Marva had to witness everything in her mind’s eye because Sorem hid himself behind the wagon. Matax jumped in front of Jeze, an action that had Jeze giggling.

“You do love me.”

“Just shut up,” he growled.

The hunchback did nothing. His wife, standing before the wagon which Sorem hid behind, asked, “What should I do, husband?”

“Don’t run. It won’t help,” Wyrn answered. “Just stay perfectly still.”

“Maybe we can—I can talk to it,” she insisted.

With a shake of his head, Wyrn said, “No loyalty, remember?”

All fell silent for some time save for Jeze’s giggles which she fought to stifle against Matax’s back. Each time he gripped her tighter, pulling her closer behind him, she let out a laugh.

Marva searched her memory for yellow fairies and came to one conclusion—the laughing wasn’t always the fairy’s fault, or even something stoppable. It was just now a part of their magic. As such, they could bring others to laugh much like they’d done for Vadde as she lay in that lagoon despaired.

“Perhaps,” Matax began, scanning the high grass to the right of the statue, “perhaps this is one of Jeze’s pranks.”

She took insult despite her laugh. “It is not.”

Finally, Wyrn agreed. “Yes. Maybe.” But despite his words, he kept his hand up and held behind him at his wife, ordering her to stay back. “Let’s go,” he said, turning to give his back to the statue.

A growl broke through the field and something black leapt from the tall grass, aiming right for Vadde.

What happened next ended before Marva could register it.

The wolf pounced and the hunchback jumped before his wife, ducked down then swung up, catching it in the gut.

Wyrn’d moved like something inhuman. He wasn’t human, perhaps.

Speed was the main thing giving werewolves their notoriety. The fact that he’d struck it was amazing, but it didn’t end there.

The wolf dropped, winded. Before it could regain its composure again, Wyrn marched to it and grabbed it by its throat, hoisting it up.

“Calm down, bitch,” Wyrn said, “I have no quarrel with you.”

Werewolves outweighed regular wolves. One would think otherwise with the ease of Wyrn’s saunter toward the statue.

“Husband, be careful!” Vadde begged.

“It’s fine. I’ll put him back and hopefully he’ll take the hint.”

Wyrn walked past the statue and into the tall grass.

The earth rumbled, forcing him to look back. A collective gasp broke out.

One leg of the statue rose up, then the other, popping out of the ground. It then lurched after Wyrn.

“What is happening?” Vadde marveled.

She wasn’t the only one surprised. Wyrn waited for the statue to come to a stop beside him before he regarded the werewolf in his grip once more.

To test his theory, he took five steps forward. The statue followed. After a long pause, the statue jammed its foot down into the ground, one then the other.

Matax laughed, amazed. “Your border’s increased.”

Wyrn furrowed his brow. “Not without consequences.” He looked up at his catch. “What are you?”

The werewolf flinched then awakened and started to shift. Bones popped and cracked as the body reformed. Unlike the fairies, or any other creature having a human shape normally, it was not a painless transformation.

Once human, the disheveled young man gave off a weak laugh and held up his hands.

“I’m just like you—I’m one of the leaders. What are you, a dwarf?”

Wyrn’s voice held grit. “You ever see a dwarf strong enough to catch a werewolf barehanded?”

The fear in his prisoner’s eyes meant he’d realized the same. “Listen, it was just a joke. Let’s deal. Let’s talk. You’ve taken some of my land. That, I can’t allow. So state who you are.”

“I’m Wyrn. The leader of the Jaffo.”

“The Jaffo?” A relieved sigh came with a laugh. “Well, that explains your ability to catch me. We usually don’t see your kind in our area. Follow the road and you’ll pass right through with no trouble. The highway is sacred land.”

“Sacred land you’ve attacked us on.”

“Me? No. Look how far you are from the bank.”

Wyrn didn’t let him go. “Not no, but yes. You’re too young and stupid to be the pack alpha and your breaking the law to attack us means the land I take that is yours, is now mine.”

Body tensed, the man struggled to hold Wyrn’s fist with both hands but it was to no avail. “This is a mistake. How was I to know you were a leader of some kind? You’re too big to be a dwarf, like you said, and all the Jaffos are so muscular they’ve hardly a neck. This is a trick. A terrible trick. My leader won’t stand for this.”

Wyrn yanked the man down, forcing him to kneel when they met at eye level. “And how would your leader react to knowing you were hunting alone, and from the road?”

All fight left the once struggling man.

