<div dir="ltr">“I’ve been watching you a while now. The only thing you’re lacking is your own personal raincloud. The folks at Barnhardt’s will wonder what I’ve done to you.” “Done to me? Why would they care? Why do you care? What are you up to?” Some of Jarrod’s fire returned and his quills pricked up. “Are you saving me for some arena?” “Sit. You need to learn some things and learn them fast or you’re going to be an even more miserable wretch than you already are–if that’s possible!” Jarrod crossed his arms. The magical bracelets wouldn’t let him tarry, but they didn’t seem to restrict his arm movements. He wondered if he could try for the guard’s weapon. Ulford seemed to sense what he was thinking. He took his sword out and placed it into the ground. “Go on. Give it a go if you think you can!” Enraged, Jarrod picked up the sword…and immediately found his hands connected at the wrists, the sword’s weight moving him towards the ground until it was back inside the earth and he was stuck to its hilt. “What the Hells!” Ulford sniggered. “You really think they’d leave out that? You so much as *think* of hurting someone with those on and you’ll find yourself stuck until someone releases you.” “And you won’t?” “Not yet. You’re not sitting but you aren’t going anywhere soon either. Listen close; this place doesn’t have a death penalty like they do in some places south. Not unless you’ve done something truly awful. If we need to, we exile someone for a while. Most of the time things are settled without much need for courts or such. “We *do* give out labor for crimes, but not too long. Usually it’s work in the middens, which is disgusting but not terribly dangerous. I’m bringing you out to a place called Barnhardt’s. It’s the name of a lake and the name of the castle by the lake and the name of the person who lives in the castle by the lake. And for the love of the Aedra do *not* call Barnhardt a newt!” “Got it. Great. Can we go now?” “You going to behave yourself like a sensible person and not get stupid notions like ‘attack the guard with his own weapon’ again?” “No guarantees. Since I’m becoming a freak anyway, whether you kill me or not my life is over anyway and it don’t matter how I stop breathing.” “Hm. Should have guessed that was what’s eating you. You might think that now, but it’s really not that bad. Now let go of my sword.” Jerrod found his hands forced off the sword and Ulford grabbed it and put it back in its scabbard. It took a minute for Jerrod to recover, once he did he followed Ulford down the trail. “We’ll be there by nooning and I’ll be turning you over to Brother Bruin. They’re building a monastery out that way. You’re going to help.” “Do I get a choice?” The itchiness and prickliness seemed to be all over Jerrod now. He could feel his doublet tearing along the sides, where the quills were still slowly growing. “What else do you have?” There was a quietness in the question that was more terrifying than a threat. Jerrod shuddered as the realization hit him. He couldn’t go south. Even as he thought that, he felt the push of some more quills growing in. He could run away and live like a porcupine out in the wilderness or run around madly attacking people until someone put him out of his misery. Neither option was appealing. “I’m not a thief, you know,” said Jerrod. “Do tell.” “I was cheated at cards. Some kid and a toad.” “Drewbert and Franklin, and Franklin’s a frog, not a toad.” “What’s the difference?” Ulford sighed. “Look, folks who get turned animal learn a *lot* about their species and resent someone calling them by the wrong one after they’ve been corrected. Honestly it seems to go along with the changes.” “Why?” “Unsure, but maybe you can figure it out after you finish becoming a hedgehog.” “I’m turning into a porcupine not a hedgehog!” Jerrod yelled. Then he stopped and blinked. “Wh...where did that come from?” Ulford chuckled. “Like I said, it seems to go along with this aspect of the Curse. Trust me, before I changed, I’d have called zebras ‘striped horses’ and not feel the sudden urge to correct people on it.” “And why would I trust you?” “Because I’m the one holding the keys to your manacles?” “Is that all?” Ulford sighed. “Look, you say you’re not a thief. Did you mistake their house for yours, then? And whereabout did you get that dagger that you tried to poke a hole in Drewbert with?” “I was cheated! I wanted back what was rightfully mine!” “Drewbert never cheats. Never.” “Everyone cheats! Everyone lies!” Jerrod sucked in his breath. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never had to work for anything.” “You’re wrong, there. I’ve spent three years working in the Watch, and even longer in patrol duty. It’s dangerous and often thankless work, but it’s good honest work.” “And you get someone to pay your lodgings and fix your weapons and pay your taxes, all for free.” “I pay my taxes and get a salary like everyone else. The rest is called being part of a team. We look out for each other.” “Helping each other cheat.” “You know why Drewbert never cheats? His father was a rich landowner in the south, until he lost everything in a game of cards. He even lost his own life when he showed he’d been cheated. Drewbert saw and so did Franklin. They fled and ended up here. Drewbert thought he might learn cards and win back his father’s lands through gambling. He learned how to play and how to cheat too. But then something happened–I don’t know what–and he somehow realized that he’d become as bad as those folks who cheated his father. So now when he plays, he doesn’t cheat.” “And how do you happen to know all this?” Jerrod didn’t believe it, but it was a fascinating story. “We were on