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It doesn't take Winton and me long before we are on the road, heading out of town. Packing was easy because there essentially was none. After changing out of my singlet into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, Winton insisted I would be fully taken care of once we arrived in Deavon. Before we leave, I send a quick text message to Keanan, letting him know that I'll be gone for a while and to cover for me if anyone asks where I am. He tries to call me, but I send it to voicemail and then turn off my phone. I'll tell him about all this later when I have more time to talk. My phone's battery life is only a third full, and I don't have a charger in my car, so it will be best to conserve the little battery life it has left.

Winton tells me to turn down streets at the last moment, going in directions that seem to contradict each other. All the while he looks out the window with his eyes darting around. We're about an hour outside of town on an old run-down highway when Winton tells me to turn down a dusty dirt road that tees off at a rest area. Outside the bathroom, there's a small pet relief field and a decaying building fenced off in the distance resembling a check-in building for a motel, but the buildings that would house the rooms have long been demolished.

We continue down the road, passing some derelict houses, and before long we're in open desert, with nothing but sagebrush and cactus in my headlights. Not long after, the road narrows and then fades into a pair of rutted tire tracks. It's about here that my survival instincts kick in. I must be out of my mind to let a stranger lead me out here. There's nothing stopping me from turning back now. But I need the money. What's the worst that could happen?

About twenty minutes after I remember passing the last sign of civilization, Winton abruptly tells me to stop.

“What? This is the middle of the desert. There's nothing—"

“STOP."

I hit the brakes, and we skid to a halt. “Okay. Okay. Relax."

“Park your vehicle in a safe place. It may be a while before you return to it."

“You told me we were going to your town, not the middle of nowhere. I'm not just leaving my car here."

“Does your vehicle not lock?"

I stare at him, and he takes in a sharp, annoyed breath.

“There is no other way to travel to our destination," he says. “I assure you there is nothing that can harm you out there."

“I'm not afraid of what's out there."

“Then I see no issue. For me to fulfill my end of our bargain, you must first do so with yours."

I consider stranding Winton here and turning back, but only briefly. Despite having no idea where we're going and doubting my decision to trust a person I met not even two hours ago, I've come this far, and I need the money.

Winton wastes no time getting out once I have parked. “We walk from here." Without another word, he heads out toward the sprawling desert. Not wanting to get left behind, I lock up my car and start after him.

We walk for about an hour, trying to avoid cacti and large rocks poking out of the ground, barely visible in the moonlight. I should have brought a flashlight, but I didn't expect us to be this far off the beaten path.

Winton stops, and I nearly run into him as he holds out a hand for me to do the same. “I understand this may be difficult for you since we are still unfamiliar with each other, but I need you to believe me when I say that I have your best interests in mind. Can you do that?"

I look Winton up and down, then survey my surroundings. The night is beautiful and calm. It helps center me. “Yeah. Okay, sure."

Winton opens the flap of his cloak, and I see him rub a metal object pinned to the inside. He closes his eyes as if he's concentrating. Before I have time to ask what he's doing, he clutches my arm and pulls me forward. The change in temperature and surroundings is staggering.

Instead of standing in the desert like we should be, we're on a snowy hillside. Snow whirls around, and gusts of wind hammer against me. In an instant I'm shivering, my clothes being no match for the biting cold.

“What did you just do? Where are we?"

Winton doesn't respond. Instead, he digs in the snow a few feet from where we stand. He pulls out a cloak similar to his own, but one that is considerably more substantial in size and is a dull royal blue instead of his forest green.

He gives the cloak a good shake, then brushes the snow off before extending it out for me to take. “Put this on. Neither of us is suited for the cold right now. This cloak is made from high-quality wool. It should keep you warm enough for the time being."

Without hesitation, I throw it on. It's cold and damp, but I can already feel it starting to hold in my body heat. By the time I have it on, Winton is already descending the hillside towards an expansive forest at the hill's base.

“Hey! What the hell is going on!" I yell at him, refusing to take a step. If I move, I'll never find my way home.

“There will be time to converse once we are warming up by a fire," he calls back without turning around. “Come on, we have only a mere distance to go."

