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mekachu04“What happened with Harry?”
Henry, only child of Russell Knight of Dartmoor, opened the door for his visitor, a young Anatolian Shepherd dog - the picture perfect example of the breed’s standards. Short fawn hair, near solid colour in all but his dark face, and about two feet tall at his shoulders, the dog entered young Henry’s home, plopping down on the rug in the living room in an exhausted heap.
It was a tiresome journey from London to Dartmoor to begin with, but by foot (even with four of them) it was more than 26 hours.
Henry went to his kitchen, pulling down a shallow bowl, and a cup from one of the cabinets. He filled the cup with water, before returning to the panting dog on his father's floor.
“John,” He asked, setting the items down before petting the tired dog's head, “You need to drink something. You able to change back human, or should I pour it in the bowl for you?”
The beast whined, but otherwise didn't move. Henry chuckled. Feet sprawled out in front of him, back against the couch, he poured the cup into the bowl, setting it down by the dog's head.
“Drink now, John.”
With exaggeration in every movement, the dog huffed, and pulled himself to his feet. He shot Henry a most unamused look, before lapping up the offered water.
As it was, Henry remained seated, softly petting the dog's short course hair, scratching absently under the worn collar. The leather band was old and cracked, the aged tags proclaiming him property of one Harriet Watson hanging dully at his throat.
Henry wondered how long John had been out there, looking at the mud and gunk on the dog's fur – at the clear signs of sudden weight loss in his body. He hadn't come straight to Henry after whatever had happened.
Done drinking, the working dog curled as best as he could in Henry's lap, back end spilling out on the floor. “Good boy...” he murmured, chuckling when John snorted.
They sat there quietly until John's breathing had evened out, and the dog shifted to look up at him. His expression seemed to say I can hear you thinking...
“You're safe here, John.” his tone remindful, “And with you like this, I think it best if you change back.”
The dog whined, unhappy with the thought.
“No, no, no, John.” Henry cocked his head, “All the way back.”
The Anatolian cocked his head in return. They sat there, sizing each other up for a long time.
Finally, the Anatolian Shepherd dog stood up, shaking itself out. “It's okay, John” Henry encouraged.
The dog shuddered, whimpering, and crying. This was not the natural form of Henry's cousin, just one painfully adopted long ago. Moving into this foreign form was agonizing. So was maintaining it, and shifting back out. It had taken John years to learn how to force his shift into the large, plain, and ordinarily common form. He'd chosen it originally for Henry, had kept it years later when he'd adopted young Harriet and her parents are his pack.
He'd kept it so long that the pain of it had grown to a pull throb. But now, changing out after years, it caused him to howl and scream, to pitch back and forth. Henry remained seated where he was – comforting and close, but out of range of snapping teeth – and waiting until the body shuddered and with a sounding crack, broke down on itself.
If not for being so worn and tired, Henry would of suggested John change back to his human body, to rest and eat and recover. To explain what had happened. But right now, it would be too much stress, too taxing. So he was reverting back to his natural, original form. Shrinking down to a small huddled bundle on his rug. About 6 inches when he was uncurled, the Blonde European Hedgehog on Henry's floor shuddered, and curled tighter, spikes jutting out.
Once settled, Henry crawled, hands and knees, to his friend. “Hey John.... Better?”
The hedgehog sagged out on the floor, sprawling out in exhaustion. But, pain-free, and utterly comfortable. Mindful of the quills, Henry scooped him up, standing up and soft running a finger across the hedgehog's head.
He settled on the couch, the small body of his friend resting on his chest as he laid back. “We need to talk when you wake up.” he murmured. The hedgehog nodded, but otherwise remained dead to the world.
------------
Skinwalkers tend to stick with their own, but occasionally they marry out into the human gene pool. Children of skinwalkers and humans have a 50/50 chance of taking after either parent. People think a skinwalker shifting during pregnancy will help insure the baby is also a skinwalker. It's not always the case. Sometimes, a shift will kill the fetus. Sometimes it'll be unaffected. Sometimes, if the mother is the skinwalker and she's shifted while in labor, her baby will be a perfectly normal offspring of her shifted form, trapped forever as an animal.
It could be so devastating, that most mothers won't risk it.
Human children of skinwalker and human carry the genes of skinwalkers, but it will remain dormant unless they have children with another carrier. It's very rare, but happens.
Two skinwalkers will always have skinwalker children.
The children on female skinwalkers have a 75% chance of taking the same form as their mothers. Children of male are only 5%. And some children will take the form of an animal represented nowhere in their family line. Most children make their first shift at about 12 months.
Skinwalkers naturally have only one animal form.
Notes-
Loosely inspired by 'All Dogs Go To Heaven' Episode 6x08 of Supernatural.
Mr. Knight was not given a name, nor was his actor credited (at least not on imdb). His name was taken from Henry’s actors - Russell Tovey
I was torn on what dog to use for John - between the Anatolian Shepherd Dog and the Basenji. I went with the Shepard Dog in the end, because it’s size helped with reasons Harriet couldn’t keep him, and that this was a form John *choose* to hide in, and i liked the personality descriptions better. Seemed to fit him more. Henry was a Neapolitan Mastiff, and nothing changed my mind.
Biking, taking the route A48, it's 256 mi, (26 hours) from London to Dartmoor, according to google maps. Figure it's be on par with a dog's pace?
European Hedgehog's are usually 7.9 to 12 inches, I believe. John here is a bit smaller.
