Confused with conflicting desires, Wheeler stumbled back to the Deaf Mule. No matter what he decided, he needed to get his meager belongings out of his room there. Shinto and his other friends waved him over as soon as he entered. Shinto was working his way through a variety of hard boiled eggs, including a unique robin's egg the size of Wheeler's fist. He was curious if some female bird morphs sold their unfertilized eggs for extra income, but wasn't sure who to ask. He had larger concerns on his mind in any case.
"Come, join us, Grey," The coyote said, oblivious to the pieces of yolk escaping his jaws. "We were beginning to think your horsie had you tied up tight in his stall."
"I wish," Wheeler agreed. "You guys eat breakfast yet?"
Giles Clifface and Somaht Keyphir nodded their heads. Giles and Somaht had arrived together several days before Wheeler had. From what Wheeler understood, a magical practical joke gone bad several months back had caused the two to fall madly in love despite the fact they were both males with families. Since Wheeler was naturally inclined along the path that was forced on them, Shinto had thought it was a great idea that they compare notes. Wheeler had a suspicion that the monk just like to live vicariously.
For these two, coming to the Keep had been a rash decision and now the two were stuck with the consequences. Their families had been destroyed and they had burned too many bridges behind them in coming here. Like Wheeler, they had thought to get the curse solve their problem by making one of them a woman. They hadn't known that there was no controlling the curse. The curse wasn't so kind; no sooner had Pascal delivered a cure for their problem, than did Giles become a billy goat, trapping forever within the Keep. Unable to abandon his long-time friend, Keyphir refused the cure. Now, he, too, was transforming, slowly turning into a completely different animal.
That's the way the curse worked, some changed in minutes. Some took days. Some weeks. In one case almost a year.
"Baaaaa," Giles said, waving a hoof towards Shinto. He sighed heavily, and looked at Keyphir for help. Poor Giles was almost 100% goat, even in his morph form. In full morph, only his hips, backbone, and shoulders seem to change into anything resembling human bones. Talking required an emourous amount of concentration, as did walking, as Giles' body was more goat like than anyone would have like. Wheeler actually thought he got off easy, considering the number of insects he could have become, but knew the goat-morph would probably not appreciate the sentiments.
Keyphir scratched Giles between the horns and the billy goat suffered the intimacy. He now counted on Keyphir for too many things to complain about it, apparently. "We had our veggies already, Shinto's on his seconds." Keyphir's eyes had slightly green tinted bags under them, as if he hadn't slept much lately. In truth, that was the only visible sign the curse was at work within the man. No one knew what was happening beneath his clothes. No one knew what animal he was becoming, but that was normal for very slow transformations. The betting pool around the bar seemed to agree it would be some sort of lizard. Wheeler had put a couple coopers on Venus Fly Trap, which he assumed was some sort of green spider. The odds were high and he couldn't resist.
Wheeler wondered which way to would happen to him, if he stayed. Fast or slow.
"I'm ravenous," The Solfire Monk explained, losing more egg pieces. But he paused long enough to look at Wheeler oddly. "You look... younger. Has the curse finally made up your mind for you?"
Wheeler shook his head and smiled. "Too soon. This is just clean living you're seeing."
Everyone at the table snorted good naturedly and Giles said something that might have been along the lines of what a cute kid he would make. Wheeler smiled and chuckled as Giles bleated a few happy noises that passed for caprine laughter. Shinto grandly agreed to give Wheeler as many pony rides as he wanted if he became a child. The conversation was anything but serious, but there was something in the air.
It was like joining a club, really, and Wheeler couldn't bring himself to explain how the tantric wards worked and how he might be leaving to go to Os-Var-Khai before the curse could hit. Instead, he told them the Duke finally agreed to see him and that he had a job for Wheeler if he wanted it. It was all very hush-hush, but he had to talk to Clay first.
There was some more good natured teasing, of course, and some backslapping. Shinto paid for the first round, which they drank as Donny served Wheeler the last beef sausages he'd ever eat in his life. Giles bought the next round, although it was Keyphir who brought out the coins. Keyphir used his own money on the third and then Shinto repeated the cycle all over again.
It was the last time the four of them were ever in one place together at the same time.
Clay made an effort to get home before dark.
