"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Most days, he prefers the form of something powerful and dangerous. But today is not most days. Instead, he finds himself in the mood to be so small that most things simply look right past him. His twitching nose picks up the scent of a dandelion and he skitters along on tiny feet in search of the golden prize. It is nearby, he determines, and he eagerly chitters his teeth as he noses his way through the tall meadow grasses. There are many hooves to dodge and he gives each one an angry bweep! before carrying on with his adventure.
But it is all worth it when he finds the treasure that is a dew-covered dandelion in full bloom. The blue marbling of his coat shines in the sunlight that bleeds between tall wild grasses as he plucks the blossom with tiny teeth. He closes his eyes and chews feverishly as he wonders how this day could get any better. After all, everyone knows a guinea pig loves eating wild flowers.
But a new scent finds him sniffing around once more. This one is not a tasty treat but rather a creature, judging by the smell of fur, but it is not one he recognizes. Spirit picks up a tiny trot that leads him to the base of a tall tree. And just what is resting beneath that small tree, you might ask? A young cat, naturally. His newfound prey instincts cause him to give a wild BWEEP of panic as he hurries in the opposite direction. He can hear the feline rise and follow behind him as he dives back into the meadow grasses. It does not occur to him that he could simply resume his natural form as shoo the cat away as his brain fills with guinea pig terror.
As he runs, he purposely runs beneath several hooves in an effort to get the predator stepped on. A horrified shriek can be heard from his little lungs as he runs as quick as his short legs will carry him. The shriek is cut short when he runs nose-first into an equine leg, toppling him onto his side. This is it, he thinks. The end of Spirit! He cowers, hiding his face beneath two piggie claws as he prepares to meet his demise.
So far, the day had been spent rather lazily - she had been practicing a couple of her shifts and had been enjoying being a cat. She was in the middle of preparing her speech for her mother when she needed to justify falling out of this tree after climbing it later when something approached. She even thinks the word ‘something’ because the BWEEP causes her to whip around just in time to see a round shape scurry off.
So she chases him. Chases him because he runs before she can get a good look at him, and because she wants to test out this feline form a little bit now that she has abandoned her climbing plan. The noise he had made when he spotted her was just ridiculously adorable and she wants to know if he’ll make it again. What if she presses down on those chubby little sides and gives him a good squeeze? Just enough to see the eyes bulge a little bit, not enough to hurt.
Although she’s found that she has the most fun playing in predator shapes, there’s no part of young Maze that wonders what flesh tastes like. So far, anyway.
The chase, through the legs of horses and zigzagging all over the place is exhilarating and a laugh that’s half meow escapes Maze in a rush of delight after a particularly close call from a hoof. Eventually though, the chase ends when the funny creature runs into an equine leg. Mazikeen snickers as she slides ungracefully to a stop, hissing when she steps on her own tail in the process.
The horse he had run into gives the pair a quizzical look before moving off - and that’s when the kitten-that-is-Mazikeen lowers herself to the ground - lying her head in her paws as she blinks orange eyes as the odd little creature. “What are you?”
The trail towards the East had started off well and fun enough, but the past few days had turned into a dreadfully boring expedition of the most boring kinds of rocks and trees alongside the same old boring clusters of grazers and gossipers. Where was the diversity? Where was the adventure? Where were the interesting people?! Certainly not here in the Meadow. He hoped they had all gone eastward too.
A weird shrieking sound comes from somewhere nearby, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. These people in Beqanna could do some strange things, and some of them were into some strange things. It wasn’t really his business, and so it didn’t really concern him for the most part, unless somehow it came to involve him. Which funnily enough, ended up being his very last thought before something soft bounced against his leg, but it’s so brief that he initially brushes it off as a blade of grass rubbing against it, pushed there by the wind’s influence. That was until he saw the cat sliding past, coming to a stop right next to him and an obviously terrified little rodent type thing.
His first instinct is to keep moving, and he does to start. Just a few steps away, but then he stops - turning back to see predator lurking over top prey. Unclear of what her intentions might be, he sighs, settling on this as a perfectly good excuse to hear the answer of just exactly what that thing was.
“It looks soft,” he said walking up next to them again and answering her before the tiny creature could. “And squishy.” He’d never seen anything that before - something so furry and round and small. Nerve turns his head this way and that as if to study it, and wonders...could he turn into it? In the blink of an eye he’s gone, and where the lanky yearling stood a second before is the rotund body of a Capybara. Leaning over the fluffball, he stares down his large, broad nose, teeth gnashing together, “Did I do it? Am I what you are? Bweep?”
