Grey
by Winter

Grey could not remember much of his previous life. He looked back on his days in the pasture as a series of more or less random memories; sunny summer days, green grass and the scents of the other horses. It was the closeness to them that he missed the most, even if the memory of the sun also was a sentimental thorn in his heart. After it happened, he had only seen the sun once.

He had woken up at the sound of the pasture gate being opened. It was early night, and he went back to sleep without even wondering who it might be. The humans of the farm came and went as they pleased, and he didn't think much of it unless they called for him or came up to him. It was not until the smell of freshly spilled blood reached his nostrils that he understood that something was wrong. He began to shiver.

At first he could not associate his fear with the man walking towards him. Humans were nothing to fear! They were usually kind, or at worst indifferent. How slow-thinking and narrow-minded he had been in those days. The man struck him to the ground with a single, mighty blow of his fist. Grey remembered the surprise more than the pain itself; the sense of being betrayed. He knew that humans could sometimes cause pain, but he also knew they only hit you if you were disobedient or did something bad. The shock of it had barely found its place in his mind until it was swept aside by an even greater horror.

There was a stench of death surrounding this man. Blood and death, violence and terror. He smelled like nothing Grey had ever known before. The man held up Grey's large head as if he were no more than a foal, and then sank sharp teeth into his neck. Pain and fear, the smell of his own blood, filled his mind until slowly everything faded to black.

* * * * * *

It was a long while before Grey realised that he was still alive. Around him lay the bodies of the other horses, all dead, all drained of blood. He felt faint, his legs shivered and his eyes hurt. And something seemed to have changed inside him, his thoughts were racing like never before. Snorting, he shook his head and tried to clear his mind, but there was a kind of numbness to him that he couldn't understand. He felt no more fear. Even though the reek of blood was still heavy around him, he was perfectly calm.

He closed his eyes and took in new impressions. A cricket had started to play on the other side of the pasture, and it was deafeningly loud. Multitudes of scents were crowding in on him, almost overwhelming his poor nostrils. But strongest were the new thoughts. I am alive. Alive, but everything is new. I am new. Carefully, he opened his eyes, and quickly shut them again. So much!

He slowly raised his eyelids again. Everything was so clear, so brilliant. Every blade of grass seemed to be shining, the trees were waving at him with vigorous, powerful branches. Yet, in the middle of all this luminescence there were black holes. The others. They were so dark and cold. Carefully, he approached Silverblaze and sniffed at her muzzle. She seemed so empty and pitiable.

A sudden impulse made him lick at the gaping wound in her neck, and a new sensation coursed through him. The taste was like nothing he had ever eaten before. Better, richer, sweeter even than the sugar cubes he had sometimes been treated to. He was about to try again, when he heard voices from the farmhouse.

"What the hell has happened here?"

"Oh no, look! Are they all dead?"

"There's Grey. My God, look at him!"

The humans from the farm came running into the pasture, and they quickly examined the bodies closest to them. The little girl who used to groom him, and who sang so beautifully for all the horses in the evening, fell to the ground, crying. One of the stablehands was carrying a gun, and another held a torch that he shone across the field. When the light hit Grey's eyes, he shied back.

"Hey, now, don't back away, come here, boy."

"Is he hurt?"

"Yeah, but he's gonna make it, I think. C'mere, Grey, come on."

Grey suddenly remembered the other man, the one who had bit him, and the memory made him shiver. He wanted to run, but still he felt drawn to the stablehand. There was an aura around this man, a pulsating light that seemed to run through his entire body. It was awfully tempting; Grey longed to feel it, to taste it.

Then the torchlight hit his eyes again, and the stablehand grew pale, stepping back. Grey let hear a deep growl that had no home in a horse's throat. The man raised his gun instinctively and pulled the trigger. For the second time that night, Grey's world exploded with pain, but this time he could still move. Then the backing man tripped and fell. Afraid of the gun, Grey turned and fled.

He hesitated at the pasture's fence, but decided to try and jump it. He cleared both fence and ditch as if they had been the low bars of one of the children's obstacle courses. Free, he galloped towards the nearby forest, a place he had never been to but had sometimes wondered about. Meanwhile more shots could be heard from behind him.

