look. You have not felt how it is to be excluded from their laughter or their smiles.”

The hound turned from the gap with such a look of scorn on her face that the bear had to step back from her.

“I do not know humans,” she echoed. “But it is I who have lived among humans most recently. Perhaps there are questions you should ask