We took off like a panic parade.
Me—Saya, the goat version—scampering ahead, bleating with frantic determination. Hooves slipping on roots, tail twitching like a damn metronome. I barely knew where I was going, but I knew it involved headbutting a wizard until my soul came back.
Behind me came the Dragon. Grumbling. Muttering. Muttering loudly.
And dragging my body—that is, the goat-in-Saya—by the ankle like an unruly sack of laundry. She squealed every time a thorn bush got too close. Or sometimes just for fun.
"I swear," the Dragon hissed under his breath, "if this body tries to flirt with me again, I will lose my last remaining moral boundary."
"Faster!" I yelled back over my shoulder in the most articulate bleat I could manage.
He didn't answer. Probably too busy muttering death spells at the goat.
We reached the base of the wizard's tower—a twisted, half-melted stack of stone and moss with ivy growing out of windows and a weathercock shaped like a pig humping a staff.
I didn't pause.
I charged.
THUNK.
Forehead. Door. Direct impact.
The whole thing shook.
There was a moment of silence.
Then clattering. Swearing. A small explosion. Coughing.
The door creaked open, trailing pipe smoke, glowing ink splatters, and the unmistakable scent of moldy cheese and burnt hair.
Out stepped the Hedge Wizard.
Wild beard. Missing boots. Belt made of twine and regrets. Eyes bloodshot and staring at us like we were three different types of plague.
He looked at me.
He looked at the Dragon.
He looked at the goat in my body, who gave a jaunty "Meeeep!" and tried to bite his sleeve.
He sighed. Deep. Resigned.
Then said:
"Not again."
Pause.
"You're not real," he muttered. "You're a trauma-induced hallucination caused by demonic mushrooms, suppressed guilt, and irregular bowel movements."
The Dragon blinked.
I stomped a hoof.
The goat in my body tried to eat the wizard's hair.
He squinted.
"Mauuuud!" he howled over his shoulder. "The goat's talking again and the big hallucination has eyebrows! Bring the good tincture!"
Inside the tower was chaos. No, Chaos. Capital C. Piles of parchment everywhere. Bottles bubbling with gods-know-what. A three-legged stool on fire in the corner, and an enchanted mop chasing a chicken in slow, menacing circles.
The wizard waved us in like we were a regular delivery service.
"Right, right, yes. Come in. Mind the screaming mortar. Sit anywhere that isn't sparking."
I trotted inside, still goat, still seething, still utterly humiliated. The Dragon ducked through the doorway with a low growl, dragging my blissfully unaware, grass-nibbling body behind him like she was an accessory he deeply regretted purchasing.
The wizard squinted at me, then at my body. Then at the Dragon.
Then he muttered to himself.
"Uncontrolled discharge, yes, yes. That would explain the soul inversion. Oh dear. Might've overcompensated on the spirit tethering."
I bleated. Angrily. "Undo it!"
He flinched. "Yes, yes, goat girl, I hear you—gods, where's my chalk?"
The Dragon loomed behind him, smoke curling from his nostrils.
The wizard didn't notice. Still muttering.
"I meant to bind the anima of a stubborn shoe to teach it humility. Simple spell. Shoe-to-soul empathy induction. Shouldn't have backlashed. Probably the ambient swamp leyline. Or Maud fed it chili again."
"UNDO IT!" I screeched. Possibly spat. It's hard to tell in goat form.
"Yes, yes, fine," he waved a hand absently. "Hold your haystacks. Now… let's see… would this work?"
He grabbed something off a shelf that looked like a moldy banana wearing a monocle and started measuring it against my head.
I backed away in deep suspicion.
Dragon leaned in, voice low and deadly. "If you botch this, old man, I will flambé your tower so thoroughly your ancestors will smell smoke."
The wizard blinked. Looked up. Raised one trembling finger.
"If you flambé me, lizard, then no one will be able to undo this mess. Not even Maud. And she once tried to bless a cow into a midwife."
He turned back to me.
"Now. Try not to flinch. Or chew anything."
I flinched anyway. And started to chew. Out of stress.
This was going to be bad.
Looking back, I can't say exactly what the wizard did.
There was a lot of mumbling. A lot of chalk. He drew something on the floor that looked suspiciously like a goat mounting a stick figure. Then there was a flash of light and a wet popping sound I will never un-hear.
Next thing I remember—
I was on my back.
Human again.
Arms sprawled. Legs tangled in a pile of robes.
Naked, of course. Because of course.
Blinking up at the tower ceiling, covered in soot, chicken feathers, and what might've been marmalade.
My first coherent thought was: Oh good. I'm me again.
My second was: Why does my jaw hurt.
My third: Why is everything so… leafy?
Because I was in a tree.
I glanced down. Very slowly.
Dragon was at the base of the tree, looking up at me with that mix of exhausted concern and barely restrained judgment he reserves for situations that fall under the category of "Saya Did Something Again."
"Saya," he said, slow and steady, "kindly climb down from the tree."
I blinked.
Then realized I was chewing.
Twigs.
I was chewing twigs.
I spat out leaves. "Right. Right. Sorry."
"And stop eating the tree."
"Y-yeah. Of course."
I rubbed my temple. "Hey… when exactly are the side effects supposed to wear off?"
He exhaled through his nose in a way that suggested he had asked the same question. Several times. Loudly.
"The wizard said they'd 'probably subside.'"
"Probably?"
"Or maybe not."
I stared at him.
"He said something about soul-impressions, animal residue, and karmic resonance," the Dragon muttered. "Also, Maud ate part of the spell scroll."
Fantastic.
I groaned and leaned against the trunk—then winced.
"Ow. My head."
He sighed. "You headbutted the tree again."
"Ah. Right. Right."
Silence.
"…Did I win?"
He looked up at me.
"Technically, yes. But I'm burning that wizard's tower the next time we pass through."
"Fair."