"Follow my lead," my mother said as she pulled the pelt tightly around her shoulder. I clutched the furs draped over my small frame and watched as she burrowed into the nearby shrubbery, cloaking herself in the chilly night air. Her silver eyes flicked at me and directed mine to distant lanterns roaming along the road. "Stay low, let me do all the work, and don't leave your skin."

Her scarred hands slid the head of her wolf pelt over her tattooed face. The gray fur melded to her shape as she lowered herself onto four limbs. I followed her lead and shakily pulled my own small pelt over my head. She broke into a sprint, letting loose a piercing yell that is soon followed by a distant chorus of howls. I struggled to keep up. I glanced over my shoulder and saw gray shapes darting through the dark field.

Before I could turn my attention forward, my front leg caught a protruding rock, throwing me forward onto my snout and scraping my chin raw. My mother growled, "Recover! You'll never survive like that." I clambered back up onto my legs and pushed on.

The sea of wolves behind me got closer and closer, wiping away my three-pawed tracks like I was never there. The heavy panting of their sprint was almost louder than the thud of my heart. Almost.

My mother got there first. Planting her feet, she snarled and inched closer to the travelers. Time slowed as the scraggly man driving the cart whipped the singular horse pulling them. My mother darted and lunged forward, sinking her teeth into the muscular hindquarter of the steed. I slowed to a trot, and the pack of wolves rushed passed to help my mother take the horse to the ground.

The man and his family clambered down from the cart and screamed for help only to be met with the gnashing of teeth. Several of the wolves circled the family. Horse blood matted the fur around their stained teeth. I joined the pack and attempted my own pitiful snarl. I locked eyes with the family's young boy. He saw me, and he was not afraid. He cocked his head to the side like a wolf pup, watching me curiously. He saw me. My mother let out another howl, and the wolves halted with their eyes focused on the cowering parents and curious boy.

I glanced back to my mother who had shed her wolf skin. Her thin clothes covering only the essentials and showing off her bronzed flesh and tattoos. I heard the father breathily exclaim,

"Witch!"

Her response, "Run."

The mother scooped up her son and began sprinting away from us. The father pulled a rusty knife from his leather boots. The wolves scoffed and circled the man, taunting him while his wife and son made their escape. I was grounded in my place, watching the scene unfold.

A wolf lunged at the man, ripping the knife from his grip. A wolf bolted across the field towards the mother. A scream shook the air. My mother began ripping meat from the horse with her bare hands and tucking it in one of the family's cloth sacks. She yelled at the wolves, and the snarling ceased. The only thing that could be heard was the man gasping through bloodied airways. She whistled, and the wolves ran over to the remains of the horse. She grabbed her wolf pelt, pulled it over her face, and trotted towards the forest.

I caught up with her. I thought of the boy and the family. "Mother, what's a witch?"

"It's a mean word. We are Skinwalkers."