Since working at the stables, Clay had never really had anyone he could go home to. His bunkmates were all so much younger than he was and the age difference was sometimes annoying. At work, they could be counted on to do their jobs, but at home... which the bunkhouse was for many of them... they compensated for that by being twice as childish at times. He knew at least one of them snuck glimpses at him while he was undressed, but he'd done the same things himself when he was younger. Before the change, any glimpse into what he might become was worth risking getting caught. After the change, it was about what might have happened. Since discovering that he liked other males at least as much as the females, if not more so, Clay was too embarrassed to peek.
With a few exceptions, of course.
He was going to have to tell Grey about that one of these days, especially now that he could peek... or stare... as much as he wanted. Grey was waiting for him at home and he had one or two nights left of being normal. After that, Grey would belong to the Keep and Clay Potter would never let him go. Until then, Clay was going to do everything he could to make Grey happy, and the book Fox Cutter had found for him was proving to be very useful in that regard. He wish he could afford a copy of his own so he could have Grey circle the parts he'd like to do.
Still, night fell quickly and Clay made it to the family home just before dark. He wondered, fleeting, if his mother had heard of her husband and youngest child's imprisonment yet. He had no idea exactly where she was, and he hoped she was well, but as he opened the door, the odors of spices hit his nose and his first thoughts were of her. That she had come back when she had discovered that Henrik and Wicker would no longer be there to drag her down. That she had come back to him, because she never left because of him. It was because of them. She came back to tell him who his father really was.
He crossed the shop area, first calling out for his mother, which made him feel incredibly stupid when only silence answered him. His mother was on some farm in the valley, no doubt, and she was going to stay there. Then he called out for Grey when he looked into the kitchen and did not see anyone. He did find a steel object, black and round that was apparently someone's idea of a pot. A circular stack of bamboo boxes sat in the middle of a spicy broth puddle that bubbled gently in the odd steel contraption. Ginger and Garlic and other spices he did not recognize burned his nose when he leaned in too closely and then inhaled. Steam was HOT! Six months of eating plain raw veggies and he'd forgotten his kitchen basics.
Clay didn't think Grey wouldn't have left anything on the stove, if he had planned to be gone long. Then he found Grey sleeping in the larder.
The man was wearing a silk robe that went down to his knees, a thick leather collar, and nothing else. He looked like a man who had simply had a crying drag and falling asleep once he was spent. The book had cautioned that slaves -- or submissives, as the book called them -- were very vulnerable in a new relationship, especially to forces beyond their master's control. If only Clay had told Grey, or even hinted, how he would like Grey to answer questions about their relationship, the poor man's session with Thalberg and the other suspicious fools would have gone a lot easier on him. Still, as Grey himself had pointed out, he hadn't told Clay that he needed to know things like that. Well, nothing to do about it now but pick up the pieces.
He lowered himself slowly to the ground and nudged Grey. He wondered if Duke Thomas had to be so careful with his legs, but then so many morphs were different. Maybe he would ask him some day; the Duke was very approachable, he'd heard, although you wouldn't know it from the trouble Grey had had. It would be nice to compare notes with another horse morph.
He touched Grey's cheek and watched the man smile idly in his sleep. Of course, he thought, it would be nice to compare notes with other "Masters." Slavery, of course, was strictly illegal, but what one did in the privacy of one's home, was another matter. The book hadn't exactly been gathering dust in the library, and Fox seemed to find it quickly enough. There must be others like him and Grey. If not in the Keep, nearby. If not nearby, out there somewhere.
He wondered, too, what Chang and Dramm were really like and, what they could tell him, if he could ask them, about his Rider. Grey glossed over those parts in his life, despite assurances that there was no need for shame. But, Grey said they were just... private.
"Grey?" he nudged the man with dog collar on his neck.
Grey snapped awake and smiled at Clay with big surprised eyes. When he hugged the horse morph suddenly, Clay could smell the alcohol coming out of his pores.
He flinched from the smell, but was happy that Grey had gone to see his friends at the Deaf Mule. It had occurred to Clay that he should have given Grey some orders to keep him busy, and it had worried him a bit that Grey might just assume the lack of orders meant he was to sit in bed into Clay came home to have his way with him. He didn't want Grey to be slave to his every desire; he had meant what he said when he told Grey they could switch places any time he wanted. He definitely wanted to feel himself running beneath Grey's legs again, soon. Not tonight, but soon.
