Black-fletched arrows whizzed by their heads as the two lonely, human soldiers ducked down and alley and behind the building. It was hardly a reprieve - the warcry of goblins screamed at them still, and the rest of their platoon was who-knows-where - but they took it all the same to catch their breath and reload the old fashioned pistols. Rifles were already spent and useless, with hardly a dent in the small horde.

"Radio's still down?" the first soldier whispered, somehow keeping his cool despite the futility of their situation. Maybe it was his experience, which showed in the ruggedness of his features, about his eyes and in his beard. Maybe he knew something the other didn't. Neither really helped his comrade.

"Nothing but static, Ferr! Shit!" the second, much younger soldier swore, and he nearly threw the pointless object away. "It's completely jammed! When did the goblins learn to do that?"

"Probably around the same time they raided that factory last month," Ferr said morosely - then noticed the doom spreading in his comrade's eyes. He playfully bopped his left fist against the other soldier's chest. His bearded smile stretched wide (and only looked half forced). "Come on, Ace. We're not done. Don't quit on me now."

"We're down to three clips, no radio, no reinforcements, and they've probably got their shamans preparing to take us down even as we speak! So please, please tell me, you've got some kind of magic to fix this!"

Ferr gritted his teeth. He dared to look around the corner of the wall, only for another arrow to get within inches of his head. He jerked back behind cover before another could be sent his way, and faced the private instead. He was about to speak - to make excuses, to try and say his magic just didn't work that way, that he needed time and tools and energy, and none of that was available - but then he saw his eyes again.

Genuine terror makes a most compelling argument.

"…I'm going to get you out, Ace," the soldier said so calmly, it was hard not to believe him. Ferr stood up straight, and before Ace could even ask, the soldier had started taking off his gear and his armored jacket.

"Ferr? Ferr! What are you, what the -!" Ace stood up along with, grabbing at an arm as if to stop him. "You're not throwing - stop that!"

Ferr shoved the grappling hand aside, and wrestled his armored jacket off at last. Quickly he loosened his belt, before he reached for the collar of his shirt - then stopped, and gave the young soldier a cocky wink. "I said we're not done, Ace."

Then the rugged soldier's expression softened with just a little more worry. "But, uh, if you could remember this next week, that'd be really nice."

Ace could only stare in confusion as he watched Ferr suddenly rip open the front of his shirt. "Next week? We - What? What's happening next week?!"

"My discharge," Ferr said in resignation. Then the rugged soldier hunched half forward. Fists clenched tight just a little bit in front of him, and then it happened - all in a manner of seconds, so fast the younger soldier stumbled back and hit the ground on his ass. Muscle piled on muscle, causing already dense flesh to thicken and grow two times, three times its size, even while a solid coat of fur covered over his hairy flesh. The fur only made sense, to go with the clawed hands and the lupine features suddenly replacing his old face. His height itself added on a good two feet, and two feet of another kind - digitigrade paws - burst what had just been perfectly good boots.

The great, brown-furred werewolf stood over him still wearing Ferr's dog tags and pants, which barely still fit, straining to stay on his thicker legs. The rest of his tattered clothes were brushed off fast.

Ace could only look up and mouth the words that failed to be spoken. The werewolf's body expanded again - this time, in a very large sigh.

"And I really didn't want to go to prison…" Ferr drawled. Then he turned, crouching low enough to get on his hands, getting into what was undeniably a track runner's stance. He breathed again, long and deep, and didn't even look at the soldier behind. "Try not to shoot me in the back, okay?"

Then the wolf was off like lightning - and hit the goblins just as hard.


...


Technically, this was a YCH type commission by Marsel-defender.

I got it a while ago already, but I felt I needed to do it some justice. Between the pose, the background, and of course, Marsel-defender's own amazing anatomy work, it was just so evocative, it deserves its own little place in the character's life.

The wolf above is Ferr Valence. The "Too Tight" passages I wrote way back were about him. At this glimpse of his life, his meager magical abilities afforded him a small measure of control in his lycanthrope form, but not enough to avoid being shipped off to an island penal colony, for werewolves and the like. "Still dangerous."

But he met his wife there, and in time, they adopted their son there, too - Roman Valence, who some of you might recognize as another character of mine. So it wasn't the end. Just a beginning. That, however, is another story...

As always, I enjoy comments. ;)