The Gypsy Ring
By Lykanos Wulfheart
      
       Powerful muscles rippled as the stillness was shattered, predator and prey charging through the thick woodland brush. Locked in a game of life and death, the wolf was gaining, pushing his body to the limit. His quarry, an old stag, was starting to show its age, heavy puffs of breath turning ragged as if fled in terror, desperate to shake off the young carnivore.
      
       The canine was surprised that this elderly meal was putting up such a strong fight, weaving between the low hanging branches, sending them whipping into his muzzle as he shoved past, hunger guiding his pace. The scent of whitetail deer only deepened his need, the alluring fragrance keeping him on course. Another odor was growing in the gentle breeze, a changing of the weather. It mattered little to him in that moment, the adrenaline keeping him on target. He was so close, ready to strike.
      
       When he went in for the lunge, nipping at the frantic buck, his fangs were met with force. He was fortunate that it wasn't a hoof, though the thick branch hurt all the same, the blow staggering his resolve as he shook it off. Opening his golden eyes, the youthful wolf was at a loss. Somehow his grizzled target was gone, lost in the clearing. The only explanation was that it may have run to the far side of the old shack, a theory that the hunter quickly checked, the only thing beyond being a small garden. Quickly, he put his nose to the ground, sniffing out his prey once again.
      
       The canine grew troubled, the only scents being that of the herbs and spices that wafted from the small hut. He moved back and forth hastily, desperate to regain the trail. It had been a couple days since he'd had a good meal and that deer was to be a feast, something that would help keep him alive in the weeks to come.
      
       For a lone wolf like him, he needed whatever he could get. Three years old, a young adult in his own right, he'd left his pack earlier that year. Having spent the summer surviving on his own, using the skills his parents had taught him, he'd proven himself an expert, able to hunt down larger game without any help. This should have been easy. There was no way that aging ungulate could have escaped, not without him noticing. There had to be a trail somewhere.
      
       Refusing to give up, the wolf was determined to find his quarry, heading back to where he'd last seen the whitetail. Before he could reach the edge of the clearing, the weathered door creaked open, a loud grinding shattering through the growing wind. The beast whipped around, ears flattening as he stared into the opening, an uneasiness washing over him as he lowered defensively. Though he could better smell the herbs within, he couldn't detect anything more, just an ancient dwelling of some unknown creature. Cautiously, he crept forward, the changing of the fall air alerting him to the incoming rain. He was already hungry. He didn't want to be wet as well.
      
       Since he hadn't noticed any good den sites on his way in and with the threat of impending rain, the wolf moved forward slowly, carefully assessing the site as he crawled toward the opening. The warped boards of the front porch whined under his paw, hesitation pulling him back a step as the sky spat out a gentle sprinkling of droplets over his silvery black and brown back. Again he tested the wood, and again it groaned, his footfalls bringing him out of the misty shower and within inches of the doorway. His worry grew as his ears lowered back and tail sagged. With a gentle whiff of the air inside, he cautiously crept forward, eyes darting around the inner confines. It was a lengthy wait before he determined the wooden house safe, his timid nature showing through as he eased inside, the blowing moisture no longer a concern within the dusty confines of the creaky cabin.
      
       Shaking the few beads of water from his fur coat, the wolf grew bolder once he was inside. There were many objects within begging to be explored and he was eager to know their secrets. In the middle of the small residence was a round, oaken table, two matching chairs on either side. Before he circled it, he took note of the right wall in front of him, a few shelves with clear bottles of various items and a drying rack draped with the potent spices he'd smelled. Moving to the left, away from the doorway, there were open counters. Turning to the back wall, he noticed the bed, a strange thing to him. It was covered in a layer of settled dust, yet neatly kept. White sheets were laid smooth under a scarlet blanket. Continuing his rounds, he saw the fireplace in the middle of the back wall, a black cauldron hanging above scorched logs. Brushing past the chair, his fur ran across a well-used, brown shawl, the fabric meant to protect the wearer from the chill of the seasons.
      
       The drapery on the seat caused the hunter to look up, an odd, transparent ball set in the center of the table. The wolf twisted around for a better look, moving to the right of the covered chair. Before he could put his paws up on the oak surface, something bumped against his claw. Looking down, he drew his paw back reflexively, a jeweled ring flipping up around the outer-middle digit of his right front foot. With a start, the youth jumped back, hoping the ruby encrusted gold band would fall away. To his surprise, it held firm. Again he recoiled, his back slamming into the bedframe, forcing the proud warrior to his haunches. Desperately, he gnawed at the metallic trinket in hopes of freeing himself from the foreign object, but still it refused to budge. Frantically, he tried one last thing, clawing at the ring with his left. Again, he was unable to release the jewelry, the band snug against the fur.
      