"I made you dinner, Clay," he announced happily. He wasn't very drunk, Clay was relieved to see. Just loose.
"I saw," Clay said equally happy, hoping that the man hadn't forgotten that he was a horse and couldn't eat meat. "What's this?"
"Oh," Grey said with a smile. "I won that playing pool. I never played before, so they gave me first break. He wouldn't play for money, so we played for things. I won his dog collar."
"I see," Clay said. "And you never played pool before."
Grey smiled, looking about ten years younger than the old sailor that had climbed onto his back only a few nights ago. Everything was moving so fast, but it all felt so right. "I used to play bumpers and snooker," he admitted gleefully. "Nobody asked about that."
"I see," Clay said, every though he had no idea what they were. He decided to move on. "What's this?"
"This?" Grey started as if he'd forgotten he was wearing an exotic looking silk robe. "This is a kamono from Os-Var-Khai. I was thinking about giving it to Giles because he can't where pants anymore, but..."
"You look good in it," Clay said.
"Thanks, but I don't know if I'll need it," Grey said looking suddenly sad, "Or if it'll still fit... after I... you know..."
Clay saw that his Rider was getting depressed again; again about forces behind his ability to control. "Don't worry about it," he said with just enough firmness that Grey would know it was an order. "We'll take what we can, when we can." He squeezed his Rider's naked leg and used the doorframe to pull himself up. "Now, what's this about dinner?"
Dinner was amazing.
The only downside was that Grey had produced something he called chop sticks and the first pair broke instantly in Clay's hands. Grey helped him fiddle with another pair but it proved too aggravating from the draft pony and he slammed them on the table after three failures to get the food to his mouth, which was not a tiny target.
Grey looked so crestfallen that Clay decided to try it again. It was frustrating, and, oddly enough, it reminded him how much control of his fingers he had taken for granted. Hunger made him impatient, but after a bit, he got the hang of it. He stuffed himself silly, which at his side was saying something. Grey, not exactly a small person himself, finished long before he did and actually made thirds for the stallion.
Clay was in his glory.
After dinner, they lit up the kiln and cuddled up next to it. Earlier, Grey had wanted to see if it still worked or if the neglect Wicker and his father left behind had claimed it. He had an idea about making molds from some of few remaining pieces Clay had made when his fingers were long and pink. That hadn't occurred to Clay before and he was expecting Grey would want to talk about that plan.
Instead, Grey started with something unexpected.
"I spoke with Thalberg, today," he announced as he checked the Kiln for cracks.
"Really?" This startled Clay and he was suddenly very concerned. "Why? What did he want?"
"He offered me a job." Grey said making a fuss not to look at Clay, which was odd. Clay had been clear he wanted Grey to look at him when they spoke, but obviously the meeting had upset him some way. No surprise there. "I told him I had to talk to you, first."
"Well, that was the least he could do," Clay spat out, "after he did that to you." The horse morph didn't even know what to call what happened in Thalberg's office last night. He just knew it had been wrong. "What's the job?"
"Ambassador to Os-Var-Khai," Grey looked at him finally to see what his reaction would be. "He wants my answer before I change."
Clay felt several things at once. First was anger at Thalberg for trying to get rid of Grey, to sweep him under a rug. He grunted and then snorted, not caring that he sounded too much like a real horse. Then, he remembered the look Grey got in his eyes talking about Os-Var-Khai. Then he remembered the feel of the bridle slipping over his muzzle and how just it felt to have Grey on his back. Of course, they wanted someone who hadn't changed yet, but that didn't mean Grey had to go alone.
"I'll come with you," Clay announced firmly. "You can ride me there."
Clay could see that idea hadn't even occurred to Grey and he was pleased with himself. "You would leave everything you love, to be with me?"
Clay nodded, again, for there wasn't any problem he could see. "I would not be leaving anything behind. I have no real friends here, and my family... well, you met my family." Grey, of course, hadn't met his mother, and that was exactly Clay's point. "Fells aren't the best riding horses, I know, but if you can promise to dress me properly, I'll promise not to let you fall off again."
