I keep my head down and boots pounding the hard-packed clay alleyways. Forcing the aches to the background, just as the Masters once trained a young boy; do nothing save that which furthers the mission: Save the Child.

Scents swirl. My mind categorizes sweet mint pastries from a bakery, sharp earthen animal dung decomposing, and the rancid odor of rats hiding in dark shadows beneath stores and in the attics above.

Focusing on the trail of smoke, I draw ever closer to the source. Ashes alight on my tongue, the noxious odor causing me to cough even as my abused lungs prevent a full breath.

A detour takes me past the backend of a tannery. The harsh chemicals and acids used for the tanning process sting my nose. I twist the handle, smelling the earthy cotton plus an almost sweet smell of dyes almost buried beneath the acids. The handle gives with a loud snap. I enter a building with some hanging skins and others submerged in vats.

My nose guides me past the hanging skins and plush fur. A second door handle snaps beneath my hand, and I step into an adjacent seamstress shop. I push my way through hanging mounds of fabric and silk.

One little assassin in a bright pink dress… my subconscious sings in my mind.

Shut. It, I snap, ignoring the rest of his bardery that sounds like the braying of a donkey.

My voice is an art. You would not know, for you would not know art should it stab you in the buttocks.

As much as I want to reply, I have bigger issues to deal with than the insults heaped upon my head by my mind.

The clamor of shouts and the pounding of boots comes from outside the front door, and I ease open a closed shutter to see city guardsmen race down the street outside this shop and around a corner in the distance. From where they disappeared, there comes the sounds of yelling and a mis-mash of broken clamor in an indistinct roar. My natural sense of direction has not failed me yet.

I duck back inside and grab the first dark cloak I come to, grimacing when I see what is beneath the dark fabric.

There lies a masterpiece of silken cloth dyed a deep purple and trimmed in gold.

A dress for a noble.

My lips twist, but I can't take the time to find a man's cloak. I'll just have to deal with wearing a girl's clothing item. I rip the white rabbit fur and gold trimming from the hood, leaving jagged edges... but there are some things I will not sink to. Thankfully, the rest is a deep, almost black plum that blends well into the shadows.

I fasten the cloak and pull the hood over my head before following in the footsteps of the soldiers from earlier.

I'm dumped from the back alley directly into a mob clustering in a town square built for market days and plays... not this. Stone shops built into a square for displaying wares glow red and burnished bronze in the firelight. Hundreds of people stomp around in the hardened dirt, surrounding a cage made of metal and silver bars hung in the center of the square. My breath hitches at the sight of a child held behind barbaric bars.

She can’t be over four or five full seasons. Soft white tresses frame her face, reminding me of a wise old lady, not a young child. The parlor of her skin makes her blue, innocent eyes seem extra wide in comparison. She grips the cage in such a way that lets me know she’s not even a Shifter. The silver would burn her little fingers. These people would kill a young child just for being the half-daughter of a Shifter? She's human!

The mob curses the girl, uttering cruel words I will not repeat. Beneath the cage is a raging bonfire, tendrils reaching just scarcely high enough to lick the cage bars. No platform for her to stand on, just bars as thick as my arm. That has to hurt her tiny feet.

Tears stream down the little one’s face, and soot makes her almost white hair appear streaked.

The large rock wall looms before me. It has a post sticking out the side like a toothpick from a giant's mouth. That post holds the chain, and consequently the cage, aloft. The chain follows the post back to the wall, and my eyes track the chain. It disappears into a dark hole in the tall wall behind it. Down on the ground is a dark hole where the large chain emerges, and there the black chain is coiled around a wheel, managed by a jingoist with a faded purple cape.

The man has a depraved grin on his face as he turns the wheel a notch, the grind of metal on stone inside the wall something I can barely distinguish over the surrounding clamour.

A shriek of pure terror comes from the girl as she hops back and forth on burning rungs, begging with wide blue eyes for anyone to help her. This has gone far enough.

The hood over my face should hide the golden and red wolven reflection of my Kursk heritage; but I keep my head down as I shove through the crowd to get to the front, just in case someone takes an interest in one cloaked being.

An elbow to my ribs causes a sharp gasp to escape my lips, making me pause as I bend double to get my breath back. Another notch and pitiful wail from the girl gets me moving despite the ribs. There’s more at stake than my pain.

