The air smelled different than normal, stranger; she could swear there was metal in every breath. It was heavy with rain and the sort of shivery electricity that heralded a truly magnificent storm. Preacher might have been worried about being caught out in it, but she was tucked in her bed, an extra blanket across her feet – or so she thought. It seemed as though even her dreams took her here; to bullshit magic land, which would shortly become bullshit rainy land. This was kind of unfair, she thought. Preacher didn’t necessarily seek out this place awake, but her sleeping brain had betrayed and dumped her here anyway in one giant '******** you'. But still she was only half-way here. Her bare feet left no imprints in the soil, although she felt every damn stone’s sharp edge, felt every half-rotted leaf try to stick to the balls of her feet. With a growl, she shifted, her body morphing, compacting down into the small mink she preferred. A crack of thunder sounded overhead and she ducked into the woods, chocolate brown fur almost the perfect camouflage.

One day, she’d figure out a fail proof way of moving between both her version and this version of Ashdown, but until then, she was trapped, more or less. At the mercy of stupid magic too old and large to combat; it'd be like fighting, well, the rain. She scurried forward just as the first fat rain drops began to fall. Preacher cursed, once, as a cold droplet smacked her squarely on the nose. Since she couldn't just will herself home, it seemed as though finding some shelter would be best. She didn't mind rain normally, but this was icy and it tended to seep into her bones, the chill lingering for days. The first tree trunk she ducked into was inhabited already; dozen of bright eyes stared at her, chittered a warning should she venture further. As much as Preacher liked to fight, tonight was not a night for fighting. She moved on, deeper into the woods, the rain rolling off the high leaves in rivulets and streams. She wanted to go back to her bed, she wanted not to have to deal with magical things, she wanted-

'Were. I see you, little thing. Come... stand under me from out the rain.' Preacher startled and looked up. How had she not noticed the presence of a massive moose? Its voice was soft and deep, eyes yellow and strange somehow. She didn't move. ’If you do not trust me, it is well, but I do offer you only what I can give.’ Preacher heard a chuckle in his voice and he took a few steps closer, massive hooves soundless against the damp leaves and twigs of the underbrush. Perhaps she could not hear them because of the rain that danced across the leaves above. She sighed and skittered underneath him. It didn't hurt to try and make magical-ish friends, or something, right?

"How did ya know? That m'were n' s**t." He had been right; his body blocked out all of the rain and while the leaves underneath him were damp, they were only slightly so. Preacher wondered how long he'd been standing in the same place. Weirdo. 'I have seen you before, hither and there. I knew that you could talk - that is rare. I knew that you enjoy being much a small, fierce thing. I know what you hate as well.’ The voice rumbled above her like the thunder that accompanied the storm, slow, a hair's breadth away from sounding stilted. It echoed, but softly, as though two people were speaking in unison. She frowned, as much as a mink could frown. This guy was really, really weird, but he was also a talking moose, so it was to be expected. She figured he needed the practice talking.

Preacher waited a moment to see if he would elaborate - he did not. "What I hate? That's a ******** lotta s**t, m'dude, n' mebbe if we got like ten years, ya can get through tha list.” She snorted, the sound strange within her smaller form. “But I’ll play ball – what do I hate, then?” Preacher wished she could see his eyes, but wasn’t sure she could glean any information from his facial expressions. Did moose… meese…. mooses(?) even have facial expressions? There was a moment of silence and the moose shifted above her. Until then, she hadn’t realized how utterly still he was.

’The pack touch. You despise it, I know.’ If she could have, Preacher would have frowned. She couldn’t deny it and suddenly felt that, even if she had tried to, he would know. This was grade-A magical bullshit right here, that’s what this was. Maybe the rain was a better option. But… there was also the issue of her massive curiosity. Preacher could always bolt later. She still felt her ears flatten, though.

“How d’you know that? N’ who are ya, anyway?” The rain poured down around them, somehow almost deafening.

Something creaked. 'I am shifting,' he said. 'I know what you wish and I can take it from you, small mink.' Another creak. Preacher looked up from the dampened leaves only to be greeted by the moose's eyes, glittering as if lit from within. His neck had elongated, twisted down and around so that he could stare at Preacher where she crouched underneath him. His mouth was open, just a bit, though his lips did not move when he spoke. All of Preacher's fur stood abruptly on end and she hopped backwards awkwardly. What the ********, what the ******** what the- Preacher whirled around. The rain was damn better company than this. She tried to duck out between the moose's back legs, but suddenly his face was there, too, eyes wide, rain dripping from his chin. A hiss of breath, of steam escaped his lips. Preacher shrieked. This wasn't possible; ********, there was magic, it was possible, but it was so full of holy ******** s**t what is that thing that she froze for a second. Then she feinted to the left, then zoomed out from underneath the creature, heart beating one hundred miles a minute.

She swore she could feel the weight of his gaze as she ran, scalding upon her back, but Preacher didn't really feel like looking back. Still, his voice followed her. 'When you cannot bear it, come back to me, were. I will take the thing you so hate. I can free you.' Again, she heard the faint tendrils of laughter in his voice. Preacher did not stop moving until she felt asphalt under her paws and, even then, she continued. The more distance from freaky s**t, the better, she decided, shivering all over. Miss her with that bullshit.


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The voice: here