       Trying to recompose himself, the wolf wanted out of the strange place, the attack fraying his nerves. The clack of the metal against the boards only deepened his anxiety as he made his way past the counter and to the opened doorway. His heart sank as he peered out, the storm having grown to full force as he explored. In his unsettled state, he'd completely missed it. The rain had steadily grown until now, a downpour having replaced the sprinkle just moments before as the wind whipped the spray at his face. As much as it irritated him, he wasn't about to go anywhere. Not in this. Wet and cold was never a good situation, and with how hungry he was, he was certain it would only lead to illness. Growling out his frustration, he padded back in, hoping to sleep out the storm. Rounding the table on its right, he slunk up next to the bed and plopped down against the floorboards. He knew with how upset he was that it would be a while before sleep found him, yet he needed it. Lowering his chin to his paws, he listened to the rain, ears twitching as he let the cascade lure him to the rest he so desperately needed.
      
       When he awoke, something felt... odd. There was a strange weight on his ears that pulled them down, metallic loops brushing against the fur of his cheek as he twitched. Around his neck was another bizarre bit of jewelry, a gaudy pair of gold chains dangling within his fluff. Rising from his nap, the canine was understandably startled by the new trinkets, the most terrifying being the two new rings that adorned his paws. Both were bands of silver, the one on his left ring finger sporting a sapphire while the other rested on his inner right toe, the whole surface encrusted with small emeralds. Horrified by his predicament, the wolf sat up, nipping at the circles binding his digits. Not a single ring budged, all stuck firmly behind his toepads. Next, he pawed at the golden loops that bound his ears. Snagging them with a claw, he tugged. "YELP!" The pain seared at his delicate flesh, the clasps pierced through the skin. He wasn't even about to try the two necklaces that draped before his chest. Though they could have easily been removed, he feared that more pain was in store, the burn in his earlobes still all too real.
      
       Sulking, he sat. The proud wolf had no clue why this was happening to him. He had just wanted out of the rain. If he'd known that accursed band had been lying in wait, he'd have turned tail and taken his chances in the woods. Still, he was a survivor and there was something he needed. Despite the heavy rain still pouring, he needed water, and food would have been nice as well. Putting his paws back to the boards, he paced, thinking through his options. Suddenly it dawned on him. There were barrels outside to collect the rainwater. Stretching the stiffness from his back, he made his way outside.
      
       The animal made sure to skirt the wall to the right of the deck, a gentle overhand protecting him from the storm. Rounding the corner, he saw his target. Against the house rested two wooden barrels, one near each corner. The roof had been designed to drain into the containers, collecting the live-giving liquid for whoever had lived there. Happily, he partook, paws gripping the frame of the barrel as he lapped. With so much rain, both basins had been topped off, the extra running down into the garden. Once his thirst was sated, that garden drew his attention along with a nagging suspicion. He'd noticed the plants the day before, but not the water barrels. How did he even know they were back there? Shaking the bizarre question from his mind, another grew, this one more formed, the words playing in his mind as if a strange language that he just barely understood. I could get some potatoes and carrots. Make a stew. That would take away the hunger.

       

              The shock of this deepened thought startled him. He'd never heard such things in his mind, not like this. It didn't feel like instinct, nor did it have the same voice he was used to. It felt foreign, like a throbbing headache was telling him what to do. Still, it was a good idea and he was famished. Heeding his abnormal plan, he got to work, trotting into the garden and sniffing around. He found the potatoes and started digging, his paws working through the soil until the brown flesh was exposed. Pulling two free, he delicately grabbed them in his maw and walked them back to the overhang between the water barrels. Heading back out, he didn't even know what a carrot could be. Still, when he saw the leafy green shoots, he understood, digging up three of the orange sticks and taking them over to the rest of his vegetables.
       
