Commission by  K9Lupus cover by me.

---

“If I have to do another two-point perspective piece, I'm going to actually throw up. It's supposed to be Advanced Art Techniques, and there's nothing advanced about going over the same theory I've had a million times before!” Patrick said with his forehead plastered onto his desk. With a wandering hand, he reached for the half-empty party-size bag of chips for another fresh handful. The frequent crunch helped cover the slight, unerring creek of the wobbly ceiling fan above. Piles of scattered assignments and class notes were strewn about his dorm room interlaced between small nests of discarded clothes. How he managed to find anything with his current organization system, or more accurately lack thereof, baffled the few friends who would come to occasionally check on Patrick.

The big portfolio presentation was tomorrow, and yet he couldn't bring himself to focus on finalizing his presentation order, let alone titles for some of his pieces. Patrick's thoughts kept drifting away to other interests. He thought of various sounds and smells: the quiet babble of coursing water, the crunch of leaves underfoot, or the scent of pine carried across a drifting warm breeze. He delved deeper into this sensory daydream, imagining himself far from his worries. Then the daydream shifted, Patrick watching the landscape speed by while his body ran faster and faster, more quickly than he ever had in his whole life as he weaved back and forth between the trees until he voiced a glorious outcry that trilled up into the distinct haunting melody of a wolf's howl.

Patrick nearly slipped out of his seat, pulled away from his impromptu imagining as he reflexively steadied himself with his hands. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, his muscles tight with fatigue as if he had physically run the same distance he envisioned in his mind. He allowed his head once more to fall forward onto the cool wood of his desk.

“Maybe a quick walk around will get me back on track.” he muttered as he searched his room for a sweater to throw on.

The young man located a suitable tan jacket and jeans his mother had purchased for him last year. She had hoped it would help in his adjustment away at school, even though he repeatedly tried to assure her he had plenty to bring with him already. Despite his requests, she had also made a point to buy them a size too large, leaving them drooping over his tall and lanky frame. Thankfully, he gave adorning the tacky assemblage little thought. It wouldn't matter much where he planned to go. He gave a quick brushing of his jet-black hair back from where it hung partway down towards his eyes and grabbed his keys to head out the door.

Patrick appreciated that Deepwood University had made an effort to have its campus be integrated with the surrounding forested public lands nearby. Its many opportunities for outdoor excursions and skill-building had been one of the primary draws for Patrick in applying there to begin with, and to find out that he had been accepted last year was a thrill beyond measure. Now the novelty and elation had worn off, and Patrick was firmly settled into the term-by-term grind of his classes.

Right now the campus looked vacant and devoid of life with most of the other students wrapping up their class before lunch. He wasn't expecting anyone to wave or give a friendly shout in his direction. Patrick kept primarily to himself at school, avoiding the larger party scenes and social events on campus. He sat in the back of his classes. He answered questions only when needed. He didn't bother others. They didn't bother him, and he told himself that he liked it best that way. With his Ancient Cultures history course not until later that afternoon, Patrick was free to wander up to his favorite trail system for a while.

Patrick frequently visited this area when overwhelmed with the rigors of student life: a single-minded focus on graduation, many paths with too many choices, and an uncertain future to inherit afterward. That feeling had surfaced more often lately than he cared to admit, but instead of share what was going on with others Patrick would rather let those energies dissipate away into the forest until it was needed once more.

Further and further he ventured away from the school campus, each step methodical and mindless, nearly robotic or as if compelled by a powerful, inner force directing him. It wasn't long before he was back within the inviting cloak of the spruce, pine, and oak trees that had now grown familiar to him. All at once the tension he had been carrying in his body faded, and he silently praised himself for his decision to treat himself to this break. He deserved it.

The warming spring temperatures were in full effect today, and Patrick soon wrapped the jacket he had brought with him around his waist as he explored further back onto the trails. Most students were content to go through the preliminary loop that would divert back towards the main campus, but Patrick had spent a great deal of time exploring much of the many miles of trails extending far beyond that.

After some time, Patrick's awareness had shifted away from his concerns waiting for him back in his dorm room and towards the lively world around him. His senses awakened, and his thoughts slowed. A presence of mind allowed him to silently observe a fraction of the grand process governing all life. He listened to the call of songbirds above him and mapped out the natural curves of the long, dirt trail winding further up the mountainside. Patrick paused beneath the shade of one of the larger trees and caught a flicker of movement of the corner of his eye. He spun around to see no other than Zeydaan watching him atop a clump of large boulders, the creature still and stoic in the sunshine.

He had so named the wolf because of its regal, mighty appearance, like a reclusive Celtic ruler whose dominion was this stretch of wild expanse on the border of the greater human world. His coat was a mix of various grays with a darker cape and a light, creamy-colored belly. His eyes were a warm, mahogany color, unusual for wolves, but Patrick thought it suited his unique character. The beast's large, shaggy head looked in his direction, paying him as much attention as browsing through a second-hand goods store and finding an intriguing novelty item. Patrick had seen the wolf several times now, but had never heard report of it in the local paper or through talk of the other students. Patrick liked to think that Zeydaan only came out for him when no one else would.

From his ample observations of the wolf in the past, Patrick understood its unspoken message as he watched it sink its chest low against the rock in a lazy stretch.

You again? Nothing to worry about here. I'll be on my way.

And true to his usual pattern Zeydaan circled around the distant stand of trees until he disappeared entirely behind the sloped end of the hillside in the distance.

“Wait, don't go!” Patrick cried out from his place among the dirt and leaves. It was the first time he had ever called out to the animal. When he had first encountered him he had been too afraid, and on subsequent sightings he feared he would scare him off. Now the opposite was true. He had been lonely for long enough and hazarded the chance to invite him in. To reach out to the wild in the hopes it would answer back.