Deep among the protecting trees he stopped, breathing hard. Alone at last. Alone with the living trees and all the pulsating life of the forest. Grey felt as if he could see the entire world from where he stood. See it, but not in the ordinary way. He saw things as bright lights of shifting intensity and colour. The feeling was exciting and frightening at the same time. Then he looked down at his own body. The light was there, too, but darker, and more diffuse of tone. There was a large hole in his shoulder, where the stablehand had shot him, and he was covered with dry or drying blood. I look terrible.

He raised his head and sniffed the air, and caught scent of water nearby. In an ice-cold creek he washed most of the blood away, and he gently licked at the gaping wound. It had started closing while he was bathing, and without really knowing how he knew, he was certain that it would be gone completely in a short while. He could not see if the wound in his neck, where the man had bit him, was also healing. So he leaned forward and looked into the water, but to his surprise there was nothing to see.

It was as if his body ceased to exist just below the surface of the water. He could see the moon in there, and the dark treetops that were behind and above him, but nothing else. Odd. There had always been a horse in the water, silvery grey just like him, who had looked back at him whenever he had been at a lake or a river. He had known, yet not quite known, that it was himself he used to see, and now he found that he missed it. The water was empty.

Suddenly a new feeling made Grey decide to leave the creek, and take refuge beneath the trees. There was something about the moon that scared him. Its yellow light felt... disturbing. It gave a prickly, stinging feeling to his skin.

As the night passed, Grey grew more and more worried. A feeling welled up inside him, that something bad was coming, and it grew stronger with time. He started looking for a place to hide. A shelter from whatever was approaching. The forest and the trees would not do, he needed a place where he could be completely covered on all sides. In the end he found an abandoned cabin in a half overgrown forest glade. Yes, there.

Dawn was near now, and before he went inside, Grey turned around to face the sunrise. He had always liked to watch the dawning of a new day. A choir of singing birds greeted the first rays of sunlight as they hit the treetops, and Grey was surprised that he all he felt was a rising unease. A wild panic that surged within him and was rearing to break out.

Then the sunlight hit him with the force of an explosion, and every cell in his large body burst with a terrible pain. A stench of burned fur filled his nostrils, and fear gripped his mind. He was on fire! Flames erupted from his flesh, and his eyes were filled with blood that blurred his vision.

Screaming and thrashing about madly, he managed to kick down the cabin door, and he threw himself inside. The pain receded some as he got out of the direct sunlight, but he could still feel the day hammering on him. A small staircase led down to a tiny basement, and that was his salvation. How cool and comfortable it felt down there! The panic settled, and after a while, so did the pain. He was feeling drowsy, and soon he fell asleep.

* * * * * *

His dreams were about the light; the light that coursed through all living things. The man with the gun had had a glow inside him, and the longing for this light made Grey's body shiver in his sleep. What all this meant, and why he needed that light, he didn't know, but the memory of it made him unconsciously lick his lips.

When he woke up the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, and he was unbearably hungry. Spots of colour glimmered behind his eyelids, and he dragged himself up the stairs and out into the mild evening breeze. Without really thinking, he bent down and bit off a mouthful of grass. A tangy, bitter taste filled his mouth, and he spent a while spitting and snorting. As fast as he could in his weakened state, he galloped back to the creek, where he drank deeply to rinse his mouth from this foulness.

After a long while, the taste finally disappeared, and a frightening thought entered his mind. He could no longer eat grass! And he was so hungry! Starvation was a completely unknown concept for one who had lived his life being cared for and fed every day. For the first time ever the thought of his own death entered Grey's mind. I'm not going to survive. It was painfully clear to him that he could no longer eat, and that his life was in grave danger.

At that moment, a wasp flew right past his muzzle, and he snapped after it instinctively. His powerful jaws closed around the insect and crushed it immediately. To his surprise, Grey felt energy run down his throat, and flow out into his body. It wasn't much, but enough to make him feel a little more alive. He dropped the dead wasp and looked at it. To his new eyes it was dark and cold and empty. Just like the others, he thought. No more light. Then he noticed a soft glimmer around his own hooves. As he looked closer he could see a faint aura surrounding his whole body, and he understood. I have taken its light.

