• The baby was a girl. The house, in which she cried, was made of animal skins and wood. It was in the middle of the tundra. The walls were stained with blood. There was no one within miles of the place, and no one to hear her cry.

    Dune sat bolt upright in the tiny bed, and nearly hit her head on the low ceiling. She gasped, as the sweat dripped down her neck. This was the third time she’d had that nightmare this week. It wasn’t particularly gory, or terrifying, but it was distinctly creepy.

    Dune swung out of the bed, which creaked and wobbled. She licked her lips as she toweled herself off with a dirty shirt, and tasted the saltiness of her sweat. She sighed in disgust, and began the hurried process of wrapping cotton around her chest and stomach, and then around her hips and thighs.
    After that, she yanked on a slightly cleaner, grey shirt. It was rather out style, full in the arms, loose at the waist, and a square cut at the neck, rather than V-shaped. She pulled on the well-worn riding pants, shoved her belongings in to sack, and unlatched the iron lock on the dented, wooden door.
    The hall was dimly lit, and smelled of smoke and wine. The next door over was slightly ajar, and she peeked into the room before passing it. The bed was empty, sheets in a twisted mess, crumpled on the floor.

    She made her way through the smelly inn and tavern, threw down a coin on the bars’ counter, and grabbed piece of bread. The bartender, a surly man with gaunt cheeks, frowned at her as she passed. Dune glared right back.
    She came out the front doors into the small courtyard, and whistled. A young coyote darted out from under a bush, yawning in the process. He glanced up at her, irritated.
    Oh, so what am I now, a pet? His voice resonated in her mind.
    Where were you? Your room was empty. Tell me next time you leave, she growled.
    The coyote glanced sideways at her. I’m not a pup. I come and go as I please. Human beds are uncomfortable, anyway.
    Dune ignored him. Where are my swords? she asked, briskly.
    Hang on, I’m getting them. He retreated back under the bush, and came back out with two steel blades encased in leather scabbards clamped in his teeth. Boy, somebody sure got out on the wrong side of bed.
    Dune grabbed the swords and offered a chunk of bread to the coyote.
    Forget it; he said haughtily, I made my own kill while you were still snoring.
    Dune stuffed the bread in her mouth. I don’t want to hear another word out of you. I want to get to the next town by nightfall, and I don’t need you distracting me, Matte. I got to find some work.
    The coyote glared before responding.
    Yeah, fine, I’ll keep quiet. Don’t call for me to save your a** when you get in trouble, though.
    Dune rolled her eyes.
    Come on. Let’s just get going then.

    They trudged off down the dirt road, a peculiar sight: Matte sniffing here and there, chasing rabbits and rolling in the grass, then trotting back and walking alongside Dune, looking sheepish. Dune just hummed and adjusted her swords as they went.

    As Dune had wished, they arrived in the town by nightfall. Rain had begun to pour down in sheets, and both companions were completely and utterly drenched. The town was definitely a seedy one. Ramshackle houses, dark alleys with suspicious shadows, and some not particularly friendly looking men on a street corner were staring at her.
    Dune walked in to the first tavern she saw, exhausted. She looked at Matte.
    Change now, if you want to come in, she said.
    He glowered, and set himself behind a barrel outside.
    Dune shrugged. Fine. Go catch your food, then. I’m not paying for you.
    It is more honorable than living amongst your own prey, snarled Matte.

    Dune turned, not really hearing Matte, and entered the new tavern. She set her coin on the counter and adjusted the one, fingerless and tattered glove that she always wore on the left hand.
    This time, it was a barmaid that came up to her. She was fairly fat with long, bright yellow curls piled on top of her head, and was joined at the hip with a drunk. He was whispering something in to her ear (Dune didn’t want to know what,) and making her giggle and titter and shove him away.
    Dune went to her default: a scowl. The barmaid finally looked at her.
    “Well, what do you want, sweetheart?” she said poutily, while slapping away the wandering fingers of the drunk, who had a little more than ale in mind.
    “Bowl of stew and some bread.”
    On her way out to the kitchen the barmaid hollered over her shoulder, “Put away those swords, girl. It’s not proper for women to carry weapons.”
    So I’ve been told, thought Dune, but didn’t move.