And answer it did.

Instead of silence, Patrick heard the wolf tilt its head back and loose a boisterous howl that rang out in every direction. The sound was loud and visceral, tangible and all-encompassing, with Patrick experiencing the vibrations as if they ricocheted through his own skin.

The young man's heart thrummed faster and hard in his chest, as it had during his daydream earlier. His breath grew labored and sweat beaded down the edge of his brow. He looked down to see thin wisps of hair quickly spreading across the tops of his hands and arms. The hairs were gray, a familiar color similar to those of the wolf named Zeydaan. A pinching at the back of his jeans prompted Patrick to free the short, bare mass of a developing tail. Discomfort spread down to his feet, frantically kicking off his shoes to reveal widening, thickening toes, the blunted beginnings of dark claws tearing through the fabric of his socks and rending them asunder. Patrick's eyes snapped open, the bases of his ears faintly twitching as they heard the sound of human laughter further down the trail.

No one should be here. They can't see me like this.

Alarm coursed through his body and fueled by burgeoning wolven instinct, Patrick dropped down onto all-fours and leaped forward, his jacket flinging off of him as he loped at a steady pace further down the trail. He urged his body faster still and was reminded of his daydream from earlier, his body moving as one seamless, coordinated machine until he diverted off the path to crash into some bushes to stay safely hidden. When he finally stopped his tongue hung forward in an off-pant, the abrasive human sounds from the wandering pair growing louder, then ceasing all together. The sounds resumed again some time after, getting loudest still until gradually quieting back into silence as they passed. Once certain they had left, Patrick carefully stood, stumbling forward as his transformation continued its course at full-speed through his body, the budding claws on his hand catching at the side of a low, slippery branch and leaving small furrows in his wake.

He landed in front of a shallow offset from a small creek, the water still and reflective with the dancing shadows of the canopy performing on the liquid stage. The sight before him shook Patrick to his core. His face was distorted and alien, baring a hearty mix of human and lupine features. The projected beginnings of a broad muzzle stretched his face and ended in a flared, darkened nose. His eyes were wildfires, the same deep crimson color he had seen Zeydaan carry. Patrick tentatively brought his hands to his face, the odd texture of the roughened pads on his palms unnerving him. He could not refute the unmistakable, though unfathomable reality of what had transpired and what was still occurring. The wolf, a creature long-sleeping in his spirit was now startlingly awake.

Naming his situation brought a cool calmness to the event. The rush of air of Patrick's next breath filled the expanded barrel of his altered chest, and strengthening muscles at the base of his ears tilted them partway back. Patrick pressed his hand down into the water, feeling the cool splash rise up and over into the gray fur of his hand. With a toothy grin Patrick started to laugh. Then it all came back to him.

It wasn't the first time his transformation had transpired. This was only the first time he could remember it. Zeydaan wasn't ever really there. It was him meeting himself, over and over again he realized. Patrick's changes into this wolf-like form must have been layered by his memory to protect him from the overwhelming truth. Now the mysterious lapses in time could be accounted for. How silly had he looked going to some of his professors and wondering how he had missed the last lectures or meeting up with friends. He could recall coming out to these places and returning from them, but his recollection of his time spent was always hazy at best.

To call out to the wolf this time may have tripped the mental circuit breaker housed within his mind. Armed with these new memories, Patrick experienced a new disorienting sensation. The first time he had willed his body into this form, he had been racked with pain beyond measure. He felt the ache of his stretching ligaments and shifting bones beneath his skin. He experienced the swelling and churning of his insides. The feelings were borne from an ancient human place, a wariness towards the unknown geared towards his survival, but now that he knew himself the complete opposite was true. Staying human was his transformed state. To exchange his fur back for his bare skin and dulled senses, that was a mournful loss he didn't wish to experience again. That was why he stayed out here like this, sometimes for several days. It would be easy now to welcome the change wholeheartedly, encouraging it further and seeing where the limit truly lay.

“Why should I even bother going back?” he said as his gray and creamy-colored fur filled in thickening clumps across his body and his torso stretched, pulling him up onto his hands and feet to relieve the subtle ache forming within his hips. Moving helped relax his tense muscles, and he wandered for some time through the forest until an interesting scent caught his attention. He pressed through a thickened bush, shaking off the extra twigs from his fur to see the tan jacket he had brought with him onto the trail, caked with dirt and mud from his scuttle away from the passersby. Zeydaan sniffed at the material and caught the faintest scent of his parents on it still. He thought then of his family, and their efforts to try and care for him. They missed the mark often; they tried to impose their ideas on him, but as he considered their actions more and more he came to one firm conclusion.

At least they tried.

They were as close to a pack as Zeydaan could hope to have, and perhaps there was still time to find a way to resolve this newly discovered identity with them. Zeydaan focused on the image of a time before this, before becoming a wolf, and saw himself wandering a large mall with his parents, pointing out different objects of interest in the windowsills. He remembered the fond memories of that time and the thought helped ground him in the purpose of his humanity. There was reason to go back. Gradually the changes began to ease: his paw-like appendages rearranging themselves closer to human proportions, his thick, shaggy coat vanishing to only a dark, furry mane trailing down his neck and back, and his tail shortened to a mere fleshy nub at the end of his spine. Zeydaan shakily stood, his wolfish appearance having substantially abated to a faint glimmer of what it had been only minutes before. With his eyes on the trail, he began his trek back towards school to plan his next steps.

*******

Night was quickly approaching by the time Zeydaan reached campus again. Although it was empty as it had been when he had departed, he was mindful to traverse within the encroaching shadows as much as able to disguise the echoes of his other form he still carried with him. Zeydaan heard the heavy bass of a guitar, screaming voices, and shining lights from the quad in the distance.