I still don't want to move, but as Winton gets farther and farther away, I realize he'll leave me behind. With no knowledge of where we are or how to get back home, there's no sense in lingering and getting cold. Once again, I find myself following this stranger, this time deep into the woods of a snowy hillside.

The wind wails, blasting snow into my face as we trudge through the dense forest. The cloak that Winton scavenged from the snow is helping, but it can only do so much. Having grown up in the Southwest my whole life, snow is a rarity for me.

Finally, we leave the forest, emerging at the upper peak of a valley with a small town at the base of the ridge. Snaking down the ridge is a cobblestone path that leads to a modest, homely-looking cottage at the top of a hill. Lights fill the windows, and smoke billows out of the chimney. Fire. There's a fire in there. My spirits pick up at the thought of removing this damp wool cloak and getting toasty by the crackling logs. Maybe they'll have some coffee or hot chocolate to sip on as well. The thought of that gives me the motivation to keep moving.

“Please tell me that is where we are going," I say desperately.

“It is."

Once we're on the property, just outside a small greenhouse, Winton stops me.

“If you would kindly wait out here for a moment. This is the home of a close friend of mine, Etta. I have not seen her for quite a while, and it would be best if I familiarize her with our situation before introducing the two of you."

“Are you kidding me? It's freezing."

“Yes, I am aware. However, if I were to make your acquaintance without preparation, the results could be unfavorable."

“Fine, just make it fast. I think I'm going to lose my toes if I stay out here much longer."

As Winton makes his way over to the door, he clenches his hood tight around his head, almost as if he's trying to hide his face.

While I wait, I find a tree stump next to the greenhouse to sit on. Next to it lies a pile of chopped firewood and an equally large stack of logs needing to be split.

A few hours ago, I was at a wrestling meet trying to secure my future, and now I'm in a snow lover's wet dream. How did that even happen? One moment, desert—then the next, I'm being blasted by snow. Did we teleport? Or was there some kind of portal there? No, that would be crazy. Maybe a rattlesnake bit me, and this is some sort of fever dream while my body is slowly dying out in the middle of the desert.

Deep down, I know that's not the case at all. Somehow, someway, all of this is real. I don't know how to explain it, but I just know that this isn't a dream. Maybe it's because this is the first time I've sat down in hours, or perhaps it's the serene vista in front of me, but I feel…calm. I hardly care about what happened earlier tonight, as if none of it matters anymore. As if it happened years ago.

Knowing Keanan would love to see where I'm at, I pull out my phone and snap a quick selfie. When I go to send the picture to him, I get an error message. No service. Of course there wouldn't be any out here. I don't even know where here is.

I slip my phone back into my pocket right as the cottage door opens.

With his hood fully down now, Winton approaches me. “Thank you for waiting. I know it is cold, but this was necessary."

“It's fine, but I would really like to get inside to warm up. Can I go in now?"

“Yes, yes. But just as I prepared my friend, so must I do the same for you."

“You finally going to tell me what's going on?"

For not the first time tonight, Winton acts as though he doesn't even hear me. “Where we are is nothing like your home, Artbe. This land is ancient, and vastly different from the reality you know."

An uneasy feeling rises in me again.

“The inhabitants of this land are collectively called caniformia, or what is more commonly referred to as beasts."

“What, like animals?"

“In a sense, yes, but not animals as you might know them. They are much more like you and I than, say, a cat you would keep as a pet."

“Are you trying to tell me they walk on two legs and talk? Like some cartoon?"

“Perhaps." He just stands there, with his all-knowing look piercing me.

“Okay, I have let you tell me some wild things tonight, all while simultaneously not telling me anything. I went along because I sure felt like garbage after the night I had. Someone could have offered me a hundred bucks, and I probably would have followed them." I gesture around me. “Sure, I don't know where we are or how we got here, but talking animals is a bit too far-fetched even for me to believe."

Winton narrows his eyes, exhales a small huff of air, then turns around and walks towards the cabin. Why is he annoyed? I'm the one who should be furious right now. Did he really think I would just be like, “Oh! Talking animals? Neat-o!"

“Are you coming to get warm by the fire or not?" he calls back to me, keeping his tone even.

Looking around, I realize I don't really have anywhere else to go. Time to see how trustworthy he is.

