He had known it would happen eventually if he didn't leave. His Metamorian newfound friends had told him, warned him. Even gone as far as to beg for him to go back before it was too late. They knew him too well.
He wanted to go home.
But, his orders had been to wait for the Duke's answer, and had the Duke not answered, it was his duty to stay.
However this was another thing, suddenly seeing it take effect. He had looked in the mirror to shave, as usual. At first, he had noticed no Changing, his sun-tanned skin still held a tone similar to his borrowed horse's coat, his eyes the had the same determined look to them, the look he could not change, however much he wanted to. His unruly hair still was just a nuiance darker than wilted oak leaves. It had not been until he turned his head to shave his chinline that he had noticed the dark fur on his shoulders, the color lighter towards the neck. His mind panicked.
All the Keepers' warnings, that the Change was not reversible, were gone. He was scared out of his mind, and he did not know what to do. Best thing would be to leave Metamor Keep. He found his carefully repaired clothes, and was for the first time glad that his shirt covered most of his neck. The ferret that as always sat on the pile of clothes retreated to under a stool, and he had to spend some time hunting it up. All the time the thought tormented his mind. He'd become an animal, just like many of the Keepers, and nothing could he do about it. Perhaps if he left. That would be the best thing to do.
Most certainly, it had to do something to the Curse if he got out of the area where it was active. Stop it or reverse it. But then again, there were his orders. Stay until the Duke gives you his answer, had the stablemaster who gave him the lord's letter said. He knew it was important that the reply arrived quickly once the Duke had gotten his reply written. But they could certainly not have heard about the Curse. However much it felt like he was denying his duties, he couldn't bring himself to stay. Not thinking of that he might turn into anything. As ironically as it seemed, the Curse could even choose to make him a rat, as payback for all the rats he had drowned during the years as rat-catcher.
He decided he could as well eat his last breakfast in Metamor Keep at the Mule, and after getting dressed he walked down the stairs, with Mask in a harness, sitting on his shoulder. The ferret was a good rat-catcher, and he couldn't risk it tried to catch Goldfur once again.
As early as it was, not many were at the Deaf Mule, and of those that were there, he knew only very few. He nodded to them, and they returned his greeting, as few as they were. He remembered Strella, his closest friend at this cursed place, saying many of the Keep's inhabitants went to the Mule at some point of the afternoon some day every week, but most of the people there now were unchanged guests, and not permanent settled there. As long as he didn't get too much attention, he hardly cared which. As he got his breakfast of eggs, bread and salad -he had just felt like eating some greens this morning- he started his meal. Barely had he done so when he felt a paw on his shoulder, and in surprise almost choked on the mouthful of bread he was chewing on.
Mask stiffened, tiny claws digging into his shoulder, thus he knew before turning around that it was one of the rodents. Seeing Strella, he smiled, and the morph raised her round ears and curled her tail in response.
First time he'd met her had been half a day or so after his arrival, when she had offered to show him about Metamor Keep. Not having known much about the Curse, he had been suspicious, but as many others had gotten to realize during the couple of years since the soft-furred rodent's arrival, she had a very strong will. And she was the type of person whose energy swiped everyone else with her. After getting over his initial uneasiness he had acctually enjoyed having her dragging him around Metamor Keep.
And she had been the first one to be concerned about him since he grew old enough to handle his father's ferrets by himself, helping providing for his small family. Being the only son of a rat-catcher he had never had anyone care about him, and not only what he was capable of. Still, at that point, being scared of what was happening to him, he was too upset to appreciate that same concern.
"Ulw..." Strella begun, but he interrupted.
"I know, I've been here too long. I'm leaving this morning."
He spoke fast and his voice was boyish high-pitched, causing the rodent to twitch her round ears.
"Are you sure? You sound younger already."
He nodded frenetically, his nineteen years were not to decrease, of so much he was pretty sure. The morph with him sighed, sat down at his table and started comb out her long whiskers with her fingers. It was obvious the stormcloud grey rodent was worried about him. Having herself been caught in the Keep during a blizzard and had the Change more or less forced upon her, she seemed very eager the same wouldn't happen to the unchanged son of a rat-catcher.
It wasn't Strella's fault it was too late.
He looked over his borrowed horse once again; making sure the lameness it had gained when he rode to Metamor Keep had healed. The gelding softly looked back at him, and even though he knew it was just an insentient horse, he couldn't help but think that it might know that they were once again leaving the relatively safe Metamor Keep to once again make the long trip to where both horse and boy originated from. Long and dangerous trip. Lutins were seen in this area quite often, so much he knew. He could just hope his horse wouldn't go lame again. Obviously, it wasn't used to the long dayrides he had been forced to make once they approached the valley of Metamor Keep.