The concert was supposed to be for Friday. Does that mean I was out there for almost a whole week?!

With a quick dash, he left the security of the tree-lined path and hurriedly opened the entrance to his dormitory suite, accidentally slamming the door shut behind him. He froze. No one else appeared to be here.

They must all be at the concert.

Zeydaan's claws were silent on the rubber lining of the steps leading up to his room, although he didn't ease until he was nestled inside with the door locked behind him. Zeydaan slumped against the door to the ground, then yelped rubbing the top of his aching tail. Zeydaan noticed a small pile of letters and notes having been slipped under his door. Some looked to be delivered homework assignments on request from his professors. One looked to be a “Get Well Soon” card. The last, plastered with the red seal of Deepwood University was a summons to the councilor's office for “A Meeting to Discuss Excessive Unexcused Absences”. All matters for another time. Right now the only thing Zeydaan wanted to do was sleep. The exhausted wolf-boy crumpled forward onto his arms, then directed his gaze towards his standing mirror. Deep crimson shards pierced through the usual light-blue of his eyes.

I'm still not all the way back. It's never been like this before. Then again, I couldn't even remember me changing into a...wolf before now. What if giving in again...is the end? No more do-overs. Then what? I stay as a wolf? Maybe that would be easiest. I could go back and not worry about anything anymore. Just focus on living a good life. Animals have a good life right? I could have a good life...

Zeydaan felt a renewed, rising heat coursing through his body once more, his lapsing thoughts of the forest and a wild life inadvertently reinvigorating his changes. A dull, throbbing ache swelled between his shoulder blades until they popped twice, adjusting their position to partway at his sides. Fur began to sprout again in sparse patches across his limbs and face, his tail lengthening further and further away from his body with each additional vertebra formed. These changes were unlike those he had experienced back on the trails. They hurt. A lot. It took all of Zeydaan's willpower to keep from yelling out as he had that first time. If he completely changed here then he wasn't sure what would happen.

“Something's wrong...It's not supposed to be like this.” Zeydaan mumbled to himself while hunched forward.

His body doubled over as the sudden cracks and pulls heralding his transformation washed over him. His hands and feet widened once more into broad, paw-like shapes in tandem with the quiet lurch of his chest barreling out to accommodate his growing lungs. He growled, baring lengthening fangs as he desperately fought back against the change as he had done that first time, but his instincts were screaming for him to escape back to the forest. To escape back to his new home where he belonged.

He rolled over to his side to see his phone laying up a few inches away from him. Who could he call? Who could he dare hope to trust with his secret? There was only one person Zeydaan could fathom trusting enough right now.

Gritting his teeth as his pelvis continued to shift and pop his hips back into their new position, Zeydaan reached a clawed, padded finger over to unlock his screen and began to dial.

“Please pick up. Please...” He snarled between labored breaths. “...pick...up.”

---

A flash of artificial light momentarily cast aside the enveloping shadows of night as it illuminated Professor Mikasi's bedroom. From atop his bed stand, his phone ceaselessly vibrated while the default ringtone that had come with the device jingled a melodic tune. He groaned, then shuffled out of the comfort of the blankets he was under and turned his attention to the lit-up phone. By now the ringing had ended and the faint, red glow of the incoming caller's name was displayed as the phone shifted to voicemail. His eyes widened in curiosity, seeing none other than Patrick, one of his student's names streamed across the screen.

I know I gave him my number if he needed help with the Digital Techniques course, but don't you think it's pretty late to be troubleshooting for a project Patrick?

Opa activated the playback on the recent message, put the phone to his ear, then a few seconds later was frantically scrambling to throw on clothes, grab his jacket, and head for the door. Patrick's words replayed over and over again in his mind as he drove fast towards the Deepwood University campus.

Opa...please...get here...I'm changing...and I can't make it stop. It hurts so bad. Please make it stop. I remember...what you told me that one...time...saying I was...Wildhearted...you were right.

The message was interlaced with deep grunts and growls punctuating the space between the young man's words. Patrick barely had enough energy to stay awake in class, let alone call his professor to play some deranged trick on him. Opa's studies across many cultures had given him ample insight into strange happenings, but if what Patrick said was true and his Wildhearted nature was deepening, his connection between himself and the natural forces may end up putting himself and others at risk. Opa pressed the gas pedal down flat as he sped through the night knowing that time was of the essence.

He arrived on campus in minutes, the distant glow of the ongoing concert peppered with a flurried chorus of cheers as it drew closer to its conclusion. Opa reasoned to begin his search at Patrick's dormitory. His first hunch was usually right, and it was no different in this case either. Rounding the corner of the dormitory, the middle-aged professor saw one of the school's security officers downed in the dormitory courtyard with a huge, hulking beast towering on top of him, snarling and gnashing its pointed teeth, its eyes glowing a pale, burning red beneath the streetlight. The beast was not completely animal nor human, desperately reaching out towards both and in doing so finding neither.

The lack of other students in the area was serendipitous, the concert helping buy time for Opa to gain control of the situation. He imagined that the security guard had been called out to investigate the sounds associated with Patrick's transformation before finding he had bitten off way more than he could chew.

“Pa....” Professor Mikasi mumbled before stopping himself short. With the security guard present Opa would need to adopt a different tactic of connecting to the beast in front of him. He stealthily approached as soon as the security guard had kicked Patrick away, clutching at his arm. The wolf caught a new scent in the air and turned to face Opa. Opa cautiously stepped closer towards the wolf with arms outstretched like a great bird, crouching low to assume a position of little threat.

“You are here. Here with me. And that is all to it.” Opa said, hoping that his previous words to Patrick from their first meeting would seep in to bring back his other self.

