Chapter 1

Shapeshifter: Any variety of being holding the power—or curse—of a malleable life-structure, able to morph into one or more forms noticeably different from the being’s original form. For a list of natural shapeshifter species or a list of known types of shapeshifting gained after birth, see the Shapeshifters, species section or the Shapeshifting, acquired section, respectively.
—The Seer’s Tomes

I’ve been a slave for a few years now.  Before I was a slave, I was a cobbler, and before that, I was a Noblewoman’s pet hound. Luckily, I’ve been too scrawny for anyone to be interested in and have stayed with the caravan the whole time. The worst work I do is pulling a carriage.
Today, there were no carriages, just a chain around my neck and some manacles, being paraded through the streets like I was anything special. Now, slave-trading wasn’t illegal here or anything,—Daig had made sure of that—but the was quite a rebel-movement rising against it. And that movement was growing. Half of the folk in the street stared at Daig and his property with utter contempt.
As Daig was grumbling something about folk ‘round here not knowing nothing ‘bout a good servant, a huntsman stepped in his path. The flow of traffic in and along the sides of the street froze, and my stomach began to twist.
“Hello, sir,” the huntsman said, his expression nowhere near the courteous mood of his voice.
“Aye?” Daig replied.
“I’d like to purchase one of your… wares, but there’s a bit of a problem. See, I seem to have run out of coin, so I was wondering if we could strike a bargain—“
“No coin, no deal.” Daig pushed the huntsman out of the way and began to tug us down the road again. He didn’t get far though, before being stopped by the feeling of a cold arrow-tip pressing into his scalp.
“Here’s the deal,” the huntsman continued. “You release your slaves, and in return, I give the gods a reason to briefly consider saving your soul after this arrow is lodged in your skull.”
Daig managed to gasp out, “Bastard.”
“So much for your soul,” said the huntsman, finishing the conversation, and the slaver’s life.
After the huntsman released his bowstring, people stepped out of the crowds to release the slaves. I could already feel my body morphing to match what had just collapsed to the ground. When a woman walked over to release my manacles, I turned away my face, hiding that which by now looked near-identical to Daig.
“You alright, sir?” the woman asked me.
“Y…yeah,” said a scratchy voice that came out of my throat. It wasn’t ‘til the woman had released the last of my chains and looked up at my that she noticed the source of my behavior.
“It… it’s him!” she cried, backing away. “The slaver lives!” No luck for me.