    The barmaid came back with the bowl of stew and a hunk of hot bread. Dune breathed in the rich scent of garlic, and meat, and even some delicious little chunks of potatoes. It all smelled so delicious, and there was such an amazing background of rosemary behind it all, and Dune had just hopefully dunked her bread in to it when—“GODS PRESERVE US!” screamed the barmaid. “BANDITS!”
    Dune slammed the bowl down in frustration. These damn people and their stupid bandits! And now she had to get involved. She groaned. Great start in a new town.
    She swung around, reluctantly putting down her dinner, and unsheathed her swords. Men clad in ragged leather armor were sweeping across the room, threatening people with their long daggers. Some gutlessly dove under the tables, only to receive brutal kicks from the robbers, or to be trampled by others in a mad dash for the door. One of the men, seemingly in charge, raised his hand.
    “Turn out your pockets and no one gets killed,” he announced in a hoarse shout.
    A man tried to sneak past him, and earned a violent shove and a punch for his troubles.
    “Well?” he demanded, “give me your money--”
    He choked as a blade protruded from his stomach.
    “Oh, shut up,” said Dune disgustedly, and pulled out her sword as his carcass tumbled to the floor.
    She stepped over his body. The other bandits stared, and then attacked. Five were down within a minute. She slashed one across the back, temporarily putting him out of play. Trying to ignore the smell of blood that was driving her crazy, she nailed another in the shoulder.
    By this time the barmaid and civilians had all taken their undignified exit, except the drunk who had seated himself, and was yelling advice as if observing a tournament.
    As she caught the last bandit in the windpipe with the side of her hand, Dune found herself being choked from behind by a man she had knocked out, not just two minutes ago.
    She struggled trying to break his grip. When that didn’t work, she elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted, but that didn’t work either. After kicking him in the shins, Dune found she was beginning to lose air.
    “Matte!” she cried, gagging. “Mattemar!”
    Spots began to flash before her eyes.
    A man slammed the door to the tavern open, and strode over to her. With one fluid movement, his leg whirled in an arc and sent the bandit flying across the room, hurtling towards the drunk who yelped, and dove out of the way. The bandit slid to the floor and did not get up.
    Dune gulped down deep, breaths of air, as the man retrieved her swords from a corner where she had dropped them. His dark brown hair was wild, his face square-jawed, and eyes slanted. The rough pants he wore were rolled clumsily to the knees, and his tattered, hide vest was the only other garment on him.
    He helped Dune to her feet. “Seven minutes,” he said, resignedly. “Not up to your usual standards.”
    She rubbed her throat. “Thanks anyway, Matte,” she said dryly.
    And then Dune remembered something. “My stew!” she screeched, dashing back over to the bar, and began to shovel down great spoonfuls of the cold, gloppy, stuff.
    At least it still tastes good, she thought as she polished off the bread.
    Mattemar shook his head. “You’re as bad as the next human,” he said critically.
    Dune inhaled deeply, the rank smell of blood filling her nose. She stood, and dipped a hand in to a small pool of that had collected by her chair.
    “Would a real human do this?” she asked Matte, licking her hand clean of any trace of blood.
    Mattemar smiled. “No, probably not.”
    “I thought so.” She gathered her swords, and sheathed them.
    “Come on Matte, we have to get going. I need some work.”
    Matte grimaced and rubbed his face. “Fine by me, I smell like a human, and these feet are killing me,” he complained.
    He took a deep breath and fur began to sprout on his face, his nose growing into a snout. A tail grew, and a minute later the coyote was standing beside Dune, sniffing around himself to make sure everything was properly attached.
    “You two have nice trip!” hollered the drunk.
    And then they were off again, after taking some wine and bread from behind the bar, and leaving the bodies behind.
    That night they slept in the woods on the town border, and shortly after dawn began to search for work. Dune was looking for work in the mercenary line, but she and Mattemar, who looked quite irritable in his human form, ended up spending the morning feeding pigs and carrying wood.
    The temple’s tower chimed noon, and Dune collected their earnings from the skeptical and shrew-like housewife.
    “You any good with those things?” she asked Dune curiously, nodding at the swords slung over her back, Dune’s sweat-stained tunic looking deader by the minute.
    “Good enough,” grunted Dune, feeling needled as Mattemar impatiently glared at her from the garden gate.
    “Hmmm,” said the housewife.
    “Why do you ask?” said Dune, beginning to get annoyed.
    “Well,” the housewife said, “I don’t know if a girl like yourself could participate, but there’s a want for a bodyguard from Lord Morticus himself. He’s holding a tournament today to determine who. It’s a very well paid job. Gold to the winner, and all.”
    Dune’s hope rose. “Where’s the tournament?” she demanded urgently, clasping the woman’s apron. “Where can I find it?”
    “To the west of town, past the bell tower. Get your hands off me, girl.”
    But Dune had already dashed down the path, dragging Matte with her.