patrol together. Me, him, his brother and some others. You get to know the folks you patrol with; not much else to do when there’s no danger.” “That kid is in the Watch?” “No, just regular patrol duty. Everyone does it sooner or later, to keep the Valley safe. You’re trained in weapons and scouting techniques and such. It’s not usually too dangerous unless there are bandits or lutins or poachers.” “Hmph. That’s another thing. It’s so that a man can’t catch a rabbit without the royals making a stink about it. Your duke get in a miff about his personal meat going in some poor family’s pot?” “Well, our duke’s main meals consist of oats, barley, carrots, and other vegetables.” Jerrod stopped for a moment. He’d heard that the Duke was turned into a horse, sure, but never thought about what that entailed. Now it was all starting to hit him. “Oh Hells. So *he’s* not eating it. And I take it his court aren’t, either?” “There is some poaching, but not from folks in the valley. Gods know the carnivores here are paranoid enough when they go out hunting; they don’t want to accidentally kill someone they know.” “Hmm, yes, poaching from *outsiders* is a different issue.” “More so than you can think right now. Exactly how much do you think your pelt would fetch?” For a couple minutes, what Ulford said didn’t register. Then Jerrod’s eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped. All color left his face. “They couldn’t! They wouldn’t!” “They would and they could. You said before you were a freak. Enough folks down south think that. Some think we’ve lost our human minds too. Others don’t care, except when we’re in full form it makes it real easy for them to bag us and sell our skin down south.” Jerrod tried not to think of this. Surely nobody would spring for a porcupine pelt? Compared to a zebra, certainly. But pelts were still pelts, and those big quills of his could be valuable on their own. Why did he just think of himself as a porcupine? He was human, dammit! Ulford nodded. “Come on, we can talk as we go. You’ve had some run-in with the law before, haven’t you? Something unjust, I think.” “I don’t have to tell you anything.” “No you don’t, but it might help. You won’t say you're a thief even when caught in a burglary with a stolen dagger.” “I borrowed it! To help negotiate!” “Now, now, keep your quills on. You were also drunk out of your head, or weren’t you?” “I don’t drink *that* much,” Jarrod said, much more quietly. “That’s better. I don’t know what you were drinking, but some of our brews are pretty potent due to our animal sides not always being affected like humans are. Then again, a lot are weaker too. You just had rum luck.” Jarrod laughed. “‘Rum luck.’ Yeah, that describes it. Luck to lose at cards, luck to get cursed, luck to be talking to a guard who’s still not killing me. I still don’t understand why not. I’ve tried to kill someone, I’ve stolen, and I’m not being hung, dismembered, or shoved somewhere dark and forsaken. Am I being enslaved?” “No. We don’t do that here.” “I’m not exactly volunteering to work. If it’s not slavery, what is it?” “Community service. Anyway, it’ll help keep your mind off your changes somewhat and maybe even help you in other ways. Sir Prent suggested a week there, and once it’s over you’ll be helped out. During, of course, you’ll be fed and such.” He became so occupied with his thoughts, he hardly noticed the rest of the walk, right up until they reached a lake active with fisherfolk along wharves out into the lake. To one side there was a castle, one of its towers descending into the lake. To the other there was a view of mountains and forest, and another bunch of people working on a large building taking form. He bumped into Ulford’s back again. “Watch it will you!”. A bear in Follower robes, who’d been helping with the construction, turned and looked at them. “Ah, welcome! To what do we owe the honor?” “Not exactly an honor as much as a prisoner. I’m putting him in your care.” He went behind Jarrod and Jarrod felt the manacles fall off; he rubbed his wrists. “Sir Prent left a note recommending you. Personally, I’d have sent him to the middens.” “I’ll keep him here. I doubt he’ll cause much trouble. Poor fellow looks rather put out. Was it necessary for him to come in this pitiable state?” “He wanted to wear his old clothes until he couldn’t. I need to head back to my duties at the Keep.” Saying this Ulford changed to full form and galloped back the way he came. The bear looked at Jarrod with sympathy in his eyes. “I’m Brother Bruin,” he said and then chuckled. “I believe Eli had a rather interesting sense of humor when it came to me. What’s your name?” “Jarrod,” he said. With Ulford gone and the magical cuffs removed he could just run. He could do anything. He felt the nettlesome prickles and began to cry. It was the first time he cried in years, and he couldn’t seem to stop. Brother Bruin gently held him close. “You have a weight on you, won’t you let go?” He was becoming a porcupine. Soon no one could know it was him. What did it matter now who knew? “I was a merchant, once. I killed a man in self-defense. He was the son of some minor nobel. The next thing I knew I was on the run. I haven’t stopped running.” “I see. Please, come this way and let’s talk. Life is not so bleak here. I think you’ll find that this is a new beginning rather than an end.” Jarrod shrugged, wiped his eyes, and followed the brother towards the construction. What else was there to do? *** The door to the cells opened and a fox in leather gear walked in. He had a wicked-looking axe. “Hello Nathan. Hello Roderick. I am Misha Brightleaf, and you’re about to have a very unpleasant time.” </div>