That night, Lark woke up out of a dead sleep to James crowing maddly. Boon shot straight up into the air and puffed out like a black ball of wool. She pulled on her army jacket and grabbed her knife, her only weapon. She paused at the door and let her magic skills feel for an outside presence. She found James and April, and a little further away, and more faintly, she found Thud. Everyone was agitated. She felt no other presence, so she opened the door.

  The full moon lit up the yard, and James was puffed up and squawking near the coop. April was hiding inside but voicing her alarm as well. Thud was in the doorway of the barn in the crack made by the broken door. He was as puffed up as much as his short hair could be, and his tiny legs were widespread, making him look more like a bulldog with a tiny head than a barn cat.

  After looking around and finding nothing out of the ordinary, and after James calmed down, Lark returned to sleep.

  The next morning, she went about her usual morning routine. She thought about the chaos and hustle that made up her mornings in the healers' corps. She and her peers were up before the sun, if they weren’t on the night watch. They barely had time to wash or eat because there were always patients that needed them. They might be moving locations or expecting wounded from a nearby battle. Each day was different and the same, and the blood covered everything.

  Lark shook her head, released her shoulder muscles and took a deep breath. That was the past now. A different Lark Truedale was here now.

  She started her oats cooking and added some dried apples, then went out to feed James and April a bit of feed. As she walked near the coop, she froze. A massive footprint was in the soft mud between the cottage and the fallen tree, and it definitely wasn’t human.

  She felt no other creatures in the immediate area except her animals, but her range had never been very far. It could be lurking at the edge of the trees, and she wouldn’t feel it’s presence until it rounded the barn. But James seemed calm, and he had proven to be an excellent lookout so far. She toured the farm, walking around the buildings and the over grown garden, past the dozen or so fruit trees that had grown wild behind the greenhouses. Thud was angry and hissed at her from the hay loft as she checked in the barn. She found no other footprints or any other evidence that anyone or anything had been there last night.

  As she ate her breakfast and went about her morning, the unease prickled at her skin. She spent the early hours mixing potting soil. She dug up the compost heap and found some wonderful material under the weeds. She added that to some soil from a corner of the veggie bed, a bit of sand, and some ash. After a good mix and a few affirmations to the Balance, she had the beginnings of potting solid for her seedlings. All through this process, she kept looking over her shoulder and jumping at noises. Then she felt ridiculous. She had let the footprint scare her. It was likely, just as Ian said, a hungry bear that wandered through. He found nothing so he moved on. If that was true, it was a very big bear.

  Lark heaved her wheelbarrow full of soil up and started to roll it towards the near greenhouse where she had set up some of the paper pots ready to fill on the worktable inside. Just as she turned the heavy wheelbarrow she heard heavy footsteps behind her. James sounded the alarm and Lark jumped, knocking the wheelbarrow over and giving a little yelp as her heart jumped up into her throat.

  In the time it took her to look behind her, she imagined all kinds of horrors coming down her lane. Much to her relief, it was her friends who rounded the bend, not a creature of the shadows. Ian and Garrison were jogging her way and had concerned looks on their faces. James recognized the men but remained puffed up, just in case violence was necessary.

  “Has the hunting party been here yet?” Garrison called.

  “No, but you need to see this,” she said.

  Lark showed them the footprint, and both men’s eyes grew wide.

  “Shit,” said Garrison as he rubbed his hand over his close cropped head.

  Ian just shook his head. “That is not a bear.”

  “Or a wolf,” said Garrison, his eyes were now searching the perimeter. He had slipped back into solider mode. “They found tracks in town this morning. Several behind the tavern and around the chapel. People are scared.”

  “I’ve been uneasy all morning,” Lark said. “I don’t feel any aggression or fear, but I think it’s still near, somewhere in the forest.”

  “Why didn’t it eat your chickens?” Ian said. “They are unprotected. A creature that big could have easily batted away these branches and gotten to them.”

  “There is no damage to the farm, and this track is the only evidence,” Lark said.

  “That and your feeling,” Garrison said. “I trust that.”

  “There’s a hunting party?” Lark said.

  “Yes, the mayor organized one after more tracks were found on his property. They believe it is a dire wolf or an embermane.”

  “If they are right, they cannot be allowed to kill it. Those creatures are sacred to the Balance.” Lark said.

  “Several men want a glorious trophy. The rest are just scared and wound up by the mob.”

  “It could be a duskhart or a moorhund,” Ian said.

  “No,” Lark said. “Duskharts have hooves, and a moorhund has never been seen in these parts. Unless someone brought one back from across the sea.”

  “Heaven help us if that is the case,” Garrison said. “The hunting party won’t stand a chance.”