       Having tasted the soil on the plants, he didn't want to eat them, let alone use them in their current state. Another wince of pain spurred on another idea, this one a bit easier to interpret. I should wash them. Clean off the dirt. When the ache was gone, he looked around, knowing what he had to do. One of the wooden containers had a cork at the bottom, the one on the far side. Pushing the items over with his muzzle, he sat with them in between him and the potential opening. Thinking nothing of it, he gripped the cork with his hand, his dewclaw having evolved into a thumb with his front toes now fuzzy fingers, the claws dulling as he worked. Releasing the flow, he worked fast, the softened pads working to scour the vegetables clean. As soon as he'd finished, the stop was replaced, the barrel ready to collect more rain.
      
       The canine looked down at his bounty, the abundance too much to take in a single trip. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the bucket by the other barrel. He realized that it was for carrying water inside, how he knew that he wasn't sure, yet it would work in a pinch for his current predicament. Trotting over, he scooped the handle into his fangs, taking it over to his foodstuffs. With a huff, he sat back on his haunches, using his new hands to gently place the potatoes and carrots within. His lips once more went around the handle so that he could head inside and leave the weather behind. Taking a left as soon as he entered, the wolf went to the open counter and carefully set the bucket on the floorboards. With a groan, he sat and stretched his back, almost as if human. His shoulders rolled in place as he stood, hips shifting to keep him upright. Though up like a man, his back kept a slight hunch, the wolf looking almost like an elderly werecreature. Picking up the pail, he dumped out the items and took a knife from the rack, chopping each vegetable and plopping the fragments back into the bucket. He worked as if he understood how to cook, though it was more a daze for him, going through actions he didn't understand.
      
       When finished, he took the container in hand and wobbled to the fireplace, his new gait awkward and unstable. The young wolf felt so old as he moved, a strain in his spine and legs. Still, he managed to power through, this new style of walking feeling more and more familiar as he went. As he looked into the cauldron, he wasn't even sure why he'd ever gone around on all fours, dirtying his hands with the filth of the ground. As unclean as that was, so too was his pot. Setting down his bucket, the wolf-man headed back to the kitchen nook and grabbed a rag which he then used to sweep the dust from his cooking surface. When finished, he tossed the cloth to the table and filled the cast iron basin with his mixture of chopped vegetables.
      
       Nodding with accomplishment, there was still more work to be done. Since the wind had picked up, an eerie howl seeping through the walls, the hunched form grabbed at the shawl, sweeping it over his weary frame. The comfort of the clothing soothed his mind, a familiar covering to protect him from the harsh elements. Picking up the rag and bucket, he tossed the cloth onto the side of the counter and headed out to fetch the water. As he filled the container, scooping at the top of the nearest barrel, another thought came to him, this one more natural. "I should get some basil," he said, the words throaty and unnatural. It should have worried him, the inner language that had been plaguing his mind now seeping out of his shortened muzzle. Unfortunately, he was still lost in the haze of the action, trying desperately to curb his hunger. Setting down the pail, he fetched a sprig of the seasoning and returned, gathering the water and adding it all to the pot inside.
      
       "Almost there," he stated, his voice softening as his fur started to thin. His wolfen features were disappearing as he worked, replaced by that of an older creature, one more feminine than he. The chill of the air continued to grow as he prepared to make a fire, the bite of the wind cutting past the shawl as he gathered firewood from the porch. By the time he headed back inside, he was more a she, the fur almost entirely gone. Atop the creature's head, the grey fluff was turning white, long locks sweeping over the rounding ears. The predatory snout was still shrinking, the black tip tanning as it become more of a point. Placing the wood in the fireplace, the person below the shawl padded over to the shelving, her footfalls now flat and human, the hunch still there even as the tail disappeared. With a handful of powder and the flint and steel, the elderly lady was losing the last of her wolfhood as she ignited the substance and brought the flames to life.
      
       As the food cooked, a sudden sense of decency overcame the woman. Heading to the locker at the foot of the bed, the aged form leaned with a strained huff, dressing herself in the garb of a wizened gypsy, dull purples and crimsons hidden below the brown of her shawl. Sitting back down, the sudden warmth was inviting at first, though it quickly became terrifyingly odd. "What am I doing?" The wolf's voice was entirely foreign to her, her figure even more so. "What am I wearing? What am I making? A dish without meat? This is all wrong!"
      
       Lifting from the seat, the former wolf looked over the new body, horror wrinkling across her already wrinkled face. As she felt the aged skin, her heart sank. She'd been a three year old wolf just a day ago. Now, looking at her pruned hands, she was certain that she'd gained nearly seventy years, an unfathomable age for a being such as her. Though... she was no longer the same being. Quickly, she looked for her tail, the appendage gone. The rapid pace of her actions hurt, a stiffness settling in over the old bones. Crying out, she was hysterical. "What is happening to me?"
      