Even though I told Winton he was full of it, I have a strange pit of nervousness in my stomach as I approach the cabin door. Just an hour ago, we were walking through a desert, before immediately crossing over into a snow-covered hill. Maybe talking animals are possible?

Once inside, warm air envelops me in a soft hug. Sure enough, standing in front of me on two legs, fully clothed, is a female bear.

Frozen by fear, “Um, hi?" is the only thing I manage to squeak out.

“You actually found him?" The bear approaches me and puts a substantial furry paw on the side of my face. Still unable to move, I wince. I expect her paw to be rough and abrasive, but it's soft and has a blue jeans-like texture. Most of her fur has a reddish-brown hue. While the color lightens on her chest and face, her paws take a deeper shade of mud. “Oh, sweet child, what are you doing here?"

Alright, talking animals exist, and they speak English.

“Etta, this is his home. He belongs here," Winton says.

“Whether or not this is his home is far from the point. By bringing him back, you undermined everything you worked for to keep him safe. Why Winton? Just tell me why. I mean, just look at yourself, for heaven's sake." Etta looks Winton over and shakes her head.

“Are you not happy to see him?" he says.

“Don't you dare pull that on me. You know it doesn't work."

Winton pauses for a moment. Clearly, barging his way through conversations seems to be a habit of his, one that Etta is used to dealing with. He did say they were old friends.

“Our goal was to keep him safe. Enough time has passed that he can be in Deavon and no harm will be brought to him."

“You're sure of that?" Etta continues to stare at Winton with a cold, stern glare.

Winton holds her gaze, but he gives in. “I need his help, Etta. I fear our situation in Deavon is escalating. I am dismayed at Lord Ulric's recent actions, and I have run out of other options."

I muster up the courage to finally speak. “Deavon is the city we are going to, right? What do you even need me to do there?"

“You haven't even told him! Winton, by the heavens, what is wrong with you?" In two steps, Etta is towering over Winton, looking down at him, snarling with her teeth bared.

Damn, I knew bears were terrifying creatures, but Etta's change from a cute, concerned momma bear to a wild animal has me taking a step back, cowering against the cottage door.

“I see you're still up to your old ways, leaving your allies in the dark. Does he even know what he is, that he's a—"

“That's enough, Etta! Look at him!"

Etta swings her muzzle over my way, teeth still exposed. When she sees me pressed against the door, she shrinks back to her unassertive stature. “How you got him here, I will never know," she says, her voice now back to a normal volume. “You need to tell him. He's going to have to know, eventually."

“I'm right here. Can you please stop acting like I can't hear you?" I can feel myself coming back to me. Etta is making multiple good points, and I realize how stupid I am for going along with everything Winton has told me over the promise of riches. “Look, Etta is right. It was my fault for not getting more information before allowing you to drag me off to meet talking bears, but that ends now. I need to know what is going on."

Winton regards Etta, clearly upset with her. “Artbe, you put your trust in me, and that is something I will never take for granted. You must understand, as I told you out in the snow, the world is much larger than you know. I am not withholding information from you out of malice, but out of necessity. Much of it is too fantastical for you to grasp right now."

“You have to tell me something. I can't keep following you around, clueless. For starters, are there more talking animals here?"

Etta glowers at Winton.

“Yes. You'll meet more tomorrow," he says.

Okay, more talking animals. That's a good start. Absolutely insane, but a good start, nonetheless. “Are they all bears?"

“No, caniformia is a broad classification. There are several other species of beasts." Winton pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is enough for now. We still have much to talk about, but that can be postponed until after we eat."

“That was only one question. I need to know more before I do anything else."

“I will explain after dinner. Why I brought you here, why you are indeed so important. All of it. Etta, would you be so kind as to cook us a meal? I would quite like to get my senses back to me."

At the mention of food, my stomach growls. I'm not happy Winton keeps sidestepping my questions, but if he refuses to answer them, then I can't do anything at the moment. I put myself in this situation, so I guess I'm at the whimsy of Winton.