  “I think he’s in your woods, Lark,” Garrison said.

  “If we can find out what it is, we can know better how to help it, and at the very least stop the uncertainty that is causing this fear. And I know someone who knows everything about these woods. It’s time for you two to meet Twig.”

  “Twig is still here?” Garrison said.

  Lark nodded. “Ian, you said you could do a bit of wind magic.”

  Ian looked confused. “A touch, enough to fill a small sail for a few seconds.”

  “Good, Twig respects those who have magic skill.”

  “Who is this Twig, and why the magic?” Ian asked

  “Twig is a wild man who has lived in the forest for fifty years. He doesn’t speak and rarely lets himself be seen. He’s also the most powerful mage I’ve ever known.”

  A half an hour later, they reached a small clearing north of the farm. For decades, the clearing had been Twig’s home, or one of his homes. Her father had taken her here several times to check on his friend. Although Lark always got the feeling that Twig was checking on Everet.

  Nestled into the side of a large tree was a tiny cabin. A stick fence protected a wild garden of berries, greens, and root vegetables, and lots of firewood lay in a neat pile by the cabin. A fallen tree trunk, smooth on top from use as a bench, sat in front of a fire pit.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Lark walked slowly to the bench and sat down. Ian and Garrison followed and sat on each side of her. She bent down and touched the grass at her feet. The blades grew tall, and a wildflower bloomed between her ankles. She looked over at Ian. He looked a little worried, but he raised his good hand and swirled it in front of him. A breeze blew through the clearing. Next she turned to Garrison who snapped and a small flame appeared in his palm. Then they waited.

  Lark felt him before she saw him. His presence was familiar and, as always, calm. He stepped into the clearing from behind a tree and looked at them for several long moments. He was a small man with a long beard and long hair pulled back into a braid. He was not dirty or unkempt. His clothes were worn and mended in many places. His feet were bare. He had an axe held casually in one hand. He put the axe down and crept closer.

  “It’s good to see you, old friend,” she said. “These are my friends. You have seen Garrison before. This is Ian.”

  Twig looked at Garrison and nodded. Then he looked at Ian and cocked his head from side to side. Then he put his hands together as if he were holding something and then held them out as if he were fishing. He pointed at Ian and then held his thumb up.

  Lark smiled, “He has seen you fishing, and he approves.”

  “The fishing in these woods is good,” Ian said.

  Twig then looked at Lark with sad eyes. He pointed at her and then put his hand above his head as if measuring someone taller than him. Then he pulled his arms in as if cradling a baby. His expression grew even more downcast as he touched his heart and then put this hand out with the thumb down.

  “I know,” she said. “I miss my dad very much. I know you miss him too. He used his magic to save many people. You helped him practice his magic, so you also helped those people.”

  He nodded and touched his heart again.

  Lark waited a few moments before continuing. “People are coming into the forest.”

  Twig nodded and pointed to the south.

  “They are hunting something. Something large. Do you know what it is?”

  Twig nodded.

  “Is it an animal, like a bear or a wolf?”

  Twig shook his head. He looked at Garrison and pointed at him then touched his heart.

  Garrison let out a heavy breath.

  Lark and Ian looked at Garrison, waiting for him to speak.

  “Do you know where he is?” Garrison finally asked.

  Twig pulled a leaf from his pocket and held it out. It was a soft green with dark edges. It was a silvershade leaf.

  “He’s in the glade?” Lark asked.

  Twig nodded. Then he made as if he were holding a gun and marching and then pointed at Lark.

  “The hunters are coming?” Garrison said.

  Twig shook his head and pointed at Lark then at his own cabin.

  “They are at your farm,” Ian said.

  “Thank you, friend,” Lark said. “We need to go.”

  As they stood, Twig motioned to Garrison, then to his heart then made a stabbing motion in his side, then a pained look.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Garrison. “They are hurting someone?”

  “They’ve hurt your friend,” Lark said.

  “We need to go,” Ian said.

  “Thank you,” Garrison shouted over his shoulder as they moved quickly back to the woods.

  “We are closer to the farm,” Lark said. “We should try to head them off and send them the wrong way or convince them to stand down. Then we can go to the glade.”

  “Agreed,” Garrison said.

  “You’ve known all along who this was?” Ian said.

  “I suspected,” Garrison said.

  “What is it? Who is it?” Ian said.

  “He’s just a weary veteran, like us.”

  “Oh great Balance, he’s a Gloamhound, a shifter!” Lark said. “I thought they all died.”

  “Not all,” Garrison said, picking up the pace.