Grey seemed too shocked to talk. So, Clay filled in the void. "I want to see the world, Grey. Everyone here has to settle for seeing it through the eyes of outsiders, and I realize now that I don't have too."
Grey stammered, "But if anyone finds out what you are..."
Clay leaned forward and pulled his Rider towards him. Grey's head lowered itself onto his chest as he wrapped his arms around the man. "Shhhh," Clay said needlessly, for Grey had gone completely silent. "Isn't that what you faced, everyday... for how long? Just to come here to be my Rider? You hid yourself for how many years, acting tough just to keep people from knowing you?"
Clay felt tears on his chest and he knew this was the right thing to do. "I would have to be your horsie for how long, just a few months?" He stroked the man's hair as he spoke, surprised at the words coming out of mouth. But it was all true, everything he was saying. "If it meant staying with you, I would be your horse forever. I would give up speech, my dignity, and my pride if that meant I could see you every morning of every day for the rest of my life."
Grey sobbed something and Clay had to move his hand to hear him better. Looking down into that tortured face, Clay felt his heartstrings fluttered again. "What's wrong?"
Grey sniffled. "But, I want to be the horsie."
Clay laughed at that. He ruffled Grey's hair as if Grey was the 18 lad and he the worldly 30 year-old traveler. "Well," he said gently, "maybe on the way back."
They lay in silence for awhile, the open kiln heating the room nicely and romantically, to Clay's eye, but Grey seemed content to listen to his heartbeat. Which, of course, was not a bad thing, but there was something troubling Grey that he wasn't willing to share. He could probably order Grey to spill his guts, but if they were going to cross the world, Grey was going to have slip back into the way men were supposed to behave.
"Don't you want to go back to Os-Var-Khai?"
Grey shrugged. Clay could see his Rider was struggling with something and he found that cute. Finally, he blurted out a part of it. "You know I was a slave there."
Clay nodded, not sure if he understood. "I know you were a willing slave, Grey, and I know what Thalberg did to you. Are you worried somebody might do that to you?"
"Somebody will," Grey lamented softly. "They'll have to."
Clay shook his head. "Nobody will have to. I won't let them."
Grey moved his head to Clay's lap and stared at the kiln. "It's more complicated than that."
Clay rubbed Grey's head and wished he knew enough about Os-Var-Khai to argue with him. Fox Cutter, I'm sure, could produce a book on Os-Var-Khai for him, but he wouldn't have time to read it. "Look," Clay said, "Why don't we take a trip before you decide? If we can get out of the Valley before the curse hits, then you won't be rushed to make up your mind."
Grey seemed startled that he hadn't thought of that before. Clay again rubbed his head playfully as he turned around to look up at the horse morph. "Can we? Where would we go?"
"There are lots of places," Clay said firmly. "Of course, there are Lutins lot of places, too. I'd have to ask Fox, or maybe we can head out with the Long Scouts on patrol. Everyone goes out on patrol; there's no reason you should have to wait to change before you do."
"Yeah," Grey said, not fully convinced and put his head back on Clay's lap and fell asleep minutes later.
Clay, of course, was not the least bit sleepy. After awhile, he slid out from under Grey and got out his sketch book that he had hidden months ago. The chop-stick fiasco had at least shown him that he still had some skills left in his fingers. Taking a charcoal stick he began sketching out Grey's sleeping form.
After a few horrible attempts, Clay discovered that if he used his elbows more and his wrists less, his lines began to look more fluid. Once he got Clay's sleeping form down almost perfectly, he began drawing pictures of Grey from memory. The image of Grey staring at him from the other side of the stile the day after the attack. The image of Grey laying at Laracin's base, looking up at Clay's naked body in the moonlight. The image of Grey tied down to his parent's bed, which hadn't happened yet, but still might. All these things came flowing out of him.
None of the images had the brilliance and skill that the other drawings in his sketchbook did. On the other hand, these new drawings were rough and alive. The subject matter was more important to him than any vase or pot or jar on the previous pages ever were.
When he could no longer hold the charcoal stick, Clay went to bed. He held onto those pages for the rest of his life so he could remember what Grey looked like.
Wheeler woke up the next morning feeling a little odd.
