The Butcher's Bride
She threw herself into my lap, smelling of grass and sunshine.
"Mama! Did you see? I flew!"
"I saw," I smiled, smoothing her hair. "You're a bird."
"I'm a wolf!" she corrected fiercely, baring tiny, human teeth. "Grr!"
"Terrifying," I agreed.
A rustling in the bushes drew our attention.
A small, silver shape tumbled out of the rhododendrons.
It was a pup. Tiny, clumsy, and covered in soft, metallic silver fur. It tripped over its own paws and rolled onto the grass, letting out a high-pitched yip of frustration.