That gelding had been the one of first horses he had ever ridden, the emotional value it held for him almost as great as the value the white and chocolate ferret perched on his shoulder did. And it was on the horse's endurance his life might come to depend.
He wasn't surprised when Strella and some Keeper he wasn't quite familiar with offered him escort through the worst area. As soon as he nodded, horses were brought out for the two as well, seemed as Strella had coundted on a yes, and had he not been so worried about the Change coming upon him, he would have found Strella's riding pretty amusing.
As the rodent morph no longer could sit on a horse properly, she had taken on a form slightly closer to her full animal one, her morphic armour still fitting good, and now she perched on top of the saddle, rather than sitting in it, balancing with her thick furred tail. Well, no matter how she rode, he felt safer with her there than without.
The three rode through the gates leading from the Keep to the town below, where the marketplace was already getting busy. Keepers and a few unchanged merchants were getting in order for the day, and Ulw noticed how Strella waved to most of them. That rodent alone seemed to have more friends than any dozen of others together.
Slowly, they rode out of also the outer gate, and he was relieved that he was finally heading home. He from the corner of his eye saw Strella make sure her thin blade was loose in the sheath, and the other Keeper check his bowstring, and caught himself wishing he had more weapon training than he had. If those two checked their weapons so close to the Keep, it had to mean there was a risk riding here.
Probably, he had had great luck not to be attacked when he came.
That had been then. Now he was not sure whether he wanted to meet any Keeper or just wanted to try to handle this alone. Of course, lutins were in the forests, they always were. Of course, he could get killed by them. On the other hand, he had not much to live for. He had not disliked the Metamorians, not at all. But from that to accepting that he was turining into one of them, was a pretty big step. He wasn't sure he could handle it.
And, as he had grown during the change, his weight increasing a good deal, his horse had gone lame again. The opportunity to perhaps be able to hide what he was turning into had closed once and for all as his chest became deeper and wider than before, causing his shirt to tear in numerous places. At about the same time, his ears had grown longer and a bit floppy, and for a while, he had thought he might become a donkey. Of course, seeing the length his fur now had, it was unlikely a donkey. And horns had started to grow on his now slightly reformed head. Cheeks were deeper down, chin and nose blending more for every few hours that passed. Looking into a pond, the thought flashed through his mind that he appeared pretty bovine. How long had it been since he left Metamor Keep now? A week? Two? Not much more than two, anyway.
He was starving, as well. As he became more and more like one of the Keepers, he had to put aside more and more of the food he had brought. Eating meat or fish was not to even think about.
And he was afraid of the lutins, even as he tried to convince himself he was not. All he had to defend himself was a dull knife, and his growing horns, that wouldn't be of much good for the moment. They were plainly too short to do much harm yet.
He would have to trust the strength this new form brought. No matter he had trouble balancing himself and that he still was unused to his changing vision, he had to defend himself. Himself and Mask was what he had.
His black ears, the left pierced with two golden loops, just as it had always been, twitched as he put his shirt on as good as possible. It couldn't be buttoned, his chest was too broad for that, but it still felt better than being without. The long hairs on his tail tickled his haunches annoyingly when he walked, leading the horse back towards Metamor Keep. If he could find the way. If he wasn't killed by lutins first. He still found it hard to walk on the hard surface of his cloven hooves, but he wouldn't trip over pebbles anymore.
His Change was just about complete. His ten fingers were now six, and his ten toes now four. His horns were a yard or so between the tips, and his thick coat seemed to have finished growing, which was a relief. The last thing he wanted was getting overheated. It must have been three weeks at least since he left Metamor Keep. Three hard weeks, at least since his stomach started rioting as soon as he ate any of his dried fish or meat.
It could have been worse, he tried to tell himself. He could have been turned into anything, why would this bovine creature he didn't quite recognize be worse than anything else? From what he had understood, he could even have turned into a plant. The Curse of Metamor Keep wouldn't work any other way on him than on anyone else. He had known it all the time, so why had he fled? He'd perhaps never know. It might have been to get a chance to get into terms with his Change without knowing others were betting over it. Or, he had let his fear kick in drastically.
Probably the latter.
