Solo Out of the starting gate

[Havoc]

Summer 30, 510 I remember it clearly, though I was quite young at the time – perhaps halfway through the first year of my life. I had only just begun shifting. It seemed to coincide with leaving off suckling from my mother’s breast, for as I grew more independent of her, able to putter about on wobbly legs – it was already readily apparent that I was Kelvic, like my parents. No human child grows as fast as my kind do. A worker at the Institute once asked me what it was like, to shift – was it something I chose to do, deliberately – or did I have to think about it for a moment, or more? I suppose it must be odd, for humans, to consider such a thing. But for me it was as simple as breathing, something unnoted almost, though of course I can shift at will. Those first few times, I suppose I was anxious to get to know my other form, for I knew it rested just under my human skin. My mother was there, those first times, and I do not believe that she realized that I was a Bloodbane. Not every foal has some distinctive mark to denote its breed. And many human children have easily ignited tempers and can be quite volatile. So my nature – that of an irascible, defiant, physically inclined toddler – wasn’t necessarily a blatant clue as to my animal self (though my father once mentioned that he had thought I would shift into bear or wolverine, so vicious and capricious was my temperament). In any case, those first two or three times I believe my parents, and their master, thought me to be just a horse – a foal, of course. A reddish brown coat with black points and a white star – nothing exceptionally handsome, or rare. But on this day – the one I recollect so clearly – they learned differently. My mother was at work in the large kitchen of the grand house – my then master and mistress were well off – and I was sitting on the floor, playing a simple game of trying to catch dust motes in my small hands, as they floated in a beam of sunlight shining through a window. I heard a rustle, over behind the stone sink, and I rose, and without thought I shifted, so that where a child of about three stood, there was now a foal, of weanling age and size. My mother was paying me no heed, as my nostrils flared, pricking at the scent of the creature over there, in the dark corner. As silent as a shadow, I picked my way carefully across the stone flags of the floor, and the rustling grew more distinct. Perhaps the rat was bold in its assurance that it had nothing to fear from a baby horse. My mother turned as she went about her work, and seeing me she made some passing remark – I don’t recall what – but she then either spotted or heard the same rodent that I was…tracking. She gave a little screech – more of ire than fear – and the vermin fled. But, alas for it, it fled in the wrong direction. I apparently stood in the path of its location under the sink and where it wished to go, for it came straight for me. Instead of shying, or bolting, as many a skittish colt might have done, I reared up a little, and with good accuracy for such a beginner, I struck downwards with my hoof, squarely on the rat’s back, snapping its spine. The blow also broke the things skin, and a most delectable aroma of still pumping blood filled my nostrils, which flared with delight. With no hesitation – no thought, really – my head lowered and I tore into the still breathing rodent, making quick work of what little flesh there was to be had from its frame. The sound of bones crunching between my teeth was satisfying beyond compare, as was the taste – oh, the taste was sweeter than any drop of my mother’s milk. I chewed, a bit, and swallowed other chunks whole, like a wolf – or so I heard my mother tell my father, when he came in from his own work later that evening - for I had never seen a wolf, then. My poor mother – for a long moment it had not occurred to her to guess what type of horse I was, and she could only stare, aghast, as I polished my first meal of meat off quickly and with relish. When I turned to her, she was white, like a sheet, and she hastened to wipe my gore grimed muzzle. I myself was quite beside myself with pleasure, but that soon ended, for when I shifted back to boy, she slapped a leather leash about my neck, looking at me as if I had grown another head. I was furious, and kicked and hit at her, and tried to bite her, but she picked me up and shut me in the cupboard, fastening it from without. Despite my pounding, she left me in there until my father was returned. It was my father who let me out, many hours later, and I tried to bite him too, but he took me in an expert grip by my hair, holding me at a distance, for he was well used to my temper, and he hauled me straight off to see the master. My father, having work that took him outside the house much more so than my mother’s duties, was quick to guess what was afoot, and he knew that his master would be intrigued by this discovery. I remember that opulent (to my eyes) room – my master’s study, I would guess. My life to date had been spent in the kitchen and laundry room, and the tiny rectangle of space in the storage room that housed my parents’ bed. So that rapid journey over carpeted floors and up a flight of stairs was one of wonderment for me. I can recall the rich sheen of the master’s well polished desk, and the stiff brocade of the two chairs pulled close to the small fireplace. In my ignorance, I wondered how he managed to cook upon such a small flame. But my thoughts were soon focused on what my father was telling the older man, with some animation. Talk of Bloodbane and Ebonstryfe – things I knew absolutely nothing about. The master came around from his seat behind his desk, and my father warned him not to touch me, and with good reason – though I believe I was so bemused by all these new and strange things that I would have possibly forgotten to try to strike him. Possibly…. I recall how the master kept a wary distance, as my father pulled on my hair in order to bring my face up, so the master could see me better. I remember how the man peered into my eyes, and I willed them to shutter themselves, for even at that age I felt that he had no right – to know my secrets. But that only earned me a cuff on my tiny ear and they flew open again, my indignation clear in their dark depths, and I turned them defiantly on the man who owned me. He tut tutted a few times, and then pronounced solemnly, but with a clear note of avarice in his voice, that I should be returned to the kitchen, with firm instructions to my father to mind that I came to no harm, or it would be his own hide that paid for any scars to mine. With that, we returned to the kitchen, post haste, and my father released me, with severe threats that I behave, and leave off striking my mother, though I already knew, the master’s words would make it that much harder for my parents to curb my tempestuous impulses. While they had an excited and intense conversation in the ingle nook, I went in search of another rat, though I was unsure if I could catch one in my human form. In truth, the earlier episode had been merely serendipitous – in that the rat had run right in front of me. But I distracted myself for the rest of the evening crawling about in the corners and shadows, locating several holes where they came in and out of the wainscoting, and asking my father repeatedly if he wouldn’t consider relieving me of the leash, so I could shift – to which he growled an empathic No! My supper, of bread and a transparent sliver of cheese and a wrinkled apple, seemed dreary and tasteless, and my eyes went up to the rafters above, from which hung suspended the hams and sausages for my master’s meals. Cured meat, though, seemed almost as unappealing, and I went to bed far from satisfied, while my parents whispered together in the dark.