He attributed this to not being perfectly honest with Clay last night. Still, he didn't know how to tell his stallion that if he went to Os-Var-Khai, it would be as a gift to the Emperor. He had no idea if the emperor was interested in men or not. That wasn't the point. The point was that a tantric slave was a highly desirable gift, worth perhaps as much as three magic wielding slaves.
Wheeler would have to be released from Clay before he could do that. He couldn't imagine asking Clay to share him with another man. He certainly couldn't imagine insulting the emperor by asking that worthy person to share his slave with a commoner. He did not want to be released from Clay, of course, and that was the problem.
He found a note from Clay. The handwriting was perfectly legible and he chuckled, remembering Clay complaining that his hands were almost useless with a pen in them. He was sure that, with a little prodding, Clay would start drawing again. The note told him to go see Thalberg and tell him "we are leaving Metamor so I could make up my mind." The note also informed him that Clay was out getting supplies and finding out the best place to go for a few days.
He grabbed a handful of rice from last night and got dressed. As luck would have it, the first pair of Tin's breeches that he tried on fit. He found a matching sweater in Henrik's closet, noting that the closet still had many outfits that must have belonged to Clay's mother. He wondered if he would end up wearing them before the month was out.
Then he recalled Clay's stud pony comment and blushed a deep red. If he did return to Os-Var-Khai, that would be one experience he would miss out on. That was something to think about. He rubbed his stomach and tried to imagine what it would be like.
Another handful of rice and he was out the door. The rice was dry and sticky, but he didn't have much of an appetite.
He now knew his way to Thalberg's office blindfolded. Several people looked at him oddly and he tried not to think about the number of people who knew his secrets. Well, they were secrets that would never leave these walls, really. Clay said no one really cared and he couldn't quite believe that for he knew there were a quite few Followers here or the Pontiff never would have found his way here.
Still - somehow -- he got turned around in the Keep. Hallways were missing and there were doors where there shouldn't be. Staircases that took him up a flight, only to vanish when he realized he was in the wrong place. He intended to ask the next person he passed where he was in relation to Thalberg's office, but he stopped seeing Keepers.
The first stomach cramp got him just as he was becoming very annoyed.
Wheeler leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath. Everything suddenly did not feel right. He counted to ten but never made it to seven for the wall moved up as he was leaning on it. He fell into a heap and stood up angrily. He knew the Keep changed, but it was supposed to be a subtle thing; now it seem that the Keep had turned against him.
He could actually see the wall moving up if he stared at it. Wheeler was appalled and kicked at it childishly, as if that would teach it a lesson. That's when Tin's pants slide down to his knees, nearly knocking him off his feet and sending a shoe flying across the hall.
The walls weren't growing, he knew with an awful certainty. Grey's eyes went wide and knew the Keep and the curse had conspired to make his decision for him. His body was getting smaller and he actually felt a wave of gratitude that he wouldn't have to give himself over to the Emperor when his flesh spasmed like a slug in salt and his stomach contents upended.
The tattoo glowed red hot beneath his blouse, but it could not withstand the onslaught of the curse as Wheeler was afraid it might. He rubbed the glyphs for comfort and called out for Clay, afraid to be lost and alone, changed and unknown. Small and lost and forgotten. But Chang's voice did not raise up from the past and give him comfort.
Instead, it was a woman's voice, gentle and firm. You are not alone, it told him. You will never be alone, for you are beloved.
He collapsed against the wall, huddling in clothes that were getting too heavy for him and cried out for his stallion, his steed, his master, and friend but heard only his own vanishing voice echoing within the Keep.
His own voice and the voice of woman he'd never known. He is coming, it whispered in his head.
Clay was looking over a map one of the long scouts had shown him to when he'd asked how far the curse extended. So far, the choice was to deal with either Lutins or uncursed humans, neither really appealed to him. There was another caravan due to arrive in the Keep this afternoon or tomorrow morning. That would provide a safe passage, relatively speaking, assuming they didn't attract the Lutins with their mere presence. As a horse, he'd be able to defend himself in a limited way. Human highway men might see him as bounty to be won, so avoid damaging him, but Lutins would only see him as a big target of meat. Not the way he wanted to go, and he vaguely wondered if he'd stay a full horse if he was killed in that form.