I make a quick pit stop at the wheel to make a minor adjustment. That should give them a bit of trouble.

I flash a toothy smile—or, more aptly, a predatory snarl.

A young man, at the wrong place, wrong time, quickly backpedals, stumbling into a woman who grunts and shoves him with a quick, "Watch it!"

I'm on the move before he can look back from his apology to the formidable woman. The clammy fear on him makes my predatory side hum with the thrill of the chase. A chuckle escapes me.

I shake off the humor, allowing the wolf close to the surface for the battle to come.

He howls in excitement within the confines of my mind.

The wall holding the cage aloft is about a story taller than the store fronts surrounding us, making it three stories high. I take a peek at the night sky. The moon is close to full, bringing my wolf even closer to the surface and healing my wounds quicker than magic. It's overcast enough to—hopefully—allow a bit more leeway for my activities to remain secret a while longer.

I’ll have one chance at this. I scurry up the back of the wall, using hand and footholds that are hardly visible but to my grey and white sight. Surely, the mob will stay focused on the girl as I attempt... something.

You need a plan, idiot.

I know!

Then why don't you have one?

Shut it.

I study the crowd from my vantage atop the wall. To my surprise, there are jingoist in the crowd, chanting:

“kill her, kill her—”

“Kursk scum!”

“Burn her first or she’ll kill us all!”

There are other things I don’t dare repeat for fear my long-absent birth mother would find me just to hang me up by my toenails. Yes, she threatened that many times. No, I never, ever deserved the threat. I was a perfectly wonderful, very obedient child.

I shake my head to bring it back into focus on the crowd before me.

Many of the actual townsfolk have tears in their eyes as they watch the tiny girl screaming for help. Mayhap there’s hope for the world yet.

The top of the wall is about like any wall that would surround a castle, designed with a parapet and large blocks of rock that look like a giant's teeth. The teeth are even pockmarked and dirty, just like the giants I've met in the past.

I don't understand the wall's purpose in the middle of the city. From up here, there is a clear view over the top of most of the houses and stores. I would guess this to be a logging community with the sawdust mill right beside the river that cuts through the far east side of a town larger than I first expected. I would estimate between three hundred to six hundred decent sized homes patterned in squares jutting off from this one. That excludes the shops and inns, which I can't estimate as they are scattered throughout the city. Many stores for all manner of products are in the square I see presently with a bird's-eye view, based on the many drawings depicting items and services. This square itself is a good hundred to two hundred horse lengths in size.

The city is built into a hill, the place I am the highest vantage point as the rest tapers off slowly down into valleys and plains below the city itself that are too far for even my vision to make out details. The city itself is built into an odd… octagonal shape, following and flowing with the shape of the hill it resides on.

The town itself is closer to civilization than the place I lived with my family, but it's still a decent distance from the capital. If my estimations are correct, I would say another week by wagon train would get you to massive, bustling cities. Another week would get you to the capital.

I crawl along the horizontal pole. Thank all that is good and holy that it's larger than most good-sized tree branches and braced often with metal to keep it steady. It's only about five feet from the wall to the dangling cage above the fire, making it easy to sneak across. A cloud comes over the silver of the moon, making the fires seem brighter and the shadows of night seem darker. Excellent.

I slip down the chain, timing my movements with the flickering of the flame, hopefully a shadow hidden amongst the deep sky. I imagine I blot out some stars, but again, I hope none take notice. The fire is vast, making shadows dance where there are none. Helpful for my current position.

I fold myself down, hand over hand.

I breathe a prayer of thanks to whomever will hear as I land without further mishap. The cage rattles at my weight. I refuse the urge to sneeze as the cloying sweet scent of silver once again fills my nose and makes my muscles quiver in weakness. It seems to burn my feet through my boots. Ashes alight on my tongue while the snapping of the roaring fire seems to tune out all sounds except the whimpering cries beneath me.

Crouched on the cage itself and still as a wolf watching prey, I glance out at the crowd from my peripheral, keeping the shine of my eyes away from the crowd itself as much as I’m able. Movement draws the eye and my shining gaze would draw much more scrutiny than I want.

The man at the wheel tries to turn another notch. He frantically motions over other jingoists from the crowd to investigate the little present I left for them. I grin. The sword is going to take more than a few extra humans to remove it. I shoved it in with all the strength of my heritage.