Shaking her head, Etta enters the kitchen and pulls food out of the cupboard. She seems to be resigned to the conversation, unwilling to engage with Winton anymore. After a while, smells of glorious home cooking fill the house, making it more obvious that I still haven't eaten today. I'm used to not eating much around wrestling time to ensure I make weight, but smelling Etta's cooking is making me ravenous.

Winton won't look at me and instead sits at a small rustic table in the dining room, watching Etta cook. I often catch her sneaking a glance in my direction, each time quickly looking away with a frown on her face. For variety, she gives Winton the occasional death glare. That woman can be one scary bear when she wants to. I decide to warm up by the fire. After taking my shoes off, I prop them up and lay my socks over them to dry.

It's not long before dinner is served. Etta fills two large bowls of delicious-smelling soup and places them on the table.

“This smells amazing." I take a seat at the table opposite Winton and Etta.

“Oh, you can smell it?" she says, surprised.

“Of course I can. I haven't had a home-cooked meal in ages, though." I pick up my spoon, ready to dive in, but Winton stops me.

“Etta, if you would."

“Oh, right. I present this meal to you and welcome you into my home as cherished friends."

“And your intent, it is genuine?"

“Despite you being the same Winton as ever, yes, I do mean it."

Winton nods at me, indicating that I can start eating. I dive in and let the flavors of the soup linger on my taste buds. It's a hearty vegetable soup, but there are a few flavors I'm having a tough time identifying. “Etta, this is delicious! You have no idea how much I needed this."

Etta smiles at me, but behind it, I notice a bit of uneasiness.

“This is positively delightful, Etta, thank you," Winton says. “But if you would excuse me, I need some privacy." He pushes back his chair from the table and stands up.

Etta glares at him. “Don't you dare."

Winton ignores her.

“How can you leave him right now!" she yells at him.

Continuing to ignore her, Winton enters one of the other rooms and closes the door behind him. Trying to piece together the relationship these two have is incredibly confusing. Still, I wonder why Winton got up so soon after starting dinner. He only ate a few spoonfuls of his soup. Maybe he needed to use the restroom? But that doesn't explain why Etta would be upset about him leaving unless that is considered a rude gesture here.

Deciding that I won't ever be able to figure Winton out, I take another sip of the soup. As I savor the earthy flavors, a strange, itching sensation prickles down my throat, slowly traveling lower and lower into the depths of my stomach. Wait, no, that's not right. Not inside my stomach—the prickling sensation runs across my belly. Am I having an allergic reaction to an ingredient Etta used? I try to stay calm, but the sensation is spreading, now moving up my arms to the edges of my fingertips. It's as if I forgot to shave and can feel the hairy stubble in conflict with my skin, battling to break through. But unlike growing a beard, the phenomenon isn't isolated to my face. It's everywhere.

I look up at Etta, feeling the panic in my chest rising. “I—I think I am having a reaction."

Etta looks back at me with—uncertainty? Pain? Compassion?

Okay, something is clearly not right here. Where the hell is Winton? I've only known him for a few hours, but he has to know what's going on. Why did I agree to this? How stupid could I be believing this guy knew my father? And then to follow him here…What was I thinking?

My anger now is almost palpable, the white-hot rage in me wanting to bubble out to the surface. Every bit of hate I've felt my entire life is trying to explode out of me all at once. I don't know where this is all coming from. Without even realizing what's happening, I lurch forward. My elbows slam hard onto the table, and I grasp my head with both hands. All of Etta's compassion and uncertainty has drained away, replaced with a look of pure horror.

“Winton, you get out here right now!" She looks back at me, and her eyes go soft. “Oh, sweetie, don't worry, it will be over soon."

At this, Winton finally opens the door and emerges from the room. Except it's not Winton, instead it's a walking-on-two-legs wolf.

No, not a wolf. The muzzle is too slender for that, and his face has an uncanny resemblance to my school mascot. It's a coyote.

At this point, I'm terrified. I recoil, throwing myself against the wall. My entire world crumbles before my eyes. The bones throughout my body feel as if they are going through growing pains all over again. I began to pant heavily as a sharp pain runs through my torso. My ribs crack inside my burning chest and, I grip it with my hands. My head feels like it's on fire, and my vision goes blurry, but despite what is happening, I can put the pieces together and recognize that the coyote is wearing the same worn-down traveler's cloak as Winton. I force myself to form a sentence, but speech seems foreign to me. “MA…Rem…T-t-time."

