He shivered, crouching in the darkness. The arch of the bridge shielded him from the fiery torches that blazed in the night.

Big Tomas shook the iron rod in the air, "Kill the demon!" he shouted, raising an uproarious cry of agreement from the mob. His harsh loud voice carried down to the bridge, and the young boy, looking almost ten years of age, quivered with fear. The villagers marched onwards, waving their pokers and torches. The demon had to be killed. The bestial looks on their faces glowed fiercely in the flickering torchlight.

The boy squeezed himself further into the corner of the arch, slipping on the algae growing along the side of it. He dropped into the water with a splash, a sound that did not go unnoticed by Tomas. Thrusting his big meaty hand into the air, he halted the procession, pointing towards the river. Placing a finger on his lips, he motioned for silence as the entire village stalked towards it.

He dragged himself out of the water, looking for a way to escape. He desperately searched the underside of the arch, looking for a hiding place, somewhere where he could conceal himself from the villagers.

So it has come to this, then, the boy thought. Plunging a hand into the river, he caught a wiggling minnow. He thanked the gods – he might have had to resort to using a snail or a worm, and he'd never tried something like that before.

In the darkness, the boy stood. A silver light welled from the palm of his hand, where the minnow lay, thrashing about. Relaxing his hand, he let the minnow fall back into the waters, its mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt to absorb oxygen from the air. The light dwindled within half a second.

The boy undressed quickly, shoving the pile of clothes underneath a clump of river mud. When he was done, he breathed in quickly, brow furrowed in concentration.

A gash appeared on the back of his neck, blood spurting from his naked back. The young boy twisted, clinging to the scarlet line, and tore. It ripped off without a sound, crumpling into a rubbery mass. The child winced, and pulled again and again, his actions getting progressively faster as the villagers got nearer…

"Gods damn it. It changed," cursed Tomas, as the torchlight fell onto the scene beneath the bridge. There was no-one there, just a vomit-inducing mess of entrails and flesh.

*

Amidst the blood and ripped flesh, a single minnow darted through the red-tinged water. It swam down the river, escaping from the mob.

His home had chased him out. He would have to find a new one… after he retrieved his clothes. People did not take kindly to naked strangers running around in cities, he suspected.

The minnow jerked in the river, its body seeming to stiffen.

A cloud of blood surrounded the little minnow, as the head broke off. The fins, the tail; they fell off the minnow's body like leaves in autumn, getting swept down by the current.

A protrusion grew from the miniscule fish's body, a circular object of bone and exposed flesh. The blood ran from it freely, the body thrashed about in agony. Quickly, the skin formed, covering the head of a young boy. His limbs had started to sprout out of the fish's body as well, or rather, what was left of it. Scales fell off, fish skin ripped apart, blood spurted from his sides and abdomen, as his body roiled in a mass of congealing blood.

A muffled shriek emanated from beneath the water, the boy trying to hold the pain in. Gods, I will never try something like that again, if only this could be over.

"Gods damned pain!" He spat the last word out as if it were acid, eyes leaking tears of torment.

Slowly, the agony faded as the skin formed around his body. Clambering out of the water, he lifted one blood-sodden limb onto land, shuddering. Resting on the grass for a few moments, Theo breathed in and out slowly, trying to lock up the memory of the intense pain in the crevasses of his mind.

Calming down, his lithe form sprang up from the ground. He'd get his clothes, and put the village of Birkensdale behind him forever. He started walking back towards the bridge.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps he'd perform a little mischief on them before he bid them goodbye. Devil's spawn, they'd called him.

A dockside whore's son, no doubt, said Magrat's voice

Evil demon from a witch's belly, more like. Tomas still haunted his head. The sensation of those huge fists making contact with his jaw, Theo still remembered. His slender body halted in midstride as the poisonous memories whirled in his head. A silver flash shot past and buried itself in the mud. The quarrel of a crossbow bolt stuck out from the wet, brown substance. A speck of silver shone from the bolt in the piercing moonlight.

"Shit. Not again," he muttered, rolling into a ball. He dropped back into the river, the current sweeping him down.