He understands now why his father always chose larger prey animals – they have more fight to them and their instincts do not cloud his own. But this lesson comes entirely too late. He hears her soft paws creeping closer and he braces for her attack. Dying was not the worst thing, Risk had told him. Rather than claws and teeth, however, it is her voice that reaches him. His round ears perk up and he peeks between his tiny clawed hands to look at her with bright green eyes. What is he? Slowly, suspiciously, he lowers his little arms and watches her.
The stranger he collided into comes circling back just then and he tilts his head at the remark. Soft? Him? He gives himself a few exploratory pats and discovers that he is indeed quite silky and fluffy. The squishy remark draws his gaze sharply upward, however, and he offers an offended sort of chittering.
And then the other boy changes to a towering version of Spirit. He lets out a startled bweep!” and cowers back. Oh, enough of this easily rattled shape, he thinks! He twists and bends until he is himself once more – smoky black with that odd blue marbling across his sides.
“No, you’re entirely too big. But at least you aren’t so easily trampled!” he offers with a warm sounding laugh before he turns to the cat. “I’m sorry for running. I get scared so easily when I’m tiny.”
And he laughs again, but this time the expression is more nervous and it is formed out of embarrassment as he tries to smile. Spirit has never made friends before and so it does not dawn on him how strange it is to have gathered not one but two other shifting children. After all, each of his parents take on other shapes all the time. It would seem more bizarre to him if these two always were trapped in the same bodies every second of every day.
“Oh! My name is Spirit, by the way. Who are you” he asks, his smile now more genuine and eager.
Their friend the colt does not move off and is the first to answer Maze-the-cat’s question - to which she nods and one of her paws twitches forward as though she were going to test the soft and squishy traits for herself. But then the little rodent does it first and she grins a very feline grin.
But then her attention is taken again by the colt who turns into something entirely new! A larger version of the small squishy thing. Maze stands up on her black paws and her orange eyes blink in amazement. For this larger squish, she does take a step forward and tries to bat at his hairy sides with a paw (claws carefully in). “Still squishy though.” She states, but she’s smiling as she does it.
Then the game of who can shift into what continues, when the small squishy turns into a colt! Well that would explain why they could talk. She hesitates but Maze follows his lead. She doesn’t get it right the first time - first becoming a small white calf and then, a moment later, her natural filly shape. She’s embarrassed about that little slip up but decides ignoring it is the best course of action - and these two better follow suit.
“I’m Mazikeen - or just Maze.” She states in a slightly clipped voice, but chases it with something a little more friendly as she moves from embarrassed to curious and excited, a more wild look coming back into her bright orange eyes. “What else can you guys turn into?” She asks them both as a smile grows. While her mother could shift, she’s excited to find two whole other someone’s her own age with the same ability. “I’ve been trying to practice as many different ones as I can.”
The smallest one confirms his suspicions that he hadn’t quite replicated as he had hoped. Nerve did have to look down from a higher vantage point, so he supposed that the height difference should’ve been his first clue. That and the surprise of seeing something a little bizarre in the weird looks they initially gave him. Should’ve been his second clue.
“Still squishy though.” the cat remarks as she gently pats his rounded side and Nerve nods his head in satisfaction. At least he got one thing right. That was good enough!
“Hi Spirit, hi Maze!,” he said cheerfully with a toothy grin, relieved that the pair seemed to be pleasant enough and that he wasn’t about to witness the feline girl try to eat the fluffy boy. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if that had ended up being the case, but he’s thankful his well-wishing had paid off and that he wouldn’t have to find out.
Nerve had watched as they’d switched forms - the boy to a black and blue marbling and the girl to a calf and then a white filly. He noticed her slip up, but he’s done that plenty of times before too, and he knows he probably would do it again someday. So he merely tilts his head in quiet regard and understanding until she asks what else they can shift into. The idea of showing them what he could turn into makes him flush with excitement, and his strange padded feet dance with excitement.
What should he do first? Tiger? Elephant? Chinchilla? Flustered by the possibilities, he struggles to decide on one and focus long enough to work the magic shifting entailed. An ostrich! They’d love an ostrich, he thinks! But when he tries to bend and elongate and grow feathers, he finds that his smallish, round body denies his request to reshape. Puzzled, his cheeks puff out when he tries again, and then again, and once more for good measure, before releasing a heald breath.
“I’m stuck,” he admits through panting episodes, eyes rising to look between them. “Wait. I mean...That’s not my name! I meant, my name isn’t ‘Stuck’. It’s Nerve. And I’m stuck.” he said doing a tight spin as well as his bulbous shape could allow. “Like this.”
This reminds him of that time when he shifted into a cat and got stuck in the trunk of a tree when he was trying to catch a bird for his twin. His eyes widen as he falls silent and still, remembering the trauma of Quiet walking away and basically telling him he was just going to die like that. “Well. I guess I’m going to the death of a squishy blob,” he said distantly, but as casually as he could manage, still staring off into nowhere.