Much like an animal adequately subdued, he knelt with his hands at his sides. Finally, Wyrn let him go and said, “I don’t want your land. So, you can keep it. But you’re best not to do this anymore. Today, it was me, what if it was an ogre tomorrow?”

Head still hung, his prisoner muttered, “Ogres can’t keep their human shape for long.”

Wyrn sighed. That hadn’t been his point, but he decided not to respond. Instead, he walked back to his wife who grabbed him as soon as he was close enough.

“Are you all right?” she asked, hurrying to check him over. She even went so far as to examine his hands then face despite the clear fact that he had been the aggressor.

The moment she kissed her husband against his wishes, Marva closed the third eye observing them.

“I’m—I’m all right,” Wyrn insisted in response to the continual pressing of her lips against his. “I won’t instill authority in anyone should you keep acting like this. Come. Let’s get back on the road.”

“But why when we have no way to pass the statue? Shouldn’t we just turn back?”

Sorem, assured of his own safety, stood from behind the wagon, taking great interest in his sword rather than making eye contact to find who might have seen his not-so-brave reaction to the attack.

“We made a promise for this quest,” Wyrn explained as he helped her back to the wagon. “We’re safe on the road if we travel there. Come.”

“What do you mean? Are you mad? Do you think I’d go knowing I’d disappear?”

“Shh!” Wyrn whispered, “Talk about this later. Please. Not in front of a werewolf.”

After clearing his throat, Sorem sauntered down the slope to meet them. “You shouldn’t have taken any of the women off the road in the first place, hunchback.”

Wyrn ignored him and put his wife in the wagon. “You go back a bit and I’ll try again with the statue,” he told Matax.

But Vadde grabbed Wyrn’s arms before he could leave. “Wait. I don’t feel right about us separating.”

Sorem made his way to the wagon, patting his sword. “Fear not, Princess, you’re in good hands.”

The edge on Vadde’s glare had Sorem taking a step back.

Finally, the hunchback took hold of her hands and assured her. “I’m fine. I’ll be all right. Stay closer to the brownies’ side. Run there if you have to.”

From the cage, Marva watched the terror painted on Vadde’s face with great interest. She feared for him, and she feared for him without question.

“Princess,” Sorem said, more than likely eager to get her alone finally, “I will keep you safe. If—”

A growl came and Vadde shoved both of them aside, jumped out of the wagon, grabbed Sorem’s sword and held it with her eyes shut tight.

The werewolf slammed into her.

Her speed was no illusion. She moved…like Wyrn.

Marva took great interest as the hunchback let out a shout and dragged the werewolf off her. Sorem, however, was still frozen in shock.

“Princess! Princess!” Wyrn wailed.

Eyes groggy, Vadde held her gut soaked with blood.

“No. No!” Wyrn ripped the dress open from the chest down the middle. What he witnessed made him freeze. She was unharmed.

All heads rotated to look back at the werewolf impaled on the sword.

“Damn. It,” Wyrn growled. “Don’t let him die!”

But while Sorem stared down at Vadde’s bare form, when she sat up and held her torn dress closed, he blinked himself awake.

Matax and Wyrn both rushed to the werewolf’s aid. The sword was lodged in the thing’s stomach. Panic forced his shift. He turned into a man but still vibrated, a fact that made Wyrn shove Matax back.

“Wait. Something’s not right.” He asked Matax, “Can werewolves shift upon injury?”

Marva took interest as well.

The human body continued to contort and pop until it ballooned and solidified into a great beast.

“Well, that would explain the lack of fear for ogres,” Matax attested.

As expected, the ogre’s injury closed within seconds. But as an ogre lost most dexterity in its true form, this one hiss through its tusks, “You bastards!” turned, and ran into the brownie’s territory.

Everyone watched its retreat.

Jeze giggled. “I say we call him Ned if we ever see him again. He was awfully adorable, even with that hairy back and crooked toes.”

This wasn’t the time for laughter. The way no one moved said as much. Wyrn set his eyes on his wife and his gaze held not a trace of gentleness or joy.

If not for the earth rumbling again, he might have given her a piece of his mind.

When they focused on the statue to find it moving, Matax was the first to speak. “Did…did that thing…?”

“Eat a few werewolves and steal their land? Yes. It appears so,” Wyrn grumbled.

He turned to make his way back to the wagon, but Matax caught him. “Fool. Look where the path leads now.” They met eyes and he grinned. “I for one have no problem stealing stolen land.”

‎