The colt of the everfree

The distant melody of birdsong filled my ears as I slowly drifted back into awareness. My body felt wrong—heavy, sluggish, unfamiliar in a way I couldn’t quite place. A dull ache settled in my limbs, as though I had been asleep for far too long. Groggily, I attempted to shift, but every movement felt clumsy, as if I were learning to control my own body all over again.

I cracked my eyes open, only to snap them shut as a harsh glare of sunlight seared my vision. Blinded momentarily, I took a shaky breath, trying to steady the growing unease curling in my gut. Something wasn’t right.

Then, I heard it—the low, eerie howls of wolves. Close. Too close. The sound sent a chill down my spine. A rustling in the underbrush made my breath hitch, followed by the unmistakable crunch of paws against the earth.

They were right next to me.

I forced myself to open my eyes, and what I saw made my heart pound against my ribs. Several pairs of glowing green eyes stared me down, their eerie luminance contrasting against the dim shade of the trees. The leader stood at the forefront, a massive beast with sleek, jet-black fur, his lips curled into a snarl that bared long, ivory fangs. His presence radiated dominance, an unspoken warning to the others.

Beside him, a stark-white wolf whimpered, shifting uneasily on its paws. Its eyes—though the same haunting green as the others—held something different. Uncertainty. Hesitation. The white wolf let out a soft whine and nudged my side with its snout before looking toward the black-furred leader.

The larger wolf let out a deep, guttural growl in response, but the white wolf didn’t waver. For a tense moment, they stared each other down in silent conversation. Then, with a huff, the black wolf averted his gaze, seemingly unwilling to challenge the smaller one’s resolve.

That was all the white wolf needed.

Without another moment’s hesitation, it stepped forward, gently gripping the scruff of my neck between its powerful jaws. A wave of disorientation washed over me as my body was lifted from the ground. The sensation was strange—unsettling—but I was too weak to protest.
As I was carried, I finally looked down—and my breath caught in my throat.

Dangling beneath me were… hooves?

My hooves.

The sight sent a jolt of panic through my chest. My legs, once familiar, were now foreign. The soft gray of them stood in stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the forest around me. My heart pounded as I tried to move them, but they responded sluggishly, as if they weren’t truly mine.

What had happened to me?

The wolves moved swiftly through the dense forest, their silent forms weaving effortlessly between the towering trees. The white wolf carrying me held me firm but gentle in her jaws, her grip secure.

I should have been terrified. I should have been fighting, screaming—something. But the overwhelming strangeness of my own body drowned out every other fear.

A single thought echoed in my mind, looping over and over like a forgotten dream.

What am I?

After what felt like an eternity of being carried, the white wolf finally stopped, gently lowering me to the ground in a small patch of thick underbrush. My body hit the earth with a soft thud, and the world around me spun for a moment before I could focus again.

I was surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds, but what caught my attention were the three small gray wolf pups huddled nearby. Their tiny forms were barely more than bundles of fur, their wide, curious eyes fixed on me. One by one, they approached cautiously, sniffing me with an innocent curiosity. Their noses were cold against my fur , and I felt a strange sense of vulnerability as they circled me.

The white wolf, whom I had already assumed was their mother, watched silently from a short distance away. She let out a low sound, something between a growl and a chuff, that seemed to command their attention. Instantly, the pups froze, their small bodies stilling as they turned to face her.

Her gaze was sharp, calm yet commanding, and she locked eyes with each of them in turn. The pups, despite their initial excitement, immediately stopped their investigation of me and sat back, their ears flicking nervously at the sound.

It was clear she was in charge, and I wasn’t sure whether that was a comfort or a warning.

The mother wolf lingered for a moment, her piercing green eyes studying me one last time before she turned and padded away into the underbrush. The rustling of leaves and the soft crunch of her retreating footsteps faded into the distance, leaving me alone with the three wolf pups.

As soon as she was gone, the pups turned their attention back to me, their curiosity reigniting. They inched closer, sniffing at my arms, my legs—one even nudged my face with its tiny wet nose. Their tails wagged hesitantly, as if unsure whether I was something to be feared, played with, or simply ignored.

One particularly bold pup, the smallest of the three, let out a high-pitched yip before pawing at my side. The others, emboldened by its bravery, followed suit, their playful energy a stark contrast to the confusion and exhaustion still weighing down my body.

I let out a slow breath, unsure of what to do. These creatures—so innocent, so unafraid—had no idea who or what I was. And yet, for some reason, their mother had chosen to leave me here with them.

Why?

As the pups continued to investigate me with their small, cold noses and clumsy little paws, I couldn’t help but wonder—was I a guest in this den? A prisoner? Or something else entirely?

When the mother wolf finally returned, she carried something in her jaws—fresh meat, dark and dripping with blood. She stepped into the den and dropped it onto the ground with a soft thud. The three pups perked up instantly, their small bodies bristling with excitement as they eagerly pushed past me, yipping and whining as they tore into the meal.

Before I could process what was happening, the mother wolf turned to me. She lowered her head, gripping another chunk of raw meat, and placed it directly in front of me.

I stared at it. The metallic scent of blood filled my nose, sharp and overwhelming. My stomach twisted—not in disgust, but in hunger.

I should have hesitated. I should have recoiled. But something deep inside me—something instinctual—took over.

Without a word, without thought, I leaned forward and took a bite.

The taste of raw meat, warm and thick with iron, coated my tongue. It should have made me sick. It didn’t.

As I swallowed, my mind raced with a single, horrifying realization.

This felt natural.