The wolf-creature sunk forward as if to prepare for another leaping strike and then caught sight of the man's familiar brown eyes. Its ears pinned back and it growled a menacing snarl again, then shook its head as if battling against an impulsive itch. Clarity and reason slowly began to rekindle in the wolf-creature's gaze. The sharp tang of blood hung heavy in Patrick's maw, and seeing the security guard doubled over in pain, he voiced a sorrowful howl, then leaped into and through the fountain, kicking one of his hindlegs into the concrete slab on the way out with a yelp before vanishing into the night right as the red and blue lights of officers pulled into the school.

*******

Opa made himself scarce before he would be dragged into a lengthy interview with the police and ventured off in pursuit of Patrick. Making his way back into his car, he popped a few scrumptious bites of a spare Hobnob to help him think. Patrick was most likely confused, hurt, and hungry after transforming as he had. Someplace familiar without many people and where he could possibly hunt and rest would be best. Opa remembered a conversation with the young man and started the car to head in the direction of an old railyard that bordered near a wild patch of conserved forested lands.

The railyard had been abandoned for years, patches of rusting metal and dilapidated concrete structures for miles around being the only hallmarks of past human use. Patrick had mentioned how he had always enjoyed listening to the sounds of trains passing through the small town where he lived before moving out to the university, and wished that the old station could be rebuilt to allow new traffic to pass through the area. Opa stepped out of the car, cautious of his surroundings as he traversed the eerily quiet space.

“Patrick. Patrick. Where are you? I'm trying to help, but you're not exactly making this easy on me.”

He spent some time searching through the abandoned structures, but didn't find anything that indicated Patrick had been this way. No tracks. No scraps of fur. Nothing. Opa contemplated heading back to the car to search someplace else when he peered into one of the smaller buildings that had been used for supply storage in its heyday and spied a curled, gray form against one of the far corners of the space. Lit from the pale glow of speckled moonlight filtering in from the cracks above was undoubtedly Patrick, still altered, but more distinctly humanoid. There was a noticeable scrape running down the length of his calf, but overall he was well for wear. Patrick opened his eyes which faintly glowed with luminous eyeshine as scrappy patches of blue surfaced back within the sea of red, then allowed them to lazily close once more in utter exhaustion. Opa laid his jacket over Patrick's body, wrapped the sleeves around so it wouldn't fall off, and carefully lifted him up and out with a fireman's carry all the way back to the car. The young man slept peacefully the whole ride back, only briefly stirring as Opa laid him in his own bed for the night.

“All you need worry right now about is rest. We'll face tomorrow's challenges when we get there.”

*******

Patrick awoke the next day to the sweet aroma of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. He moaned, lifted his head, and tossed aside the unfamiliar set of covers while he rubbed the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes. He body bore only minor wolfish accents to his features to reinforce the reality of the previous night's events. Spying a set of clothes neatly folded for him at the foot of the bed, Patrick promptly put them on. They were a bit loose. Meh. They'd get the job done for now. Patrick wandered into the hall and allowed his nose to lead him the rest of the way over to the kitchen. Professor Mikasi was there carefully flipping a searing pancake to reveal its golden-brown surface.

“You're awake. That's good. Let me tell you, hauling you all the way here wasn't easy.”

“What happened last night? I remember calling you because I had...transformed. A lot more than this.” Patrick said, indicating the subtle alterations still present across his body.

“I know. I saw you.” Opa answered without taking his eyes off the stove, finally plating the newest pancake to join the others on a growing stack beside him.

“That's what's been going on when I've been losing track of time hasn't it?”

“To answer your original question, you did change. You attacked one of the security guards. No other students were around, thank goodness. After I got there you ran off, probably burning the last of your energy to get you to the railyard before I found you.”

“I could have seriously hurt someone!”

Opa turned away to face Patrick as a fresh square of butter applied to the pan slid and bubbled.

“But you didn't. You recognized me and had enough sense to get yourself somewhere safe. Trust me, that's a good thing for us, because that's exactly what we'll begin practicing for you to get a hold of these changes before they get worse.”

“I don't remember agreeing to any sort of training. I'll probably keep getting better. I just need time.” Patrick affirmed.

“This is not an asking kind of situation Patrick. Your ears are pointed and there's plenty of fur on your neck still. You know that I trust you, but this has grown way beyond what you can handle on your own. You can see that right?”

Patrick stared down at the roughened texture of his slightly swollen palms. “I don't want to cause trouble for you or anyone else with this. I can figure it out.”

“And I'm sure with enough time you could Patrick. Time's not on your side right now though. You told me these time lapses have been going on for what, weeks now right? I can do my best to help you. I'm not going to promise anything, but what I did last night counted for something. Right?”

“How exactly are you planning to help?” Patrick asked, a tentative glimmer of hope piercing through the layers of despair worn on his face.

“First I need to know something. At the beginning when you came to me shortly after you had started school here I knew right away that your energy signature was off. It was like watching someone carry an imbalance of weight in their arms from carrying too many groceries. After I had mentioned some of my background with my travels you had said that you wanted some input after class about losing track of time easily when you were outdoors. I brought up the concept of Wildhearted individuals and you mentioned that you had had a strange experience when you were younger that made something like that “fit”, then saw that you had to go to your next class. But you never told me what exactly had happened. I've kept a close eye on you since then and saw the signs that things looked to be getting worse, but I wanted to see if you could handle it on your own. That was my mistake. So now, tell me more about what you think may have started all this.” Opa said, sliding over the last pancake to the stack and turning off the stove. The pair made their way back to the living room and Patrick settled himself on the leather upholstery of Opa's couch.

“There was a time before when I was way younger. My folks had a farm out in the country. Nothing huge or special, but it took care of what we needed and a little extra until dad ended up switching over to the manufacturing plant. Anyway, as you can imagine my folks were very protective over their animals and didn't take kindly to any “unexpected guests” as they called them to me.