From the edge of the crowd, brown eyes with crow feet meet my own. I became lazy in my humor, glancing at the crowd in earnest. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes in surprise or to shout. I plead with my glowing eyes and give a slight shake of my head.

For whatever reason, he closes his mouth, looks from me to the girl, then eyes the wheel, which should have a 'currently out of order' sign on it. He gives a slight nod and backs away to blend in with the other townsfolk.

No time to wonder at the miracle. I have work to do... if he noticed me, others will, as well.

Gasps of surprise rise from the crowd, folk gawking and pointing as if I were some acrobat at the circus. Perhaps this plan was a little foolhardy.

Something harrumphs in the back of my mind.

The jingoist remain engaged with the wheel, but others are becoming more and more aware of my presence. It's interesting how the gasps and cries of the folk are more quiet than the buzz of constant conversation from before. The city guards who occupied the edge of the square now shove between people, coming closer to the center of the crowd and towards me.

Time is rapidly growing short.

The door is on the back of the cage. Someone foolishly chose not to take precautions with the lock, or perhaps they just didn't think it would matter. Either way, they did not make the lock in silver—perhaps it was just too expensive. A stupid mistake if the girl was truly a Kursk, as it would only take a simple flick of the wrist to break—just like that. I smile as the lock comes off in my hands, pocketing it out of habit to keep anything useful.

Now for the tricky part.

A scream tears through the air. A glimpse of the crowd shows I have captured the attention of all folk from the smallest lady to the tallest jingoist. Shoot fire, I knew this was coming, but was hoping I could bid a little more time before the people knew someone was on top of the cage.

I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. A split second of total silence as all consider me. My cloak snaps in the breeze, seeming to pop all back into motion.

The jingoist draw swords with wicked jagged edges coated in silver. A very few pull arrows from their shoulders and draw. Screams rise from the townsfolk as they stream from the square like ants leaving a kicked hill. I grasp the door to the cage and swing it open. The silver coating burns my skin on contact. I wipe it off with a wince.

“Hey little one. I think it’s time we left this joint, aye?” I speak gently, but with a slight urging command I can’t contain.

The thwack of a bow heralds the releasing of an arrow. The whir of the arrow cuts through the air as it passes and I duck by instinct, even if it was off by a good five feet.

"He's outnumbered and alone. Don't waste silver until I give word!" a woman yells, her voice high-pitched with annoyance.

The girl looks at me with swollen eyes overflowing with wide-eyed terror. She doesn’t deserve to have such nightmares for one so small.

Something whispers I had been through worse at this age, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I wait patiently even though every ounce of me prefers to swing into the cage and take her by force. At least no arrows will come my way... at least not yet. The little one will have to trust me if we are to survive what's coming.

A bit of courage and trust grows in her shimmering gaze and she grasps my hand. The silver coats her hands where she grasped the bars and makes my hand burn as if I'd stuck it in the fire below. I ignore it and swing her up and onto my back. She grasps so tightly around my neck I make a strangled gasp. She releases me slightly.

“Hang tight, ok?” I ask, wondering if she's going to strangle me again.

“Ok, Sir Wolf.” Her kind words make me chuckle, while showing her courage for one so young as her voice shakes but little.

“You’re being very brave. Just a little longer,” I whisper.

I turn to face the crowd. Most of the people have dispersed, scattering like doves sensing a wolf.

Remaining is a short, portly man dressed in a silken robe over a potbelly. I’m guessing he’s the mayor or some other important noble. He waves a silver tipped sword encrusted with a jeweled hilt. A gaudy thing made for show. He almost takes off the hand of a purple caped man standing at his side with his posturing. The man quickly shuffles away from the crazy sword swinging royal with a muttered curse that would make a pirate blush.

Beside the portly mayor, out of range of that sword, is a woman in a fur-lined purple dress with a sword at her hip. She holds her hand up, and the archers draw. I wonder if I stole her cloak, seeing as the dress she wears is the same purple tint as the one in the seamstress's shop.

I’d say around thirty jingoists—ten with bows pointed at me—and fifty townsmen remain, including the brown-eyed man and some others who cluster near him. The city guards are lined in rows behind the townsmen and purple cloaked men. They make no move either for or against me, and I fear I'll need to run from them, as well.

