Dreams and Secrets

The morning sun spilled golden light over the hills, painting the fields in warm tones. A thin mist clung to the grass, curling around Ren’s boots as he nudged the goats along the pasture fence. Their bleats carried lazily in the breeze.

Annalise walked beside him, her straw hat tilted low over her eyes. Her basket swung at her side, half-filled with herbs she had picked from the edges of the field.

“You herd goats like an old man,” she teased, stepping over a muddy patch. “Slow, stubborn, and with no sense of urgency.”

Ren smirked. “And yet my goats never wander into trouble. Yours, on the other hand, once tried to chew on an adventurer’s hat.”

“That was one time,” she protested, though her grin betrayed her. “And he forgave me.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the sound of bells around the goats’ necks filling the air. Beyond the pasture, the forest rose like a dark wall, the pines swaying gently in the wind.

“Did you hear?” Annalise’s tone shifted, quieter now. “There was another bandit attack in the forest. A merchant was killed and his wares were stolen.”

Ren glanced toward the treeline but kept his expression neutral. “Bandits this close to the village?”

“That is what people are saying.” She nudged a clump of grass with her boot. “And there have been more wolves. My father says he found prints by the creek. There has to be at least thirty of them.”

Ren’s heart gave a faint, almost guilty flutter. He knew why the wolves were bold, coming closer to the village. He was their leader now and he could feel the pull of the moon even in daylight. His other self, the one that could smell every heartbeat in this field, stirred at the mention of the forest. But Annalise’s eyes were clear and earnest, and he forced himself to shrug.

“Wolves don’t come into the village, so it’s fine,” he said.

“It’s not just wolves,” Annalise shook her head. “Animals have been acting strange. The tanner’s boy swears he saw a deer standing in the middle of the road, staring at him like a person would… and then it just walked away. Not ran. Walked.”

Ren kept his voice light. “Maybe it is just the season. Winter was hard. Animals do odd things when food is scarce.”

She tilted her head, studying him for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. “You never worry much, do you?”

“Not about things I cannot change,” he replied. “I have no grand plans, no distant cities to see, no wish to become an adventurer or a merchant. I like it here. The hills, the forest, the goats… and my parents. That is enough.”

Annalise smiled faintly. “You always say that. Like the world beyond the valley is just a story someone else wrote.”

Ren’s gaze lingered on the treeline again. He did not tell her that he had run under those same trees last night, paws pounding the snow, chasing the hot copper scent of a hare. That the thrill of shapeshifting, the freedom of leaving his human skin behind, was a hunger all its own.

He did not tell her that he was from another world. That he had transmigrated, that he was reborn after trying to save a stray dog on a rainy night in Japan. He had no grand plans of being an adventurer, because he already was having a grand adventure living as a skinwalker in this world.

“I suppose I am happy being a small part of a small world,” he said. “Someone has to keep the goats from chewing on adventurers.”

She laughed, the sound carrying on the wind. “Then I hope you never change, Ren.”

For a moment, he wondered if she would still say that if she knew what his shadow looked like under the moonlight.

It did not matter. It was a good life they lived, and he hoped it never changed.