A bolt hisses through the air and catches the running woman in the calf. She stumbles then falls into the long grasses, her breaths quickened by fear and pain and her white skirt now red with fresh blood.
The hunter looms over her. ‘Where is Mary Lockett?’
‘I am Mary Lockett!’ she pleads.
‘No,’ says the hunter. ‘You’re not.’
The changeling in Mary Lockett’s skin lets out a howl before the hunter looses another bolt.
Paddy Dobson
23rd May 2023