On the outskirts of his field of vision, he noticed some fish swimming in the creek. They weren't large, but the light and the colours that emanated from them woke his hunger again. Grey silently walked down to the waterfront, where he waited. When a fish came to the right position he snapped it up with lightning speed. It was dead before it knew it had been attacked. Almost gently, Grey pierced its scaly skin with his teeth, and sipped up the blood that poured out. Once again energy filled him, but it was nowhere near enough. He spat out the fish and started hunting for another.

* * * * * *

Time passed. Grey slept in the basement during the days, and the nights he spent fishing in the creek, occasionally catching other small animals that got too close. He quickly got used to his new life, the new thoughts and the new food, but he was still not satisfied. He wanted more. Small prey kept him alive, but he felt a will to have more energy, more light. More power. He longed to gorge.

Had Grey been able to see his mirror image in the water, he would have noticed outer changes as well. His skin had turned darker beneath the silvery coat, and his eyes shone like fire, stronger the more he nourished. His teeth glimmered sharply in the moonlight.

But the most profound difference was in the way he moved. He was faster than he had ever been. The distance between the cabin and the creek, which seemed to be just a few gallops, was actually several miles. He would catch the fish as if they stood still, waiting for him.

One night, another creature appeared by the creek. Grey had never before seen an elk, and he carefully approached this huge animal. How it shone with life! Beautiful colours danced around inside its body, and it radiated such a glow that Grey at first backed away, before he realised that this light did not burn.

When the elk spotted him it cried out, and fled as fast as it could run. Grey took up a light trot, which brought him up alongside his prey. He found that he enjoyed to watch it throw from side to side, to avoid that which could not be avoided. The smell of its fear tickled his nostrils. Once he had had enough of this game, Grey moved in on the elk and sank his teeth in the back of its neck. It gave up a short cry, then fell over, dead. Blood gushed from its open carotid artery, and Grey lay down beside it to begin his feast.

He did not stop drinking until the huge body next to him was completely drained. Again he noticed how the elk grew dark, just like the other horses had on the night that Grey was changed. He himself shone; light and colours flowed through him, and he felt stronger than he had thought possible. As if in ecstasy he started galloping back and forth through the forest, and he barely noticed when he snapped thick tree trunks just by running into them. He was intoxicated, he had no idea what he was doing or why.

After a few hours he began to calm down. Still his entire body was shivering with the excitement the stolen energy had brought, but now he could at least control himself. The thin blue stripe of dawn could be seen in the east, and Grey headed back to his cabin. That day he slept heavily and without dreams, and at dusk he woke up well rested and still filled with energy.

* * * * * *

Grey's life now became a routine. Sleep at day, hunt by night. How long things stayed like this, he could not tell; he had neither the knowledge nor the need to count days. Autumn came, the leaves turned yellow and fell to the ground. Every now and then he could see humans at a distance, but memories of fear kept him away from them.

As the days grew shorter Grey had more and more time to think, to train his new conscious mind, and he soon realised what had brought on these changes. That strange man. He did something to me. Something wonderful. At the same time he noticed that things were missing, as well. Foremost of these, the loss of smell, which had dwindled away during the late summer. He compensated with far more keen eyesight than ever before, and he had a new sense, one to show him where there was blood. Where there were lives to take. Still, he missed the smells. Sometimes he moved his muzzle closely over the autumn brown grass, expecting to feel its lovely, slightly mouldy smell. But there was nothing, except for the occasional weak bloodscent as some tiny insect or worm hurried away from him.

Autumn became winter, and snow began to fall. The thickening layer of white did not bother Grey, though. He could move on top of the crust, light as a feather, and easily outran his prey. Soon the days were little more than a dusky haze, yet he did not dare to go out beneath the clouds. Behind them, he knew, the sun was hiding, although not as strong as it had been in the summer. Long hours passed between hunt and sleep, and Grey started thinking along new lines, thoughts that he had not even dreamed of before. He began to wonder what lay beyond the world he knew, and he saw himself exploring the new and wondrous. I can leave. He had to choose between the comfort and safety of his cabin, and this urge to use all the dark hours for travelling, leaving for places he could not even imagine. For the time being, the cabin won, but the thoughts remained with him.