He hadn't found a perfect spot and he was ready to settle for an imperfect one when he saw something flitter out of the side of his vision. He turned in time to see a furry brown figure disappear out of the long house through the main door, and something made Clay follow it.
The stallion poked his head into the hall and did not see anything for a long moment in either direction, but then his eyes caught sight of two little blue jewels. The shadowy figure took on more definition as Clay stared, but it was almost like the creature wasn't there. Clay recalled Grey sitting against Laracin, admitting that he had come to the stable looking for a rat, and Shinto had completely confused the matter by mentioning that Grey had once thought it was a blue-eyed rat that rescued him the night he'd been attacked. Grey had simply shrugged it off by saying he'd been drunk, which Clay knew, of course.
Unmoving, the brown creature appeared naked, but Clay couldn't be sure. Clay's nostrils flexed and he caught the scent and tried to match it with some species he knew. Not rat, even if the tail was ribbed and naked. Something rat-like and unaware that it's blue eyes did not fade into the shadows as the rest of him did.
"Muskrat," Clay said, remembering the swamp animal from some animal trivia game Christopher had created when he first start teaching at the Keep. He didn't know anyone had become one of those. They were the same shade of brown, however, and its paws did darken to almost black, as Clay's did. The creature was only about four foot tall, but still if one was drunk enough... Grey could have gotten then confused with enough distance, Clay supposed. "Hey!" he called out, "Come here, please."
The blue eyes blinked and then the creature sprinted away down the hall on all fours.
Clay was surprised he had sounded a little annoyed, but maps made his brain hurt. He didn't think he sounded so annoyed that he would scare anyone away, so that made him suspicious. Clay took after the naked muskrat morph. A little rodent wasn't going to get away from him, he promised himself as his hooves clopped across the stone floor.
On the other hand, he realized as he heard echoes of his footfalls coming back to, he wasn't going to be sneaking up on anyone either.
The muskrat always stayed a bit out of sight, his scaly brown tail disappearing just as Clay would turn a corner. No one else seemed to see it, and Clay fleeting wondered if he was chasing the world's ugliest willo'whisp.
Eventually, Clay lost him. He didn't see how that could have happened, but the Keep could be playful and annoying at times. The stallion really had no times for games, but that creature had some sort of connection with Grey and he wanted to know what it was. He could just ask the man, of course, but it seemed to embarrass his Rider, and while Clay had no problem torturing Grey, he did feel bad doing anything that might belittle him. If he kept the muskrat firmly in his mind, the stallion knew the Keep would lead him to it.
What it lead him to, however was a pile of clothes against the wall. He recognized the sweater as his father's and a wayward shoe as Grey's. His stomach turned to stone and it took him several minutes to realize that he had come to a complete stop. The smell of vomit was present, but Clay could not see where it was. It scared him for a reason he couldn't define.
This part of the Keep was as silent as a tomb and his mind turned unforgivingly to Grey's question about turning into something besides a normal animal. He recalled the camp fire tales of transformations gone bad, like the man who got hit with age regression and animal transformation, becoming an egg entombed chick who would struggle endlessly with a shell he could not break, too weak to be exposed to the real world and too large to be comfortable in his organic prison.
Or the man who became a giant preying mantis and ripped off his own head after masturbating the first time.
Or the woman who became a man while pregnant and had to give birth as a man. Another who became a sickness. Another who became a mold on the wall. Twin brothers being merged into a two headed dragon.
None of it was true, however, he knew that. The Keep was too small to hide anyone like that. But knowing it, and having to face the pile of clothing that once contained the man he hoped to spend the rest of his life with, were two completely different things. His knees threatened to fall out from under him, but Clay leaned on the wall and forced his legs to behave. He was not going to swoon every time something happened to Grey. He had to be strong for Grey. He had to be.
In the crypt like silence, Clay heard a squeak.
He got down on his knees and looked into the sweater and found the source of the smell. A puddle of half digusted rice with saw a tiny little gray field mouse entangled in the fibers of the ancient fouled sweater. It was breathing heavy, panicked by his situation and as pitiful as Grey had looked looking up from the bush he had fallen only a few days ago.
The mouse saw him and stopped struggling. It squeaked helplessly up at him and Clay felt his heartstrings stir at the sight of what his rider had become. It was almost funny, really, but obviously Grey was afraid he's choke himself if he tried to get bigger and he tried not to laugh in his relief. "It's alright," Clay said soothingly, "I'm here," as if that would make everything better.