But there was one time when I was out wandering the woods and I ended up finding a wolf with a lame leg. There were no other wolves with him. I always thought injured wolves would end up getting attacked by their own for being weak, and being an only child without many other kids to play with...I felt like I could understand what he was going through when I saw his sad, golden eyes.

I started bringing some of my scraps and other odds and ends for the wolf, and for a time he was my friend and secret. I would talk to him, tell him how my day was, other random stuff like what shows I was watching on television. All the things I couldn't tell my parents because they were always too busy.

Despite my efforts he was only getting weaker as time went on, so I told him to make me a promise. I would leave the gate open for him that night and he would get his fill for a time to help him get ready for the upcoming winter. And that's what I did. I left the gate open and sure enough that night he sneaked in and attacked one of the newly foaled lambs.

Mom and Dad didn't show him any mercy no matter how much I begged or cried. I had to watch the whole thing in front of my eyes and ever since then I blamed myself for what had happened to that wolf, how I had caused its senseless waste of life. I keep thinking that if I was able to go back in time, maybe the kindest thing to do would have been to just cast it off and leave him on his own. That's probably the best thing for me to do too so I don't repeat what happened then. I was connected to him, and then that went away. Now I don't know what to do Opa. All these feelings in my heart, these instincts, these urges, these memories, they all clash and I don't know what's the right path to choose.”

Opa watched Patrick curl his body up and brought a reassuring hand to his shoulders, feeling thick tufts of fur rising beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Having that happen would be rough for anyone. I agree though that it was most likely the moment when that extra branch of life came to be for you. Your guilt has manifested itself into what you are experiencing today, and the only way it's going to stop is if you can make peace with your past so you can keep moving forward with your life. This form you have now...it's a spiritual crossroads. Both paths are open for you to walk along. Your life began on one branch of the tree of life, but now it has bent and bound itself to another. What took place last night is clear that this other branch is growing within you, and eventually one side or the other will become dominant to be balanced again.”

“So am I going to ever end up going back to being fully human, or is this going to be a forever kind of thing?” Patrick said, gripping the arm of the couch and being mindful to not slide his short claws across the couch's surface.

“I don't know. This is the first time I've personally encountered a case like yours going as far as it has.”

“Have you ever heard of something like this happening to anyone else?”

“Like your situation?”

“Yeah, the wolfy kind I have going on right now.”

“Not exactly. I have heard tales before of some odd circumstances involving another fellow in India.”

“What was going on with him?”

“He turned into an elephant and had to balance a big ball on his nose in the circus for the rest of his life.”

“WHAT?!” Patrick shouted, nearly kicking over the ottoman in front of him.

Opa laughed a bellowing, hearty sound. “I'm just messing with you. You have to have some humor in these things otherwise they will weigh you too far down.”

“I don't exactly see what's so funny about waking up and not knowing if I'll have thumbs or be able to do my homework or want to eat it.” Patrick challenged.

“See, now you're getting it. That was pretty good.” Patrick's brow furrowed and he crossed his arms, further isolating himself. Opa shifted his tactics and eased his verbal banter.

“I'm sure last night took a lot out of you so make sure you eat up to recharge. Everything I made is for you. Don't worry about your classes today either. I already notified the other tutors that you had reached out to me saying you were ill and to not expect you from a sudden health crisis. You can make up the portfolio presentation for Gilmore in two weeks. Rest here so tomorrow you can get back to doing what you need to do. I have afternoon lectures to teach, but I'll make myself available if anything comes up ok?”

Patrick's stomach rumbled, and he scented the syrup-covered pancakes in front of him. “That sounds good. Opa?” Patrick asked, unfolding his arms to rest them on top of his legs.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Um...thanks. This is more than I think most people would be doing in this situation.”

“I like to think that in this situation I'm able to help in ways most people wouldn't be able to. You're fine young one. Rest.”

Patrick enjoyed Opa's pancakes and slept through the morning and early afternoon. When Opa returned home after his afternoon lectures he saw Patrick laying across the floor, his form passable for a regular person without close scrutiny, reading through one of Opa's collected books from his travels.

“You're back. I hope it's ok that I've been reading these. Your collection's incredible.” Patrick said, the stumpy remnants of his tail flexing within the space of his pants.

“I was able to befriend many of the tribal peoples I encountered during my travels, and so I recorded the various stories they would tell me. The important thing you have to realize about all these stories Patrick is that stories all are born with a breath of truth within them. Even the most fantastical tales depict something concrete and real. The talent is learning how to figure out the difference.”

Patrick looked at the scrappy wisps of gray hairs on his hands and nodded before delving back into the troves of stories passed down through generations. By sunset Patrick felt comfortable enough to return back to his dormitory to prepare for tomorrow's classes. New precautions had been put in place on campus in light of the recent animal attack on campus, including a strict curfew for residential students past sunset until “The Beast of Deepwood” was located and dispatched. He and Opa had worked out a plan of maintaining communication regarding his state of change to track any patterns that could be beneficial in managing his ability to stay as human as possible. The last thought that passed through Patrick's mind that night before falling asleep was a wish to find normal again, whatever that meant for an unstable human-wolf person.

*******

The next two weeks came and went by in a blur. Patrick found himself never able to fully recover his human form, but also never changed as far as he had that first night. For the most part he was able to continue going to class with extra vigilance for any part of him that would be construed as too far out of the ordinary. Blaming out-of-whack hormone levels for inquiring minds was sufficient for the most part. High-necked sweaters, hats, and gloves worn even in lecture became staples of his wardrobe.

