“The bite-incident. Oh yes, our merry little bender in Hiram’s store room”, the boy snorts. “Tell you what; you’re absolutely no cute when you’re enraged out of your mind. Work on that.”
I stop dead in mid-step. “Hiram’s? How can he afford all that stuff?” He shots me a funny look. “Aw, come on! You never realized he’s a poacher? Why do you think he’s so often outside alone? He’s very good at what he’s doing.” “Good to know”, I muse. “We still have to pay for the wine.” “No, we don’t, this bone is already picked”, Dustin declares. “I talked with the foxy and worked something out. By the way, you and I are going hunting one of the next days.” “Yes, daddy.” Sometimes I feel like a cuddly toy, the way he’s dragging me around. But it’s hard to be mad with him. At least it’s never dull in his company. Suddenly, Dustin’s head flips in another direction, away from me. “Could you excuse me for a moment?” Naturally he does not wait for an answer. He simply vanishes between some bushes. I mentioned it’s never boring with him, did I? And exhaustive, I definitely forgot to include exhaustive. “FOXY!” Not only my heart takes a flying leap. What the... There he is. In the past few heartbeats he had lost some years in age along with a number of inches in height and looks now like a child who’s wearing the hand-me-downs of his older brother. As fast as his short legs could carry him, he’s aiming for his target: a red foxmorph, unknown to me. Judging his clothes a farmer from the valley. The unexpected battle cry had the poor guy visibly startled. Without mercy Dustin takes advantage of it. Before the surprised fox can react, my friend is behind him and hugging his tail, nuzzling the bushy appendage. The unknown fox and I are undergoing a moment of mutual dumbfound-ness. What the heck is going on in Dustin’s head sometimes? Well, it’s not over yet. Now he’s fixing his eyes on me. “KITTY!” That piercing yell makes my eyes ring (adults tend to forget what strong lungs such little pups are equipped with) and I close my eyes involuntarily. Terrible mistake, in a split, little arms closing around my waist and his face pressing into my tummy fur. And again every piece of my self-control is needed to not jump and scream like the pipe on a teakettle. (Oh gods, I’m ticklish, he never must know!) His timing flawless, he separates from me and runs away, a second faster than my reaction. In a doorway, he turns around and waves to us. “Bye foxy, bye kitty!” Then he’s gone. “Eh, nice kid”, the fox says, after a perplexed cough. “Not yours, I suppose?” “NO!” I yell. With a portion more dignity I add: “No, I know his family, though. I better go after him; the inner keep isn’t the best place to frolic around.” It’s rude to leave without waiting for a reply, but the other surely wouldn’t mind. The boy is not hard to follow, he’s simply laughing way too loud. Around the next bend I catch up with him, he’s slumped down on a bench, holding his gut. Guffawing so hard he has barely enough strength left so sit. “You fiend!” I roar, “I should spank you like the brat you are!” Though, it’s hard to maintain my angry expression. No, it’s impossible, seeing him. “Oh my”, he sputters between gasps for air “I didn’t knew you’re into kinky stuff.” That’s the last straw. Against my will I join the laughter, not caring for the looks bypassing keepers give us. “One day, you will yank the false tail”, I utter. “…Pun intended.” “Actually, that happened before now. There was this grumpy, grey fox kit. Who could have guessed, he’s animal cursed and age regressed and a wizard?” “Did he turn you into a toad?” I tease. “He set my boots on fire.” Now it’s my turn to start laughing and his to follow after. Even once we’re able to regain a façade of restraint, we spend the best part of the next hour on that bench, chatting idly about trivial stuff. And again it’s Dustin who’s seizing initiative. “Let’s hit the Mule, my tread of course.” “No, apart from that it’s awful early for a drink; I don’t want to make a draft on your generosity again. I owe you so much already.” I cut his protest with a raised index finger, something I picked up from Skylark. “Besides, I will be able to pay you back eventually. I think there is a suitable job for me.” “That’s great! It’s not good for you to sit around and let your mind work on its own all the time. You really need something to do.” It strikes me now, he never mentions money. He’s either a very charitable guy or just too polite to do. “What do you have in mind?” he inquires. “I thought about applying at the writers guild for a copyist and illustrator.” Were he in his wolfen form, I’m sure his ears would perk. “Your handwriting probably could need a little polishing first. That can take some time”, he announces. “You will need something for the meantime.” Ah, now I understand. “And perhaps there’s something you have in mind?” “Might be, you remember the favors I called in? One of the people I could persuade to help was George, said patrol master. What do you think about patrol duty? Skylarks squad is still one man short.” Well, I have the ears to perk up, and I do it out of sheer surprise. “Dustin, you can’t be serious! Last time we were out there you had to safe my sorry… behind ‘cause I fell over my feet.” “And now I know exactly how to help you with that problem. Follow me Spotty, we’ll meet with Mara.” “Why do you have to pull your wife into this?” “Patience, I would never spoil the surprise.” ***** It’s afternoon. You could say Dustin took his time to reveal the “cure”. He took a nap first, while Tamara made lunch, her famed stew. I dedicated the interim to my fur and got it back to a tolerable shape. Then I had to grab Andrei and his younger sister Lucy and went out for a walk. I made it just in time before they could drive their mother up the wall and made her throw them out herself. Lunch