Gently, Clay reached his blunted fingers into the sweater and began carefully freeing the threads that held his little Rider down. There were some pitiful squeaks, but Clay hushed him lovingly. He had to concentrate or risk pulling on the little mouse's limbs too hard.
When he freed Grey he used one of Grey's stocking socks to wipe the vile off the mouse who shivered in his palm. Socks would the least of his problems, Clay knew. He wondered what it was like to be so small that you could be held in someone's palm. Clay was sure it would be very frightening so as soon as Grey was clean he held him to his chest gently.
"Listen," he said tenderly. "Hear my heart." His heart was slow and steady; he was calm. Of course he was calm; taking care of someone was what he did best. "Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed. Be calm, Grey. You're safe now."
Slowly, the shaking mouse calmed down and became still as Clay stroke him gently. Clay was surprised to see how gentle his blunted and misshapen fingers could be. It was just like Grey to make him to discover something new about himself. He gently brought his love up to his lips and kissed him. With a very earnest face, the tiny mouse stood up on his hind legs and poked at Clay's lips with the tip of his muzzle. That kiss was the sweetest thing Clay had ever felt.
He placed the mouse gently on the discarded pants. The stone floor would be too cold for the little mouse. "The counter-spell will have kicked in by now, Grey. You need to concentrate, and grow as much as you can."
The mouse closed it eyes and nothing happened.
"Please, you have to try harder." Clay said. "You need to at least be able to talk."
The mouse squinted and seemed to hold its breath but nothing changed. Clay got on his stomach and reached out with one finger to gently stroke the mouse with between its ears. The tattoo glowed blue beneath the mouse's fur as it got up on its hind legs. It wasn't strong enough to protect him from the curse, but the counter-spell the wizards set up to control the change, was another story. Clay wasn't ready to give up.
"Concentrate," he said, firmly and gently. "Think of it like a switch."
The mouse squeaked a question the stallion couldn't understand. It took him a moment to realize that Grey's idea of a switch was probably a riding crop. Clay's switch was a knob or lever that turned something in another direction, like his potter's wheel, or something that turned one thing into another, like the latch the turned a dutch stall door into a window and a gate. He couldn't think of the nautical version of what Grey needed to find something in him. "Just change," he said finally. "That's an order."
That did the trick.
Grey grew larger and his mouse muzzled shortened into a human face. He squeaked with delight that he was slowly changing and he smiled at Clay with happy black eyes until the second he stopped growing. Grey stood maybe six and half inches tall, an inch larger than he was moments before and his face looked like Grey's face, except that his eyes entirely the colour of green glass. Below his neck, nothing had changed except that everything was about 1/3 larger than before. He wasn't even rat size yet, he squeaked out some words to Clay, but the stallion's ears couldn't hear make out what he said.
"That's a good start," Clay said soothingly. "How do you feel?"
Clay managed to point his ears in the right direction to catch his words. "Small. Tiny. Worried."
"Don't forget, cute." Clay said. "Ready to try some more?"
Grey nodded and then concentrated some more, he seemed to grow a bit, but the mouse morph suddenly grasped his chest screaming. Clay scooped him up and saw him squirm painfully in his palm. He touched the tiny tattoo on the mouse's chest. Even with the fur between his finger and the tattoo, the glyphs burned like fire, and the stallion nearly dropped the mouse in shock.
Bracing himself, he touched the tattoo again and tried to pull the heat from the mouse into his fingers. Within seconds, the heat was gone and Clay's finger felt like Wicker had been gnawing on it. Both the horse and the mouse were breathing hard. Clay kissed his little mouse and said, "You know, that's enough experimenting for today."
Grey looked up at the giant that held him in a hand larger in scale than his parent's bed. He nodded agreement and slipped back into his full mouse form.
Clay smiled at his friend's trust and slipped him into his short pocket. There was a few sunflower seeds he'd gotten from Dan the grasshopper in there that he usually saved for the red stallion row. Anyone of them would make a meal for Grey. He felt Grey settle in and he touched the pocket gently as he bent over to retrieve the soiled clothes.
"You see," the stallion said, "You're still my Rider."