I'll have to leave the clothes, I suppose, the rational part of him decided calmly, as his body moved through the river, swimming down the river. His arms pulled with the current, speeding away from the hunter.

A slight figure emerged from the shadows, holding a loaded pistol crossbow, the silver-tipped bolt glinting in the moonlight.

"Cursed skin walker," she cursed, running to the riverbank. The water was clouded with blood, but the shapeshifter had long gone.

*

Lucy O'Connor glared at the river, kicking a clod of earth into it. I hope he drowns, she thought savagely, although she knew that a shapeshifter couldn't really die unless they had a wound from silver.

Swearing as richly as a dozen of sailors, Lucy turned towards the village, running fleet-footed over to where she'd left her horse. Her lower lip curved slightly upwards in what could be called a smile. Bending her body downwards, she spurred her mare into action. The chase is on, skin walker. I will complete my hunt.

*

A few days ago, Lakeshire, the O'Connor residence.

Lucy went over her equipment for the last time. This would be the first skin walker she'd hunt, and she was taking no risks. Running her fingers over the silver bolts, the blades and her trusty crossbow, she packed up her gear and headed for the stables.

The mare whickered softly as Lucy saddled her, strapping tight the cinches. Leading the mare out of the stable, she swung the stall gate shut, and mounted the horse. "C'mon, girl," she twitched the reins and dug her spurs in slightly. The mare broke into a trot, her rider enjoying the feeling of wind on her face. A shapeshifter, eh? This should be interesting…

*

Theo drifted under the water's surface, motionless. One looking into the stream may have expected to see bubbles from his mouth and nose, but for Theo, the bubbles in his lungs had already been exhausted half an hour ago. He moved with the current silently, the death-light look on his face apparently under the pale light of the moon.

A howl pierced the silence of the night. Moments later, a lone figure loped to the edge of the stream. It growled softly, the low sound issuing from its throat. Crouching down by the river, it swiped at the water gently with a long arm as if it were trying to catch a fish. Theo flew out of the water, breaking the water's surface with a loud splash.

The figure cursed softly, "Waterlogged little river rat." The voice was affirmatively female. She stood up, considering the dripping wet shapeshifter, water pooling on the muddy ground around him. Sighing, the loup-garou lifted a shaggy arm, slamming the sharp-clawed fist onto Theo's chest. Water shot from his mouth, ears and nose. Theo sputtered to life, wheezing as he coughed out water.

"Ow," he complained, sitting up. "There was no need to do that. I'd have been perfectly fine on my own."

"Sure." The werewolf snorted, rolling her eyes. "Come on, if not for me, you'd be floating around in that river for a few days before some silly villager mistook you for a corpse."

Theo's lips curved upward, smirking. "That's beside the point, my dear. Nevertheless, I concede," raising an open palm when the werewolf started to open her mouth.

"It's good to see you again, Elys," he said, affectionately clasping her shoulder. Suddenly Theo stiffened, his nostrils flaring. "Elys, would you kindly go for a dip in that river? You are well aware that I take great exception to the smell of week-old blood."

Snarling, she turned on him, teeth bared. Laughing, Theo ran, weaving through the grasses. Elys hurtled after him, releasing a harsh cry from her gradually changing throat. She chased him, their movements trampling the flora underfoot.

Eventually, Theo grew tired of the chase, and whirled around. "Alright, alright," he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. She barked, and the wolfish snout slowly crackled with the sound of moving bone. In moments, the furry quadruped had vanished, leaving behind a female with dark auburn hair in a severe state of undress.

Shaking her head, Elys wove her fingers through her shoulder-length hair in a fluid, luxuriant motion. "So, Theo," she said casually. "What brings you here in such a fashion?"

Theo's features became serious as he remembered how he'd ended up drowning, his eyes losing the laughing sparkle they'd gained during the chase. "A hunter's here," he said quietly.

Elys froze, her fingers twined around locks of her hair. "We have to go. Now."

"I couldn't agree more, m'dear. Thing is, we seem to be lacking clothing at the moment…" he trailed off, looking suggestively at the village where Elys hunted. Or to put it more accurately, dug up the freshly deceased and ripped their hearts out when she got peckish.