His tail was still swiping over his heels. It tickled, and he irritably lashed once with it, to sigh heavily when the long hairs once again started tickling him. Either he could chose to stand it or he could try to find out a way to stop it. The latter sounded more appealing, but he doubted he was going to reach his tail very well, the Change had with no doubt made his back less flexible than before.
He was lucky he picked up his knife and bent down to try cut the long, annoying hairs on his tail just when he did. The lutin wasn't prepared for neither his movement, nor for the thick fur under his shirt. The bronze knife that should have killed him at the first strike slid on his pelt giving him only a very swallow cut along the shoulder blade, and he instinctively shook the unwanted passenger off his back. Knowing he wouldn't be that lucky when the others attacked, he turned about to face the pack of evil green creatures. It would take more than the son of a rat-catcher could do to get rid of them; of so much he was certain.
He had not imagined the fear that thought caused.
Holding his pretty dull knife awkwardly in his right hoof-hand, shivering in fear on the inside, but keeping calm on the outside, he made the decision to sell his life for an expense as great as ever possible. The decision had a sour taste to it.
The lutin pack was small to be lutins, at least from what he had heard at Metamor Keep. Still, they were many more than him, and his fighting skills were limited to what any kid learned in the backyard. Having not been a particulary strong child, it wasn't much. He could only hope it was enough to get himself time to perhaps attract the attention of a patrol from the Keep. Otherwise, nothing was to do about it. The lutin he had managed to throw off his shoulder stirred and grabbed something on the ground. He did not give it the time to show him what it really was, doing so would be really stupid.
His cloven hooves crushed the neck bone of the short beast, which made it one less to deal with. That was the right way to think of it. One less, not nine more. His horse snorted at the smell of blood, and he had to hold it with his free hand, which didn't make things any easier. Three of the lutins attacked him at once, and it was only by jumping back he managed to survive the second attack with no more injuries than a swallow cut. He grunted, and tried to change his fear to rage against the foul creatures. Not much did it help, and he was forced to push his horse around, using it as a living shield. It would cost him the horse, but in this shape, he wouldn't have been able to return it anyway.
The only thing he could be glad about was that the lutins were at least not well armed. From what he could see, the bronze knife of the one he had killed was the best weapon any of them had had. It didn't prevent them from being far more dangerous than ever he, though. Never. His hoof-like hand clenched hard about the handle of his dulled knife, and his altered eyesight made him sway a bit. He was unsure of the number of lutins. He was almost sure he had counted to nine before, but now, they seemed no more than eight. His ears twitched at the sound of a twig breaking and he lashed out a cloven hoof back at the lutin that had tried to sneak upon him. The sound of cracking bones should have made him sick, had he not been occupied with trying to survive. Would he just know more of lutins, or know more of fighting, any of it would work. What he knew was far from enough. And he would tire rapidly, not being used to his new form.
He took a step forward, not knowing where he found the courage to do it, but grateful that he did. The lutins seemed to have realized he couldn't beat them off if they came more than one at a time, though, and he gritted his teeth in pain as a sharpened splinter of bone cut deeply into his arm, a few inches below the elbow.
The bovine morph had no chance to stay alive for more than some minutes, and he knew it, and it scared him. Last time he'd been so scared, panic fear had kicked in to make him survive, this time, it was the instincts of his animal part. The green creatures picking on him saw him slowly start changing, becoming more like a bovine, to suddenly, not long after the start of the morphing, he snapped into the body of his animal counterpart with a loud grunt of pain, his clothes getting torn and falling off. With his ferret clinging to his fur, he bolted towards the lutins, his left horn going straight through one of them's belly, and ran off along the path he thought led to Metamor Keep. The lutin he had hit waved wildly with its arms, a wooden club hitting him on the head several times before he managed to shake the involuntary passenger off.
As a full animal, he had no longer very much problems with balance, just with sight, that if possible changed to even worse, and navigation.
The patrol saw the yak galloping towards them, and stood ground as it tried to slow down, to then quickly jump aside as it stood clear it would never be able to. A white ferret with a dark 'mask' over its eyes clinged to the bovine's shoulder, and when it finally managed to come to a halt, it dropped to the ground, breathing hard. Before any of the Keepers could approach the highland animal, it shivered, and with a groan of pain, the full animal form changed to a close-human yak, the change being sudden, and not gradually, and to judge by the yak's reaction, painful.
The next thing he knew a Keeper was kneeling over him, and he slowly turned up his head. He recognized the face, vaguely.
"It's Ulw," he said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and his eyes wanting to close.
The world was just a dizzy mass of greys, and then, even they were gone,
swallowed by the blackness.