Fun fact! I still haven't figured out whether Shine's a ruminant like deer or a hindgut fermentor like horses!
Ruminations
I fled. My hooves clattered loudly, scraping uncomfortably on the pavement as I sprinted as hard as I could, frantically trying to unfurl suddenly awkward wings, dragging them against the air to escape.
There had to be an explanation. Of course there was, it was me. I couldn’t have done this. I did it. It was me. There was no way I was contagious. I’d ruined her life. It didn’t make any sense. Just because this was a boon to me, didn’t mean it would be a boon to anyone else. There had to be another way this all worked. I’d destroyed her life.
I frantically scraped my wings against the air and fought to get aloft, not paying attention to my escape beyond going away. I tried to think, tried to quiet the clamor of self-reproach. I had to have an option. There had to be a way to find out anything about this whole situation. There had to be someone who knew something.
A scent, a feeling of tightly contained–almost painfully contained–burning echoed through my mind. Of course, he might know. I didn’t know how long The Fancy Man had been…what? Post-transformation? “Like me?” I definitely didn’t know what words he’d use to describe himself. But I was reasonably sure he’d been fully transformed for some amount of time before I’d initially run into him. He’d almost had to have been, surely a change this big would have interrupted his life and job, at least at first. I banked my flight. I hadn’t tried to initiate contact since the night I’d staked him out and given him my own contact information, nor had he tried to connect with me. But as much as I wanted to respect his need for autonomy, he might have the experience to give me the answers I needed.
For Steel. And also to soothe my guilt. And really, knowing anything about how and why these seemingly random transformations happened would be nice. My breath snorted through my nose with each wingbeat, the news station appearing in the distance. I smiled sardonically to myself. Imagine, actually getting answers about anything from a news station.
I was still breathing hard, my fur wet with sweat, when my hooves clattered onto the flat roof of the news building, cloven toes splaying for traction on the concrete. Without the cooling wind roaring by me, I felt hot and tired, my limbs loose and watery. I glanced around for a good hiding place to duck behind. Like the few times I’d come to scope out the Fancy Man’s workplace before finally confronting him, his scent clung to the floor of the roof, despite the breeze. It seemed to be a favored place for him to take breaks or perhaps come up and think. But though it was clearly his spot, I could still catch snatches of the scents of a few humans, probably coworkers who made less frequent visits to the edifice’s precipice. Not anyone I particularly wanted to deal with at the moment, especially in light of the questions buzzing inside my head like angry wasps.
My options of hiding places were limited, but I managed to find a place to huddle that would keep me out of immediate sight of the door to the roof, and hunkered down to wait. I sighed, trying to get comfortable, thoughts that he wouldn’t be up here today, that I’d just waste my time and Steel’s waiting up here biting at me like flies, leaving me twitchy and irritable. I tried not to lash my tail in my anxiety, admonishing myself to hold still.
The door burst open, one voice pouring out with the sounds of two sets of dress shoes emerging from the stairs. I fought to stay still and not blow my cover. The Fancy Man’s co-worker talked at him amiably.
The Fancy Man’s own voice was tight, “That’s great, Derry. Fine.”
“So then, he asked me to actually go camping! I told him, ‘Look, Jake, I love playing squash with you, but I have a wife at home!’ Can you believe it!?”
“...Right.”
“See, Jimmy!”
“James.”
“That’s what I like about you! You’re not one of those gays!”
“What.”
“You actually understand regular people! You’d never hit on a straight guy like me! You’re alright!”
“I’m not…sure. Fine.” The Fancy Man held up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Can I…”
“Oh, sure, sure, your ‘Quiet time,’ right. Those things’ll kill you!”
“If I don’t get them, I might kill you.”
“Haha! Oh, Jimmy,”
“James.”
“You’re a regular card, my man! Have your death sticks, then!”
James’ co-worker left out the roof entrance door, leaving him alone (with me, not that either man knew that). He sighed out his stress, rolling his head back. I felt a little bad to interrupt his break, but…
‘Are we contagious!?’ I burst out.
And then he burst. Into a whole-ass dragon. Whoops.