"Great," she answered sarcastically. "Why don't we just leave a big sign saying, 'Theo was here'?"

"Well, what do you propose, then?" Theo snapped back defensively. "We'll stick out like sore thumbs going around naked, and I'm pretty damn sure this'll garner more attention than laundry theft."

"Simple," she smiled, exposing her slowly lengthening incisors. "We'll go animal." A crackle of bones shifting and growing sounded from her body. Theo groaned.

"You know I hate shifting into animals," he complained to the changing girl.

"Shut up and change," Elys said thickly through a mouthful of long sharp teeth as her jaw started lengthening.

*

Twelve hours ago, some distance from Birkensdale.

Lucy reined in the horse as she approached Birkensdale.

No need to risk the mare getting stolen by some thieving little villager, she thought, getting down from the horse's broad back. She dropped to the ground lightly, landing softly on the balls of her feet. Grabbing her crossbow from the saddlebag where she'd stowed it, she loaded it quickly, sliding the bolt home.

*

That was rather easy, truth be told. Orphan, unnatural behaviour, flinches at silver. Cut and dried case, she mused. Returning to a distance away from the village, she whistled for her horse, removing the saddlebags after the mare thudded to a halt in front of her.

I'll confront the skin walker once the villagers are abed, she thought to herself, setting up camp. Biting into the refreshing yellow flesh of an apple from her supplies, she stretched her arms and started to wait.

*

The wolfhound stood on a muddy patch of grass, her tongue lolling out in an undignified manner that belied her regal stance. A curled-up mass of dog quivered in a pile beside her, shivering at the pain of shapeshifting.

She let out a couple of short barks. Come on, Theo. We've got to get away. Hunters don't laze on their asses when they've got quarry, you know.

It hurts!

He whimpered, the after-effects of shapeshifting to animal form taking their time to wear off.

A few seconds later, he was up on his feet, ears quivering, ready to go. Barking enthusiastically, the gray-furred creature burst into quick movements, sprinting across the ground, towards Ofschterlin Mountains, followed shortly by Elys. The two Irish wolfhounds cut through the grasses, one with gray fur, and the other with a snowy-white coat.

There, in the depths of the Ofschterlin Mountains, they would be safe. At least, he hoped so.

*

Lucy perched between the branches of an Ash tree, waiting for the boy to appear. Apparently the village had caught on to the skin walker's true identity, and were chasing him out. She saw the slight figure run from the mob towards the bridge, and she picked up the crossbow that rested on a tree limb, the bolt already loaded. Sighting, her finger curled around the trigger, and fired, launching the silver missile towards the moving shapeshifter.

She cursed as she saw it land in a clump of grass, her aim seemingly off in the darkness. The skin walker sought cover under the bridge, and a soft light welled up from it.

Time for Plan B, she thought, clambering down from the tree. She started to walk to where she'd tied her mare. She'd follow the damn thing and kill it when it shifted back, she decided.

*

The mare trotted down the riverbank, her mistress scanning the waters for any anomalies. Curse it, where is it. Ah!

She'd spotted the faint glow of the transformation energy, and swerved the horse towards the cover of some trees. Dismounting, she whispered in its ear, "Aryth tu fortriu", patting its head, before turning back to the river.

I promise you, shapeshifter. I won't miss this time.

The blood-covered arms shot into the air, splashing through the water's surface. The river slowed here, at the bend, letting the skin walker pull itself out easily. Lucy concentrated, levelling the crossbow with the target. It started moving. Lucy grunted softly in annoyance, and estimated its trajectory. There. She pointed the crossbow outwards, waited a couple of seconds, and fired the bolt.

It missed. Again.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

It would be too much to hope that it hadn't noticed the bolt flying past it. After all, the bolt had shot by right in front of its face. She hurriedly reloaded the crossbow, trying to get off another shot before the skin walker escaped.

Fumbling with the catch, it was little later when she looked up, the bolt slid home, and saw the figure splashing back into the river. Sprinting out into the open, she arrived at the edge of the river, muttering expletives under her breath.

*