What do you want? We demand of him.
Come back.
We have come.
Come back here. Changer. He is insistent. Come back to this. He lifts an arm, holds up a hand. He shows us a head lolling on his shoulder. He turns its head to show us its face. We do not know it.
That?
This. This is yours, Changer.
It smells bad. It is spoiled meat, we do not want it. There is better meat by the pond than that.
Come here. Come closer.
This is not a good idea. We will come no closer. He looks at us and grips us with his eyes. He edges closer to us, bringing it with him. It flops in his arms.
Easy. Easy. This is yours, Changer. Come closer.
We snarl, but he does not look away. We cower, tail to belly, wanting to leave, but he is strong. He takes its hand and puts it on our head. He holds the scruff of our neck to still us.
Come back. You must come back. He is so insistent.
We cower down, digging claws into the snowy earth. Humping our back, we try to pull away, struggle to take one step backward. He still holds on to the scruff of our neck. We gather strength to wheel and break away.
Let him go, Nighteyes. He is not yours. A hint of teeth in those words, his eyes stare at us too hard.
He is not yours, either, Nighteyes says.
Whose am I, then?
A moment of teetering, of balancing between two worlds, two realities, two fleshes. Then a wolf wheels and flees, tail tucked, over the snow, running away alone, fleeing from too much strangeness. Atop a hill he stops, to point his nose at the sky and howl. Howl for the unfairness of it all.