was the usual lively and chaotic event a meal turns in when all participants are filled with boundless, childish energy (a certain feline morph excluded). An experience I grew very fond of. Amidst the seemingly untraceable four-way chatter, Dustin brought me into the loop… “Why am I doing this?” “You’re gullible.” “Obviously, thanks.” “No problem”, my friend calls and continues with tuning his wheel fiddle. “Relax, Mark. I promise I will be gentle.” Tamara presents a warm and slightly amused smile while she steps near and takes my paws in hers. She had changed in one of her bigger garments to accommodate her grown body. Now she’ resembling an adolescent of about 14 years, the highest of age an age regressed keeper could reach. She’s quite something to look at with her wavy, red hair and sparkling brown eyes. With her now more prominent feminine curves the beautiful woman Dustin once married is much easier to surmise. “If I was in your place”, I speak softly, “I would be the anxious one.” It’s your feet I’m about to flatten.” Her mirth is almost as infectious as her husband’s. They’re very alike in that case. “Don’t worry, dear. I donned the sturdy boots.” “You have absolutely no clue why we’re doing this, am I right?” the boy asks me. I raise the left corner of my muzzle. A weak smile for my feelings. “It seems you lost me somewhere on the way.” “See, Mark, I watched you walking around, sometimes even running. I entangled you in banter and guided you around; through stuffed rooms, huge crowds, on slippery surfaces, steps up, steps down. Every time you were an embodiment of grace and poise. “And then the opportunities when I tailed you just to observe. Mark, you once pointed out that it’s not good for you to think too much. You were bloody well right. Every time you start to reason about what to do with your legs, you suck! I’d been honestly worried about you falling down some stairway and breaking your neck.” “Objection, your highness”, I, well, object. “There in the woods I acted without thinking and we know how it turned out.” “Yeah, you had an accident, lost every confidence in yourself that day and it got worse since.” He is pointing to his now bare feet. “I turn digitigrade, just like you are, when I’m changing shape (the reason why my boots are rather loose strapped). Oh, and never forget the tail. I know very well what you’re going through. But it’s not like you have to learn to walk again. All right, some keepers have to, although not you. You’re a natural. “Everything depends on rhythm. Your body assumed a different one you’re used to. All you have to do is finding it. Dancing is all about rhythm. That’s why we are doing this.” He’s pausing, probably to give me time to consider – he gave me a lot to mull over. With quite a small voice I speak off: “I’m not convinced.” “Bear with us, what you have to loose?” my friend tries to light me up, starting to turn the winder. Lucy carries a tambourine to daylight, Andrei a flute. Tamara diverts my attention back to her: “We start with something slow. I explain you the dance-steps. Try to keep up.” ***** Hours had gone by. Finally, I’m sitting on my host’s low table again. Believe or not, I’m feeling sore. Not only my feet hurt, my mind even more, from concentrating so hard over so long. I would describe the first hour as a lesson in awkward. Everything got in the way: Naturally the feet (yes, very stable boots, I hurt my toes more than hers), the knees, even hands, elbows and tail. Then, some when in the middle of the trial, somehow it got better. I won’t claim I turned miraculous into an acceptable dancer – I promised Dustin bitter retribution if he really dared to change my nickname from “Spotty” to “Klutzy” – Nevertheless, after my focus waned with time, a certain amount of fluency came back to me. Something I had not consciously experienced ever since waking up that first time. I’d been trying too hard; Dustin had said me so, I guessed the same. But actually experiencing how everything got easier when I let go, was like a bucket of cool water in my face. So we three (the kids are brought to bed) sit here. A tin jar of ale from Dustin’s own stash for each of us, enjoying this moment of calm in mutual exhaustion. One from dancing, one from steering a clumsy cat around, one from fighting his urge to break down in hysterical laughter. Figure out yourself who’s who. A finger snaps twice in front of me. “Wake up Spotty, I’m talking to you.” “Sorry Dustin. I’ve been deep in thoughts.” “Wasn’t hard to guess. So how do you feel now?” “You wear a pleasant content expression”, Tamara adds. Good question. What do I feel besides of tired food pads? I’d became quite adept in self-analyzing me, shouldn’t be that difficult to figure out... This time my friend snaps a little closer to my ears. “No zoning out again, fill us in!” “All right, I won’t take the risk of you doing something with this ear”, I say quickly. “I feel good. It’s like this body was a couple of inches too big for me and I’m finally growing into. Thanks to you, friends.” Dustin lifts his jar. “I call that a toast!” And boisterously chinks with me, only to let go a startled shout. Violently he splashes almost half of his ale over his face and chest. Into the now dumbfounded silence my friend heaves a couple of exasperated huffs. “Forgive me, Mark”, he stammers. “Please be so kind and call me an idiot, a fool and a slowpoke.” You can understand I’m taken aback by a request like this. “What’s up so sudden?” He’s raising a finger and holds it close to my jar. An eye blink later he jerks it back with a muffled cry. But this time I’ve seen it too. A tiny, blue-white lightning connecting the jar and his fingertip. “No one of us thought about testing you for magic, especially me!” ***** !DSPAM:4cd83ac8286987224784171!
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