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A crisp full moon hangs high in the late-night sky, casting shadows through the dark woodland below. A chilly November wind rustles the fallen leaves. Shafts of moonlight twinkle between dancing branches. The light falls on an Alsatian dog. It looks up briefly before continuing to snuffle through the undergrowth. Its paws crunch across the frozen earth. Even though the air is cold, its skin is warm under a layer of thick fur.
What a strange new form my body has taken. I can smell things I’ve never experienced before. I can see much further in the dark than I could as a fourteen-year-old-boy. It all seems surreal. If it wasn’t for Grams, who knows I can transform into a dog, I’d think I was crazy.
There’s a noise up ahead. My ears perk up. I recognise the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of beating wings. I move cautiously towards the sound. At the edge of the woodland a row of houses looms. I am wary of them; their unfamiliar smells make my hackles rise.
The source of the commotion glides down from the sky – a Tawny owl. It lands on a large dead tree trunk. My heart thumps with excitement. I love owls. I love all creatures, really, but I’m thrilled at the thought of seeing the owl so close. I move carefully in its direction. I don’t want to scare it away. It settles its wings along its back and turns its head this way and that. Its large round eyes scan the woods. Then it ruffles its feathers and something unbelievable begins to happen. I freeze, one foot suspended in the air, as the owl starts to expand before my eyes. What’s going on? I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them wide. The bird is still growing – swelling and stretching unnaturally, its feathers shrinking into pink flesh. Instead of wings it now has arms. Its legs are growing long. Suddenly a human being is standing where the owl was perched. It turns sideways, and I briefly see its face before it disappears behind the tree trunk. The image is seared onto my retinas. I know that face. It’s Clara. My friend.
My world jolts violently, and my brain begins to buzz. I’m ice-cold, from the tips of my pointed ears to the ends of my claws. I begin to shiver. Before I can make any sense of what’s happening, Clara reappears from behind the tree trunk. She runs to her house, apparently unaware she’s being watched. Unable to blink, I stare while she slips in the back door and out of sight. A few moments later a bedroom light is switched on, then off again. I am alone in the dark once more.
My brain refuses to make sense out of what I’ve seen. I shake my head to try to clear it. Clara – a shape-shifter, like me? I‘m not yet used to the idea that I can change into a dog, so to discover my new friend can transform into an owl is too much for me. I shake my head again. It can’t be. A couple of weeks ago my life was ordinary – well, as ordinary as the life of a Gypsy can be. And now....
I suddenly find myself running. The brush whips against my face and body, the stinging lashes my only connection to reality as I race back to the safety of my camp. Back to my people. Back to Grams. Yes, Grams will know what’s happening. She’ll know what to do. I’ll tell Grams.