The coyote frowns, immensely displeased at the sounds coming out of my mouth. I try again. This time, coherent words seem within my grasp. “Reh…w-w-Winton?! W-what the f-fuck is happening to me!" I strain out the last word.

The coyote, relieved my communication skills are coming back to me, fixes the same stern, ever-knowing look that he has been giving me all night back to his face. “My sincere apologies, my boy. I thought ignorance would be the only way you would accompany me. I assure you, your discomfort will pass shortly."

What the hell is he talking about? He knew this would happen?

“You tricked me!" My speech has fully come back to me now, but something about the way my mouth is moving feels off. Again, the coyote, Winton, frowns.

Etta scowls at him, but her eyes stay locked on me. “How could you think keeping him in the dark was the solution? Heavens above, how could you do such a thing? I knew I should have said something."

I run my tongue through my mouth and notice something different about my teeth. My canines feel longer, and my mouth is elongated. Before I can mull over the implications of that, a surge of searing heat pulses all over my body. I fall to the ground and slump over to my side. My skin is melting, my blood rushing. A tightening sensation pulls at my groin, and the feeling of being kicked in the crotch rushes to my gut. Once again, my chest feels like it has been gutted open with a knife. But instead of rage, a strange sense of calm washes over me, welcoming me to a peace I have never known before. The pain subsides and a surge of emotion overwhelms me, as if I'm being reunited with a long-forgotten piece of myself that had been locked away.

Suddenly, the sensation is too much. I can't contain all the emotions inside me anymore, and they all come pouring out. First, I scream a blood curdling growl. Then I begin to sob, not gently, but violently. My body shakes as I try to get a hold of what I just experienced.

“Winton, is he alright? I don't remember your changes ever being so violent," Etta says.

“The first time shedding my fur was unpleasant, but, yes, this is a considerable surprise. He is almost finished, however."

Winton is right. The strange sensations flowing through my body are fading. I wipe the tears away from my face but gasp when I see my hands. Well, they're not hands anymore. They are big, furry paws complete with a set of small but sharp-looking claws.

I…I have paws.

This is a sobering realization, and I jolt up into a sitting position. With the pain gone and the overwhelming emotions having subsided, my mind is sharp, like I'm processing the world in slow motion. I feel myself up, running my ha—paws all over my body, only to find I'm covered with fur. I still have my clothes on, but now they're tighter and suffocating. Slowly, I work my new paws up to my face, already knowing what I will find. My nose is now big, really big—and wet. Fur covers my face as well. It's soft and slightly oily. I move my hand to the side of my head, looking for my ears. Of course, they're not there, and I knew they wouldn't be. I can tell I'm processing sound differently, more attuned to the small creaks of the cabin.

My eyes, wide in disbelief, slowly drift to first Etta, then to Winton. To them, I must look like a fool, exploring my body like a horny teenager getting lucky for the first time.

Part of me realizes I should be panicking right now, just as I was a few minutes ago, but I'm not. Instead, I feel calm. Is this what it feels like to be genuinely happy? Is this what people mean when

they experience bliss? Why does this all feel so right? Like what just happened has been inside me all along, waiting to break free.

I stand up, feeling my new legs out. Where I once knew feet, there are now two massive paws. There's no other way to put it. I'm a werewolf now. No other explanation. Well, maybe not a wolf, but a were-something. Based on the way my ears felt and the fluffy nub of a tail I now have, if I would have to guess, I look pretty close to the female bear standing in front of me.

“What just happened? What am I?" I surprise myself with how calmly the words flow from my mouth. The strange glow of ever-knowing happiness is fading, but a part of it still lingers, keeping me from being as outraged as I should be.

Winton approaches me, reaching out. I don't pull away. His paw is smaller than mine and has a slightly different shape. Winton places his paw on my forehead and rubs it across two protruding nubs. Horns. I have horns? They might be small, but they are definitely horns.

Winton's eyes go soft as he pulls his paw away, and a mournful smile finds its way across his muzzle. “You, Artbe, are an ursidae. One of the rarest creatures on all of Earth."