The jingoists all congregate close to the stone wall I climbed, surrounding it, as if I’ll come down that way. Psshaw. Amateurs.

I scurry back up the chain and then walk the pole back to the wall, about giving myself a heart attack when my foot slipped and I almost sent both myself and a young child into the embrace of hot coals.

The lady in the dress drops her hand, and ten arrows release. I grip the little girl's legs and leap the last few feet to the wall itself. She whimpers in my ear as I skid on my knees, just barely making it behind one of the tooth-shaped blocks in time.

I pull the girl around and shield her with my body as the arrows release a second time, splattering against the other side of the wall with the clatter of metal on stone. A few whizz between the edges of the tooth we're behind, chipping at the wall some five or six feet back. An arrow almost clips my shoulder. I huddle closer to protect the girl, the tooth only two or three feet across.

Why do I do these things again? I ask whoever will listen.

You're a glutton for punishment? I wasn't planning on my internal cynic to answer.

Thanks. So helpful.

“One man and girl against a mob? The odds stacked a little much, don’t you think, mayor?” I throw my voice over the edge of the wall, peeking my head around the tooth, even as I judge the distance and hoping it'll do. Perhaps a little conversation will keep more arrows from coming at me.

An arrow whizzes past my face with a low buzz. I jerk back a split second too late; the fletching tickles my cheek as it speeds past. If whoever shot that had better aim, I'd be dead.

"Wait!" the jingoist woman hisses.

You should probably focus before we die, my subconscious calmly says.

Some men below attempt to get the greenest members among them to climb the wall. It's amusing to see grown men acting like children in a dare. A climb up right now would indeed be a Bad Idea.

“Me thinks you should give up now, Kursk. Mayhap we could make the sentence easier... or quicker,” he says with a smile at the thought of my death. His brown and black teeth make me grimace in disgust. I can almost smell the fetid breath from here through the ashes still clinging to my nostrils.

“Too bad, mayor.” A snarl curls my lips.

“Me ask why that’s too bad?” he responds, false confidence oozing from every pore as he tilts his head. His hand shakes slightly, betraying his nerves.

“I’m not giving up today.” My voice deepens into a growl.

From the corner of my eye, I see the brown-eyed man and his friends draw up hoods. Odd.

I look down at the girl in my arms, and when she peeks up at me with bright blue eyes, something in my soul gives way. I will protect her with my life, should it come to that. Something I was unable to do for my brothers.

"I'm getting us out of this, little one. Climb back on, please?" I ask her, hoping polite words will help her be less scared.

She nods, easing on my back again.

"Hold tight. I'm going to change into a wolf."

This time, her nod is against my neck as she clings to me.

I give into the urging of my soul and the essence within which runs on instinct and reflex. An animal essence to my very core. I remember the warmth of coarse fur, a deep comfort upon my back and a first defense against briars, teeth, and swords. It's easy to recall the sharpness of scents coloring the air, how my mind catalogs each one out of thousands for future hunting appeal or further knowledge.

My fangs distend further as my lips move and grow to cover them. My nose elongates: limbs stretching, bending, and reforming. I hunch over slowly so as not to knock off the girl clinging to my neck. She holds on by a force of will and a strangling grasp.

My shirt is ripped as my chest expands, and a pang of sorrow fills me at the loss of the last physical item linking me to my family.

I feel something flutter in my chest as it aches. Somehow, the tunic falling softly to the ground makes it almost seem... done. As if that part of my life is finished without my consent. But right now, I don't have time to mourn.

A howl is pulled from me as my ribs expand to fill more space, the broken and bruised bones crackling painfully. It would be less painful if someone reached into my chest and squeezed my internal organs.

My front paws touch the ground, the fingers receding into short toes and claws.

Fur races up and down my back. I appreciate the ease at which my paws may eat up horse lengths in seconds, especially with the men below waiting for my death with morbid excitement mixed with white-knuckled fear.

There are a few hanging back, watching with a mixture of hesitation and discomfort.

With a final huff, I stand on the wall with bare paws, lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

I leap from the stone on burning paws just as the woman drops her arm, signaling the release of the bows. The snapping of many arrows released meets my ears, and I pin them to my skull to try and block out the sound.

The girl still clinging to my fur screams and buries her head into the mane at the back of my neck.