A Dream Come True

I feel like I'm falling, but I can't see! Everything's pitch black...

Ugh, now it's too bright! He instinctively raises his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding light. He notices something peculiar — his hands are tiny.

Are these my hands?

Above him, hands come in to grab him. Am I being picked up? I'm a full-grown man, you know — I may be skinny, but I'm not that light.

The woman who just grabbed him has a serious expression on her wrinkled face. A white cloth, tightly wrapped around her head, hides all but a few strands of brown hair. She wears a black wool dress over a baggy white undershirt. Who is she? Some kind of maid — she's dressed like one. Who dresses like that in this day and age?

His eyes wander around the room, looking at the wooden ceiling and walls. Is this a log cabin? Where is the drywall?

His gaze moves to a bed — a rather fancy one, topped with a canopy. Lying on the bed is a woman breathing heavily, covered in sweat. Her fair skin is complemented by long, dirty blonde hair. Her reddish-brown eyes, half hidden by a pained squint, are striking.

A man kneels beside her, with short deep-brown hair, streaked with strands of gray. His stern brown eyes, match with the scar on his cheek. A very gentle hold on the woman's hand contrasts his harsh exterior. The sleeves of his deep-blue tunic are rolled up, and the frayed hem hangs low to the floor over his brown pants.

Taking in his surroundings, he comes to a realization: that woman looks like she just gave birth, and this maid picked me up... am I a baby?

Ah, this makes sense. I've been reincarnated. I got hit by that police car and died.

The woman lying on the bed must be my mother. The man... my father? He looks older, though.

The maid wraps him in cloth and rubs his chest vigorously. Her face grows more concerned as she speeds up.

What is she doing? Why is she rubbing me like that? Oh! It's bad for an infant not to cry after birth, right?

He fills his lungs with air, letting out a feeble and halfhearted wail.

The maid lets out a sigh of relief, says something to the parents, and hands him over to the mother.

As the three talk, he glances at each mouth. I can't understand what these people are saying. This language... it kind of reminds me of Middle English. I remember hearing how it sounds in some of my history classes — is this just a thick accent that I can't understand?

I still have to wonder where exactly I am. I guess the first thing I must do is learn the language here.

>>>

His mother sits in a chair next to a cradle. Her dirty blonde hair, now braided, is draped over her left shoulder. Dribbles of milk roll down her large bosom, sliding off her white undershirt and soaking into the lap of her brown wool dress as she breastfeeds.

Man, it's hard to get a good grip on these huge things, He thinks, gawking at her breasts.

A liquid stream of poop shoots out of his bottom. Aw man, not again.

"Oh no, my sweet, did you soil yourself again?" She says, setting him down in the cradle.

"I'll be right back to clean you up."

He frowns. I can't believe I'm having accidents like this as a twenty-seven-year-old man. I should be able to control my bowels. How humiliating.

The woman reenters the room carrying a wooden bucket of water and a few cloths. She wipes his butt thoroughly.

She tightly swaddles him in a fresh cloth before exiting the room.

Left on his own, his mind starts to wonder.

It's been — what, a few weeks. I still can't believe I actually reincarnated. I wasn't particularly religious before, so does everybody get reincarnated? Am I supposed to remember my previous life?

I wonder what happened to that dog? Hopefully he got to a vet.

He starts squirming in the cradle. My butt is stinging again. Why does she only wipe me with a wet cloth? I'd love a bath right about now!

I get that my parents are part of a weird traditional community — so no modern clothes or electricity. But does that mean no running water too?

I need to do something to get my mind off it — I could practice my speaking again.

"Morn—ing Ca—ta—l—na."

He slowly sounds out the words, making sure to practice the pronunciation.

"Go—od day Ran—dolf..."

He stops. His vocal exercise is interrupted by his mother standing in the doorway.

Her face utterly shocked, she drops the clothes she was holding and rushes to the cradle. She scoops him up, and bolts out the door toward the stairs.

"Randolf! Randolf! Osric said our names!" She runs down the stairs, yelling as she moves through the house.

She swings open the front door and finds Randolf in the front yard, playing with a child brandishing a wooden sword.

"Catalina, dear? What's wrong? Are you all right?" Randolf rushes over to Catalina as she falls to her knees.

"Osric... said our names," she says between gasps for air.

"Were you running? You're supposed to be resting!" Randolf helps Catalina back to her feet.

"Randolf! He said our names!" Catalina pouts at Randolf, looking for acknowledgement.

"I believe you, dear, just calm down," Randolf says, stabilizing her.

The boy stops playing and bolts over, curiously gazing at Osric.

"Look at his shiny blonde hair, and his red eyes," the boy says, crowding Catalina.

"Give them some space." Randolf puts his arm out, barring the boy.

"This is your soon-to-be training partner, Osric." The boy ignores Randolf, fixated on Osric.

Osric, uninterested in the conversation unfolding before him, has his eyes set on something in the distance: a peculiar-looking man unloading boxes out of a horse-drawn wagon.

Thick off-white fur covers his whole body. Pointed ears stick out the top of his head, and a snout protrudes from his face. A thick metal collar is around his neck. The single chain link on the front jingles as he moves. His hands, gripping a wooden box as he lifts it, more closely resemble paws.

What am I looking at right now? A man in a furry costume... why would he wear that on such a hot day? That sun is sweltering. A kid's birthday party? No, he's working. A mascot maybe—a mascot for what?

The Wolfman turns around, revealing a tail poking out from between his ragged shirt and drawers. He flicks it back and forth.

Okay! That tail just moved. If that was a guy in a costume, he couldn't do that.

If this truly is an anthropomorphic wolf, then that changes everything. This isn't Earth, it's a different world, a fantasy world.

What could this mean? Is there magic, monsters, and adventurers? Could I become a wizard? What about cat girls?

This is a dream come true!