Patrick and Opa spent time together in the woods where he had first become aware of his unique situation. It amazed Patrick that for as much as Professor Mikasi knew about all manner of plant and creature, and their connections between one another that he had resigned himself to be working at the school. Patrick would have expected the man to have pursued his passion for ancient wisdom and be found at the summit of the most treacherous mountain to gain a few treasured brief moments of counsel with on life's worries. Instead he wore a tacky plaid shirt like everyone else, had the popular game of the week app on his phone like everyone else, and went about his life...just like everyone else, that was until Patrick came growling along in need of help.

On the days when Patrick leaned more heavily towards his wolf-like form, he ventured out onto the trails on his own, guided by the same trance-like force that compelled him to seek out the natural spaces around him. They were his Timeless Days, where he explored the limits of his wolf-like body. Opa accompanied him on one such occasion to attempt to build his mental resolve during his more heavily changed state, but Patrick's mental barriers were resistant. He ended that day growling and snarling towards Opa in frustration, but the mentor took the actions in stride, and allowed the wolf-person to indulge in chasing a lone rabbit . By the end of the day the two made their way back to Patrick's dormitory with barely enough of the changes abated for him to sleep in his own bed.

The more time Patrick spent with Opa, the more he realized that the man was content, not by the things he had acquired over his many years of life, nor by the stories that he cultivated through experience, but rather it was the relationships he had developed with others that had been the most fulfilling. However, each night he would sink under the covers Patrick could only see himself in the flux of an unbreakable primal variation and questioned how he could ever dare to build a relationship with anyone that way.



Then the day of Patrick's rescheduled portfolio presentation came to pass. He had been up late the night before, and woke to only eight minutes left to get himself dressed and out the door with his portfolio. Patrick tossed everything he could think of needing into his backpack and rushed out the door, in his haste failing to notice the broad leather straps that he had used to fasten down his tail still hanging from the key rack beside his dorm room door.

*******

Patrick stood in front of the sea of faces, swallowing a dry gulp of spit as he stood beside the assembled showcase of his work. His pieces were elaborate and well-thought out: solid composition, color choice, and technique was present in each impressionistic amalgamation of metallic automatons traversing natural scenes, sometimes leaving corroded scraps or small wakes of glistening oil in their wake.

“This term I focused mainly on uh...exploring connection and conflicting elements between people with nature and industry.”

The class was intrigued as he continued to explain each piece, and for a moment Patrick believed he was going to get through the experience unscathed. That was until one hand near the back shot up. There always had to be that one person.

“Why did you choose to go for such a Rembrandt-influenced style for your pieces instead of working at pushing your own individual style? Wouldn't that have been a more worthwhile use of your time for future projects?” the student in question inquired with a push of their glasses further up their nose.

“Well...I...um....didn't quite think about that. When I'm making art I just go with what I'm feeling and what I have around. I didn't think it's such a big deal.” Patrick's face flushed with embarrassment, then some of the other students began to sneer and chat quietly among the group before one pointed in his direction with an open-mouthed grin .

“Woah! Getting a little excited there huh? Didn't know talking about art was your thing Pat.” the student called out before a quick flurry of reprimands was issued by their instructor.

Patrick, confused, looked down at himself and was horrified to see the noticeable bulge pressing forward between his legs from where his tucked tail had curled tightly up against him. He stood there, stunned and frozen, unable to command the appendage back into a neutral state, instead bringing added heat to his cheeks and a clammy feeling to his palms that only worsened the issue at hand.

“I didn't know he was packing like that.” one student whispered to another before their words began to overlap on one another like nagging insects against his ears.

“I...I..I...I'm sorry...I have to go. I really have to go.” Patrick said, bolting from the room before anyone else could see the hot tears streaming down his face.

*******

Patrick ran towards the trails at a fervent pace, blindly attempting to escape the unwelcome cruelty he had faced in the only place that enveloped him with open arms no matter what. Only once buried deep within the forest did he allow himself to crumple into a tear-ridden heap on the ground, oblivious to the coursing waves of change flowing through his body. He forced himself back up and continued to move. Stopping meant the pain was real. He ran on and on until he had fully abandoned two legs in exchange for four. The trees blurred beside his great speed until he heard a squealing cry from somewhere further ahead.

A squirrel with beady, black eyes and chattering teeth fought to loosen its crushed leg out from underneath the expanse of a fallen tree limb. Its wailing cries pierced the air in all directions and drew Zeydaan closer. It was hurting and in immense pain. The wolf licked its chops. It was food.

Zeydaan paused in front of the creature, and from a place deep within himself he experienced an immense feeling of loss again. His ears pinned back, and a growl rumbled low in his throat. This small animal couldn't escape its fate neither.

This helps both of us. Zeydaan thought before the first crunch of bone erupted in his jaws.

******

Zeydaan awoke the next day with stray clumps of grass and mud flecked into his coat, his body still slanted heavily towards his wolven nature. Standing, the weight of his shoulders pressed his forelimbs firmly down against the cool ground. With reluctant effort, he rose back to standing upright and began the journey towards Opa's home using the network of farther trails that wove nearby his residence. Within the rhythm of each heavy footfall, Zeydaan contemplated the purpose of his limbo existence.

He knew what wolves did. They hunted, made packs, reaffirmed social bonds. People were similar. They ate, had families, and would visit places with their friends. The difference was that wolves weren't spending all of their time and energy worrying about things bigger than themselves. They lived solely for what was in front of them. No regrets, no hesitation, only the assured bliss of a present existence. A sad smile edged Zeydaan's lips. Maybe having all his days be like wouldn't be so bad.

*******

Opa arrived home to a mixed-form Patrick fixing himself a bite to eat in the kitchen. Patrick pivoted around, ears briefly pressing forward before sinking back into his solemn expression. Opa joined him in the kitchen, and studied the young man, the rolling waves of energy crashing over his body even more knotted and strained.

