Free The Golden Swan by Nancy Springer

had never considered that I could be anything except a wolf and a man. But the dream bore me up.… My paws were hooves, my body a massive thing on absurdly thin legs, my neck lithe and long. I snorted and awoke myself to discover that I had strayed some distance from Frain. I was the gray horse, and I was eating twigs. The green taste of them shocked me more than anything else about the change. I had never been fond of greens.
    Well, I told myself, it is only for a few days. I hoped that was so.
    When Frain awoke in the morning, his eyes lit on me with a look of startled joy and he came gently over and caught me by the forelock. “Good horse,” he whispered. “I am glad you are amenable.” Then he called, “Dair!” and looked all around him eagerly.
    This was a problem—he did not recognize me. I nudged him in the ribs with my sizable nose.
    â€œOof!” he protested. “Dair! Come see this!” he called more loudly, beginning to look worried. I did not often leave him for long or roam far away for fear that slavers or something might harm him. “Where the bloody flood can he have got to?” Frain muttered.
    I could not change back to wolf or man again to show him. At least I did not think I could without losing the horse.
    â€œDair!” he shouted, forgetting all caution.
    Here I am! I growled, butting him hard with my head. I am sure he had never heard a horse growl before. He whirled and let go of my forelock, stepping back to stare at me.
    â€œDair?” he whispered.
    I nodded hugely. But horses nod for any number of reasons, including flies, and Frain looked doubtful.
    â€œIf you are really Dair,” he said, “paw with your right front hoof three times.”
    I did it promptly. I was not proud when it came to pleasing him.
    â€œNow the left, twice,” he ordered.
    He still did not believe me! I pawed hard, annoyed. I laid back my ears at him and rolled my eyes. Frain stared at me a moment longer, then began to laugh, loudly and a bit wildly. “Dair, a horse!” he whooped. “I must be losing my mind—well, why not? You make a ridiculous horse. Your mane is nothing but bristles and your hair sticks out in all directions as if it is trying to be fur.”
    I reared back and wheeled away from him, affronted. He came after me at once, still snickering but contrite. “Dair, don’t be angry,” he soothed. “I’m sorry—I am just surprised, that is all—here I stand, apologizing to a horse!” A fresh fit of merriment swept him up, but he sobered at once when I snorted at him. “And full of humble gratitude,” he added. “Please don’t be angry. I’ll get my things ready at once.”
    He hastily broke camp. He placed one blanket on me, folded, by way of saddle, and put the other over my rump with the packs slung on top of it. “How am I to mount you?” he asked, still with mirth in his voice. “I am as weak as a newborn pup.”
    We managed it with the aid of a stump. I bowed to my foreknees to receive him. Then I straightened, and he laid his head on my neck as we worked our way through the trees. All my anger left me at that touch. I went as softly as I could, trying not to jostle him. As soon as we reached an open space I eased into a trot, as wolflike a trot as I could make it.
    â€œSuch gaits!” Frain marveled from my back. “It is like riding smooth water, sitting on a gray cloud. Even the packs lie steady. Dair, you wonder, you make a superb horse. I am so sorry I laughed at you.”
    He had been laughing at himself or at fate, I saw that now. I trotted on contentedly. Being a horse was not nearly as satisfactory as being a wolf—horses think of uncouth things, rivalry and grazing and sore hocks and submission and mares, and I felt all the nervousness of the prey, the grass-eater, I who liked meat—still, there was the power of my massive body to be