       Another voice invaded her mind, the sound that had been plaguing her moments of inspiration. "You are becoming me, my formerly furred friend."
      
       The changed wolf's eyes darted back and forth, a haziness working into her vision. "Who's there? Why are you doing this to me?"
      
       Again, the person in the back of her mind spoke. "Who am I?" An almost witchlike cackle of a laugh burst forth, plunging the wolf into a state of restless misery. "Why, you wouldn't know anyways. You are just a beast after all."
      
       The wicked whimsy filled the canine's head once more as she stood and looked around. She tried to growl, but her human mouth failed to make the right sound, a pathetically elderly "Grrr" escaping. "I am a proud wolf from beyond the trees! I come from a long line of skilled hunters and survivors! I will not be mocked by some metal circle from the floor!"
      
       The presence seemed amused with the wolf's defiance. "Oh, my poor little pup. You still have no idea what's going on. You see, I am Madam Renastere. That ring you've acquired, it's what's kept me alive all this time. Every so often, my body might give out, yet a new one always takes on my ring and, eventually, gives itself up to me. You will be no different, though you will be the first time an animal has given me their body. What will I learn from you, I wonder? How to chase rabbits and howl at the moon?" An eruption of laughter reverberated throughout the former canine's mind, forcing her to grasp at her forehead.
      
       "Witch!" The word felt right. "I will not let you have me! Even if I have to cut that finger off, you will not be taking me over, you hag!" With as much haste as the body could muster, the wolf groaned over to the counter and scooped up the knife, the blade hard to see with her new nearsightedness. Setting her right ring finger on the wooden surface, her left held aloft the weapon.
      
       Cackling, the voice inside was confident. "Oh, you poor, misguided fool. It's already too late. I own this body now."
      
       "We'll see about that," exclaimed the proud warrior, forcing down her hand. Much to her dismay, it stopped after a mere inch, unwilling to respond to her commands. "What? Why can't I move?" Struggle as she might, the animal was powerless, her presence seeming to move to the back of the mind, switching places with the gleeful old demon.
      
       When the lips moved next, it wasn't the wolf, but the woman from the ring that spoke. "See? As I said, it's already too late for you." Moving over to the bed's headboard, she grabbed a pair of round glasses from the nightstand and dusted them with her shawl. "I do thank you, my little wolf. Without your sacrifice, it may have been decades before I had a new body."
      
       Now just a passenger within his altered body, the wolf was happy to have his own voice back, masculine and predatory. Still, he was savagely opposed to letting this ancient being steal his form, even if it had been perverted into her own figure. "You won't get away with this! I'm stronger than you think. I'll fight my way out of here and take back my body. You will not have me, you sick witch!"
      
       The old lady's tone turned serious, almost remorseful as she put on her eyewear and stated to the other presence within her head, "That's what they all say. Each and every one that came before you." Moving over to the fire, she stirred the stew, taking in the aroma of her own handiwork. "I don't take pleasure in doing this, mind you. I just do it to survive, to learn. Each new body brings with it new wisdom and new life. Like you, I'm a survivor."
      
       Despite the clarity from the new glasses, everything was growing hazy for the wolf, his thoughts growing scattered. "Please, I'm too young to die! Don't do this!"
      
       "Don't think of it as dying," advised the wrinkled gypsy. "Think of it more as become part of something greater. A form of rebirth, if you will. You'll forever be a part of me. An immortal being. My dear, you'll live forever through me."
      
       It was little comfort to the fading voice, the wolf's spirit waning. "So... dark... Can't hold..." The thought remained unfinished as his existence was extinguished, swallowed up by the foul magic of the gypsy's ring.
      
       Madam Renastere gave a respectful bow before heading over for a bowl and spoon. Ladling herself out a portion of the meal, she sat before her crystal ball, talking to herself as if a curtesy to the life she took. "At least your knowledge will be useful, my forest friend." Letting the first spoonful fall back into the bowl, she scooped up another, this time full of vegetables. "With your knowledge of beasts and the woodlands, I may finally be able to get some meat for my soup." Blowing it cool, she took in the mouthful, finishing with a wicked laugh, amused at yet another victory.