“I take it things haven't exactly been going well huh?” Opa asked with a soft tone.

“There's nothing I can do to stop this from getting worse is there?” the wolf-person asked in turn, eyeing his still thick and compacted fingers.

“Patrick...”

“Zeydaan. It's Zeydaan.” he promptly corrected.

Opa pursed his lips, breathed, then relaxed his expression. “Well Zeydaan, tell me, what is it that you hope to be able to achieve in your life?”

Zeydaan turned the splashed array of his blue and red eyes towards Opa.

“There's not going to be any achieving looking the way that I do right now.”

“Pretend for a moment that you haven't been spontaneously turning into varying degrees of wolfnicity. Just humor me please. If that wasn't going on then what would you be going for?”

“I want my art to help in some way; to make a message communicating on behalf of those creatures that aren't able to do so themselves. That's why I utilize a lot of the conflicting themes between people and the natural world in my work, because if that goes...then there's nothing left for us to fight over.”

“That's a pretty noble cause to stand behind.” Opa acknowledged.

“Maybe people will want pawprint collages.” Zeydaan said in a defeated tone.

“What I hear is that making sure your message is heard is important to you, and that message of understanding extends far beyond yourself. As you are now you carry that connection you've been working so hard to express right?”

“I guess so.”

“Then remember that no matter what happens you've already achieved your goal by living and learning from your experiences.” Opa ended, offering a hug. Zeydaan bristled, his eyes darting back and forth with ears pressed flat. Opa's eyes were sincere.

He's trying for me.

Zeydaan stepped forward to accept his embrace, breathing in the man's gingery scent tinged with pine. With an extra squeeze he resolved to give managing the increasingly hectic load of his human life one more try.

*******

Several more weeks continued to pass, but Patrick's physical and mental state only grew more unstable.
Days where he was human enough to attend classes were becoming rarer, and his grades suffered as a result. His constant state of transformation had shaped his body with new lithe layers of muscle formed across his limbs to replace the skinny twigs of his arms and legs. Patrick was strong, nimble and quick, carrying himself with a long, loping stride wherever he went.

More of his time was spent out in the woods, and on one cloudy day Opa ventured out in that direction to visit the person increasingly known as Zeydaan. The wolf-person had disclosed the location of his makeshift den only to the one trusted person he had left. Opa, first seeing the quaint structure, nearly invisible within the surrounding greenery, was impressed by the creative talent poured into the careful arrangement of various natural elements strewn about the space. Bent and bundled branches made rough assemblages of furniture, and several containers stored various herbs and other bounties scavenged in the foliage. As time had passed however, the elegance of Zeydaan's den waned until the unkempt and disorganized piles appeared more serviceable of animalistic necessity rather than human expression.

He found the young man scenting the ground, his short muzzle covered in flecks of deep, dried red that had splashed over onto his long fangs.

“Um...Zeydaan? All the blood on your face is from...”

“Rabbit. Tasted great. You want some?” he answered, looking in the man's direction with a noticeable tilt to his head.

“I...think I'm good, thanks.”

*******

The daily monotony of human life grew overwhelming for Zeydaan. His sense of time eroded, and he often arrived to events early or late, completely unfazed by any outstanding or delivered consequences. Zeydaan sat alone in the cafeteria, peering out of the corner of his eyes, imagining the weight of the student body's collective stares resting upon him. His thoughts failed to form as words, instead echoing inside him as grunts, grumbles, and a forlorn howl. He hurriedly shoveled his food into his mouth and left once done.

You look at me and think me less for being bound to these instinct, while you are all bound as slaves of time. I know where I am headed, and I choose it with grace.

At night Zeydaan was plagued by the wildest, most vivid dreams of his life. He would often be running through his paintings, chased by the blinding headlights of the automatons. His feet would go faster and faster until he traversed across the landscape at blinding speed, the sky and ground blending into a mess of colors until they were consumed by the night sky. The stars themselves blazed by in front of him until they too, one by one, took on the shape of other fellow wolves running alongside him, towards their goal at the center. Here they coalesced into a mighty, swirling galaxy that released such forceful energy that it would startle him awake in a cold sweat.

*******

Zeydaan would often go on walks in town to fill the space between his classes, and for the most part he attempted to avoid conflict with others to discourage rousing suspicion about his unique nature, but there was one day seeing the capacity of human cruelty where he could not hold back anymore, which would change him forever.

Zeydaan was finishing up browsing through the wares of a local store when he caught sight of a man tugging hard on a dog's leash across the street from where he sat on the ground. The dog's leash was wrapped between the man's legs, and he yelled a flurry of abrasive and awful things towards the animal which cowered and attempted to run off only to be yanked back hard against the strain of its leash back towards the man over and over.

Zeydaan left the store and promptly crossed the middle of the road, purged of any fear of oncoming traffic as he was focused on his one and only goal.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Zeydaan yelled, his focus narrowing as the muscles above his nose twitched wanting to curl his lips back.

“None of your business punk! Scram!”

The hairs on the back of Zeydaan's neck stood on end and his gaze adopted a piercing, intimidating quality. His nose scrunched, lips pulling back to reveal lengthened fangs as he rumbled a menacing bellow and sank forward onto the concrete in a low crouch ready to pounce upon the man. The confined length of Zeydaan's fur-covered tail strained against the leather bindings until they gave way, giving free reign of the appendage to slip free of his bulky sweatpants and raise up high behind him in a dominant, alert stance. Zeydaan caught sight of the fear in the man's eyes, and pressed further still, voicing a full-throated snarl as he dug the clawed tips of his fingers into the concrete below while warm ripples of impending transformation peppered the otherwise silent street with the popping sound of his adjusting bones and joints.