  Twig had been correct. They found a half dozen armed men banging on Lark’s front door when they rounded the cottage. Mr Wheeler’s farm manager, Mr Goven, seemed to be the leader. The farmer who had spread the news in front of the chapel was also there. A large man in the back was holding James by the throat and feet as he flapped and struggled.

  “There you are,” Mr Goven said. “You need to stay inside your home, Miss Truedale,” he said sternly. Then, looking Ian and Garrison over, he narrowed his eyes at Garrison. “Mage, can we trust you in a hunt. You could come in handy. Perhaps the sailor could stay to help Miss Truedale.”

  Garrison smirked. “I hear Ian is way better with a gun than I am, even with one hand. But, you can rest easy. We searched this part of the woods. If it was here, it went west.”

  “Someone should let the Wheeler family know it could be headed for the track of woods by the river. That’s close to the big house,” Lark said.

  Lark noticed Ian standing on the track by the coop. He shuffled his feet in the dirt, obliterating the impression.

  “We found tracks and a possum carcass heading this way,” the farmer said. “It was fresh, Goven took a shot as something massive darted away. May have hit it.”

  “I know this forest,” Lark said. “If an injured creature was in my woods, I’d know.” You’ll be looking in the wrong place. He’s not here.”

  “Would make since for it to double back to the river,” one of the men said.

  “We will send word to Wheeler’s if we sight it,” Lark said. “And please let my rooster loose.”

  The men reluctantly changed their plan and decided to regroup with others on the main road. The man holding James tossed him lightly into the grass. As soon as they disappeared around the bend, Garrison let out a shaky breath.

  “We need to get to this glade quickly,” he said to Lark.

  “This way,” she said, and they headed down the path behind the vegetable garden.

  “How do you know this creature?” Ian said.

  “He’s not a creature. He’s a soldier. Part of a squad of gloamhounds recruited from the south. They were deadly and unstoppable. Until the griffon riders hunted them down.”

  “How did he get here?” Lark said.

  “Like you and I, I’m sure.” Garrison quickened his pace, and they reached the glade in no time.

  At first, Lark thought the wind was making a strange sound as it blew through the trees, but then, nestled in the leaves, she saw a mound of fur, its side barely rising and falling.

  “Jasper,” Garrison said, and he darted to the creature. Lark was on his heels.

  “Is it safe?” Ian said from behind them.

  “Jasper saved my life,” Garrison said. “He would never harm an innocent.”

  Garrison placed his hands on the big animal’s side, and a low whine came from the creature.

  Lark circled around. He had the fur of a wolf, with a thick mane and a long snout and ears, but his body was wide and stout, like a bear. His paws were enormous, like a big cat. His breathing was heavy, and his side was covered in blood.

  “Will he let me touch him?” Lark asked.

  Garrison knelt down and put a hand on the creature’s neck. “I have brought a healer, brother. Do you hear me?”

  Jasper grunted and his dark eyes looked Lark in the face. She felt no anger or malice from him. She touched his side, running her hand over his fur until she found the source of the blood.

  “The bullet hit his side at an angle. A glancing blow, but a bloody one. I can close the wound and keep out infection. Then we can move him.”

  “Yes,” Garrison said.

  Lark put both hands on the gloamhound. Animals and creatures were the same as people, sometimes they were easier. The feel of their emotions and fears wasn’t as distracting. His skin and fur were thick, they may have saved him from a much worse injury. But the effort of the chase had caused him to lose a lot of blood. She closed the wound and dispelled any possible infecting agents. Jasper whined and grunted and his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious.

  “He’s exhausted and has lost a lot of blood,” she said. “He needs rest. Can you get him to the cottage?” she asked Garrison.

  “I think so,” he said.

  Garrison stood back and lifted his arms. As he did, the gloamhound floated off the ground. Faltering only a few times, Garrison magically carried his friend back to the cottage. They cleared a space on the floor in the extra bedroom, pushing the bed against the wall, and laid him on several old blankets. He seemed so peaceful like a family dog taking a nap.

  Lark closed and locked the front door, and Garrison collapsed on the couch.

  “What do we do now?” Ian asked.

  “We Wait,” Garrison said.

  They let the creature rest while Ian went to town. He returned with another blanket and two jugs of beer. Garrison left briefly and returned with a ham hock from his mother. Lark didn’t ask if she knew he took it or not.

  After they had all had at least one round of beer, and the sun had begun to set, they heard a commotion in the bedroom. Garrison stood abruptly. The door to the bedroom burst open, and a naked man stood in the doorway. He had a healing wound on his side, and dirt covered his tanned skin.

  “Garrison! Where the hell am I?” he said. “And pour me a beer for fuck’s sake.”