The voices on the other side of the trees came closer. Alex crouched until his belly brushed the grass, ears swivelling instinctively to catch every sound. His new body moved with a strange combination of clumsiness and instinct; part of him wanted to bolt downhill, another part wanted to freeze.
Through the silver-leafed branches he glimpsed them: three figures, tall and slender, with hair like poured gold and skin that caught the sun. Elves. Real, breathing, bow-carrying elves. Every game, every book he'd ever consumed had prepared him for this moment, but his heart still jack-hammered.
They wore dark green tunics and light leather armour. One knelt and pressed a palm to the earth as if feeling its pulse. Another scanned the horizon, eyes glowing faintly. The third held a staff carved with runes, its tip glimmering.
"The mark moved here," the staff-bearer murmured. "It's close."
Alex clamped his mouth shut to keep from bleating. Mark? Do they mean me? He edged backward a few inches, hooves sinking into soft soil.
He'd written countless forum posts about what he'd do if thrown into a fantasy world. Now he had to actually do it. The first rule of survival: information before action. Let them talk.
"They say it will be born among the beasts," the kneeling elf said. "But this—this feels different."
"They also said it would be clever," the one with the bow added. His eyes flicked towards the grass where Alex hid. "Clever enough to hide."
A flicker of amusement cut through Alex's fear. Compliment accepted. But the blue glow beneath his wool pulsed faster, like a heartbeat. He pressed his foreleg over it, trying to smother the light.
His mind raced. Play dumb animal? Run? Approach? In all his games, elves were beautiful but dangerous—masters of magic, suspicious of outsiders. A lamb with a glowing rune might look like a prophecy or a sacrifice.
The staff-bearer straightened, eyes narrowing. "There," he whispered.
Alex bolted.
His body launched forward without warning, hooves drumming the ground, fleece bouncing. Wind tore at his ears. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity: his first minutes in a magical kingdom and he was already running for his life as livestock.
A flash of light scorched the grass where he'd been. A spell? He zigzagged instinctively, trying to make himself a harder target. His legs moved faster than he thought possible, a four-beat rhythm that kicked up dirt and flowers.
Okay, he thought, I'm fast. That's something. Use it.
He darted downhill and into a thicket of silver-leaf trees. Branches slapped his fleece but didn't slow him much. Behind him the elves' voices rose—commands, incantations. A gust of magic whooshed past, flattening the grass.
He skidded to a halt at a creek. Clear water rushed over stones, sparkling like liquid crystal. On the opposite bank the forest thickened into shadow. He hesitated for half a heartbeat. Then he leapt.
For a terrifying moment he thought he'd misjudged; his front hooves hit the far bank but his back ones slipped. He scrambled, wool dragging in the water, and hauled himself out, dripping. The cold shocked him awake.
He stumbled into the shadows under the trees. His lungs heaved; his heart thundered. He pressed himself against the rough bark and risked a glance back.
The elves stood on the other side of the creek, watching. The staff-bearer lowered his glowing rod. "Let it go," he said. "The river's border wards will hold it for now. We'll find it again."
The bowman frowned. "It moved like no beast I've seen."
"That's because it isn't just a beast," the staff-bearer replied. "And if the oracle is right, it will come to us on its own. Curiosity always wins."
They turned and melted into the silver-leaf forest, their footsteps soundless.
Alex let out a long breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Water dripped from his fleece in tiny rivulets. His hooves trembled from exertion but also from excitement.
Elves. Magic. A glowing mark. And they thought he was clever. Not some helpless animal. A player on the board.
He lowered his head and laughed silently. I'm not going to be their pet prophecy. I'm going to figure this world out first, then decide who uses who.
A rustling above interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. Two yellow eyes peered down from a branch—a fox-like creature with feathered ears and a tail tipped in fire. It blinked slowly, then spoke in a dry, amused voice.
"You run well for a lamb," it said.
Alex's jaw dropped. "Baa?" he managed.
The creature tilted its head. "Your tongue isn't ready yet. But your mind is awake. Good. Follow me before they send hunters."
It leapt to another branch, tail flaming brighter, and vanished into the trees.
Alex stared after it. A talking fox-thing with fire. Of course. Why not.
He shook himself, water spraying from his wool. His instincts screamed to stay hidden, but his curiosity—and his antihero instincts—whispered: Information before action. If the creature knew what he was, he needed to hear it.
He stepped into the shadowed path where the fox had gone.