“Woah! Get out of here you freak!” the man cried out, stumbling backwards until he dashed off at a madman's pace. Zeydaan looked back over to the dog who was huddled and trembling by the corner of a small garden. Zeydaan took a step forward and the dog whined, a small puddle of fluid forming at its feet before it dashed away as quickly as the man had.

The pain of his continuing transformation snapped Zeydaan away from any other thoughts and with a deep resolve of will, he sped forward in the direction of Opa's home, pushing his transforming body to move despite the pinching cramps and slide of sinew. Zeydaan barely managed to fumble the extra key into the backdoor and flop himself forward before his transformation seized him entirely. He roared with the might of his frustration, bashing his body against anything in sight until a curtain of black washed over his vision and set his body still.


*******

Zeydaan awoke with Opa lightly stroking through his thickened scruff. The wolf-creature breathed a deep, heavy breath then moved to roll over onto its feet, but was stopped by a firm hand.

“Not yet. That last change took a lot out of you.”

Zeydaan opened his crimson eyes and the blurry world came back into view so he could witness his destruction first-hand. It looked as if a local tornado had struck Opa's living room, his organized shelves tossed about with papers and notes torn and crumbled in every direction. He wondered if anyone would be able to read again the treasured stories that Opa had gathered over many years of hard work. A whine escaped Zeydaan's lips, and tears formed at the edges of his eyes, sloping down his muzzle.

“I'm sorry...I'm sorry.” he whispered in between sobbing whines. Opa continued to hold him close and stroke through his fur with a shaky hand.

“You're ok. I know you didn't mean it.” he calmly answered.

“I have to fix this.” Zeydaan mumbled with a deep, gravelly tone.

“And we will. Rest. We'll face tomorrow's challenges when we get there.”

*******

Four days had passed with Zeydaan there helping to clean the havoc that he had caused, and in all that time he barely managed to even retain half of his human form. When the last signs of his past mayhem had been cleared away he stood, clutching his paw-like hands into bundled fists and gave an assured nod to Opa.

“Let's try the way you mentioned before. If what we understand about what's happening to me is correct, then it would end this one way or the other. I'm ready for that now. I know how to find that place inside of me and heal it.”

*******

Three nights later, Zeydaan and Opa found themselves back at the old railyard. Zeydaan stared up at the shining face of the moon through one of the holes in the roof of the storage shed they occupied. He tested the natural-fiber bindings Opa had placed on him and found them strong and sturdy. With a series of calming breaths as Opa had taught him, Zeydaan counted backwards in his head from twenty while stepping downward on stone steps until he was once more in his mental world. It was night again, but the stars were out, and Zeydaan half-expected them to drift down beside him to form the wolves of his celestial pack. Instead they stayed above, looming and curious over what this visitor would choose to do.

He quickly made his way back to the cave he had found before, the entrance narrow and claustrophobic. The space opened up wider further down, and the rock walls themselves brimmed with glowing veins of fire behind them lighting Zeydaan's way down the rocky steps until he reached the bottom. There he found a central chamber and on the pedestal which had previously been empty were a trio of metal links, the same as had been removed off the fence when...

Zeydaan crumpled to the hard ground, allowing himself to feel the emotional weight of his memory. Instead of running away from it, as he had done so many countless times before, he instead recalled the feeling of himself running with wild abandon in the woods. He imagined himself running towards this memory with the same vigor, and Zeydaan found himself able to slowly reach a hand out to seize the cold metal off of the pedestal.

Behind him the wolf with the kind, lonely eyes appeared, and Zeydaan crouched down low to meet it in greeting. It applied a warm, heavy lick across his forehead, and Zeydaan nuzzled deep into the wolf's fur in turn.

“I am sorry for what happened to you, but I am not sorry for our time together. Thank you for being there when I needed you.”

The cave rumbled and elsewhere the first waves of heat furthering Zeydaan's transformation were occurring.

“I'll take that feeling with me wherever I go. I promise.”

Zeydaan's mind snapped back into visceral reality as the change began to happen again, this time different. It passed over him silky smooth ,like pouring paint cascading down over his body, weighted and cool, not hot and painful like the other changes had been. As he stared down at his hands, he watched them stretch further into lupine approximations and then with a surge of will hastened the changes there.

I become something more than myself.....but still myself.

He repeated the same for his feet as his growing pelt of gray and creamy fur covered his body. The burning embers of his resistance had eroded and in the vacant void left behind Zeydaan could now choose what to fill it with.

I will help make the world better, by making myself better. Being me helps the world be itself too. I don't need to fight it anymore.

Zeydaan willed the rest of his energy out across his body, pushing the change further than it had ever gone before, finally loosening the knotted bands of fate to provide a clear path forward. The bindings Opa had secured slipped against his changing form scattering about him messy heaps, no longer needed in the peace he had discovered. With his transformation now complete, Zeydaan tossed his head back and loosed a full-throated howl to the cosmos, leaving him breathless with the edges of his blackened lips pulled back into a panting smile.

*******

Opa opened the door and found the large form of a wolf licking through its thick pelt, working away the invisible wounds that it had cast upon itself. The creature fixed a set of moonlight-filled crimson eyes in the man's direction, and slowly stood and stepped forward. Zeydaan pressed his large, furry head into the chest of his friend and mentor, then lifted himself up onto his hindpaws to plant several heavy licks across the man's jaw.

“I'm going to miss you too. You did so good though, and you'll do even better out there. I'll stop by and visit every now and again. I promise.”

Opa watched his student, his kindred spirit, his friend vanish in the direction of the sheltering forests beyond thereafter, racing forward with wonderful wild abandon to embrace the new life he had seized back from the strange, all-encompassing jaws of fate.