Henry, only child of Russell Knight of Dartmoor, opened the door for his visitor, a young Anatolian Shepherd dog - the picture perfect example of the breed’s standards. Short fawn hair, near solid colour in all but his dark face, and about two feet tall at his shoulders, the dog entered young Henry’s home, plopping down on the rug in the living room in an exhausted heap.
It was a tiresome journey from London to Dartmoor to begin with, but by foot (even with four of them) it was more than 26 hours.
Henry went to his kitchen, pulling down a shallow bowl, and a cup from one of the cabinets. He filled the cup with water, before returning to the panting dog on his father's floor.
“John,” He asked, setting the items down before petting the tired dog's head, “You need to drink something. You able to change back human, or should I pour it in the bowl for you?”
The beast whined, but otherwise didn't move. Henry chuckled. Feet sprawled out in front of him, back against the couch, he poured the cup into the bowl, setting it down by the dog's head.
“Drink now, John.”
With exaggeration in every movement, the dog huffed, and pulled himself to his feet. He shot Henry a most unamused look, before lapping up the offered water.
As it was, Henry remained seated, softly petting the dog's short course hair, scratching absently under the worn collar. The leather band was old and cracked, the aged tags proclaiming him property of one Harriet Watson hanging dully at his throat.
Henry wondered how long John had been out there, looking at the mud and gunk on the dog's fur – at the clear signs of sudden weight loss in his body. He hadn't come straight to Henry after whatever had happened.
Done drinking, the working dog curled as best as he could in Henry's lap, back end spilling out on the floor. “Good boy...” he murmured, chuckling when John snorted.
They sat there quietly until John's breathing had evened out, and the dog shifted to look up at him. His expression seemed to say I can hear you thinking...
“You're safe here, John.” his tone remindful, “And with you like this, I think it best if you change back.”
The dog whined, unhappy with the thought.
“No, no, no, John.” Henry cocked his head, “All the way back.”
The Anatolian cocked his head in return. They sat there, sizing each other up for a long time.
Finally, the Anatolian Shepherd dog stood up, shaking itself out. “It's okay, John” Henry encouraged.
The dog shuddered, whimpering, and crying. This was not the natural form of Henry's cousin, just one painfully adopted long ago. Moving into this foreign form was agonizing. So was maintaining it, and shifting back out. It had taken John years to learn how to force his shift into the large, plain, and ordinarily common form. He'd chosen it originally for Henry, had kept it years later when he'd adopted young Harriet and her parents are his pack.
He'd kept it so long that the pain of it had grown to a pull throb. But now, changing out after years, it caused him to howl and scream, to pitch back and forth. Henry remained seated where he was – comforting and close, but out of range of snapping teeth – and waiting until the body shuddered and with a sounding crack, broke down on itself.
If not for being so worn and tired, Henry would of suggested John change back to his human body, to rest and eat and recover. To explain what had happened. But right now, it would be too much stress, too taxing. So he was reverting back to his natural, original form. Shrinking down to a small huddled bundle on his rug. About 6 inches when he was uncurled, the Blonde European Hedgehog on Henry's floor shuddered, and curled tighter, spikes jutting out.
Once settled, Henry crawled, hands and knees, to his friend. “Hey John.... Better?”
The hedgehog sagged out on the floor, sprawling out in exhaustion. But, pain-free, and utterly comfortable. Mindful of the quills, Henry scooped him up, standing up and soft running a finger across the hedgehog's head.
He settled on the couch, the small body of his friend resting on his chest as he laid back. “We need to talk when you wake up.” he murmured. The hedgehog nodded, but otherwise remained dead to the world.
------------
Skinwalkers tend to stick with their own, but occasionally they marry out into the human gene pool. Children of skinwalkers and humans have a 50/50 chance of taking after either parent. People think a skinwalker shifting during pregnancy will help insure the baby is also a skinwalker. It's not always the case. Sometimes, a shift will kill the fetus. Sometimes it'll be unaffected. Sometimes, if the mother is the skinwalker and she's shifted while in labor, her baby will be a perfectly normal offspring of her shifted form, trapped forever as an animal.
It could be so devastating, that most mothers won't risk it.
Human children of skinwalker and human carry the genes of skinwalkers, but it will remain dormant unless they have children with another carrier. It's very rare, but happens.
Two skinwalkers will always have skinwalker children.
The children on female skinwalkers have a 75% chance of taking the same form as their mothers. Children of male are only 5%. And some children will take the form of an animal represented nowhere in their family line. Most children make their first shift at about 12 months.
Skinwalkers naturally have only one animal form.
Notes-
Loosely inspired by 'All Dogs Go To Heaven' Episode 6x08 of Supernatural.
Mr. Knight was not given a name, nor was his actor credited (at least not on imdb). His name was taken from Henry’s actors - Russell Tovey
I was torn on what dog to use for John - between the Anatolian Shepherd Dog and the Basenji. I went with the Shepard Dog in the end, because it’s size helped with reasons Harriet couldn’t keep him, and that this was a form John *choose* to hide in, and i liked the personality descriptions better. Seemed to fit him more. Henry was a Neapolitan Mastiff, and nothing changed my mind.
Biking, taking the route A48, it's 256 mi, (26 hours) from London to Dartmoor, according to google maps. Figure it's be on par with a dog's pace?
European Hedgehog's are usually 7.9 to 12 inches, I believe. John here is a bit smaller.