* * * * * *

Days turned longer again, and soon the snow started to melt away. Grey kept to his daily routine without fail, until one day shortly before spring would break out. Until the day he met hunters.

He was standing in a corner of his basement, dreaming of faraway lands and of going there. Even asleep, his new senses told him that the sun stood low in the evening sky, and that it would still be a while before it was safe to go outside. Still, something woke him, and it took a little while before he realised that there was something moving upstairs. The cabin door had been left open since the day he had kicked it in, and the forest animals had long since learned to stay well away from there. Yet, now there were intruders. He could hear their voices.

"Damn kids, bet they've had a party here or somethin'. We'll probably have to pick up empty bottles 'til friggin' midsummer."

"Calm down, Karl, looks like nobody's been in here."

The thought had never occurred to Grey that someone might own the cabin, or even that anyone had ever lived there before him. It was his cabin, and he did not like to have humans there. Their voices went quiet, but he could hear the men moving about, unpacking their things. Did they plan to stay? Grey did not move, afraid that they might hear him. Memories of that strange man who had bit him, and the man with the gun who had shot him, had receded with time, but the voices still reminded him of fear and pain.

"Haven't you kicked life into that heater yet? I want coffee!"

"You drank your thermos and half of mine on the way here. Settle down."

"Come on, get it going!"

"Yeah, yeah, ow! Burned my damn finger!"

"Is it bad?"

"Naw, nothing a cup of coffee and a couple of sandwiches won't cure."

The man called Karl left the cabin, and Grey assumed it was to put snow on his burn. He was surprised to notice that he actually understood what the men were saying; he had never known humans to speak any sensible language. He had understood their body language, and maybe caught a few words that had to do with food or playing, but now he could understand every word they said. Another gift from the strange one. They kept talking, and Grey listened in silence. The men were hunters, they owned the cabin and spent the hunting seasons there. They were going to hunt rabbits and other small game, for meat and for furs to sell. Slowly a rage grew within Grey. They claimed to own his cabin! They were going to hunt his prey! Still, fear kept him in the basement.

"Dammit, Frank, this place smells like a stable!"

"Naw, this ain't horse. Must be one of those kids that had a leather jacket or something."

"No, Frank, I keep telling ya, it smells of horse. Remember that story 'bout all those horses being slaughtered? Was supposed to have happened somewhere out here in the bush. Creepy stuff."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. The farmer shot one of them, but it still leaped over the fence and ran for the woods. Hah! Redneck bastard couldn't shoot straight. You should see how they drink out here, by the gallons!"

"Somebody said it was a wolverine got all those horses, but the bodies were completely drained of blood. As if some damned Dracula had passed by."

"Go shit yourself, Karl! So, the siren o'the woods knocked down our door? And Bigfoot'll come around any minute now, asking for a pair of extra sneakers."

"You laugh, I thought it sounded creepy. They never found that horse."

"Drowned in a creek, of course, unless he replaced Christmas turkey at the Frankenstein's."

"Frankenstein was the doctor, Frank, not the monster. The monster didn't have a name."

"No bugger cares. I'll open a meat tin."

There was a metallic clink, followed by a curse from the man called Frank. Then Grey's nostrils were filled with the only scent they could easily pick up these days. Blood. Frank had cut himself, and now he was bleeding. Grey's mouth watered, and he had a hard time keeping still and quiet.

"I'm gonna check the storage. There's supposed to be a first aid kit down there. You keep pressure on that finger."

The man called Karl came walking down the stairs! Grey's ears flicked back and forth as he started breathing faster. Now there was no other choice but to attack; he had no way out except for up those stairs.

Karl hesitated instinctively on his way down. The smell of animal was strong down there, but there was something else. Something that frightened him. He had just found the door to the storage when he spotted glimmering red eyes in the dark.

Grey cried out, rearing as high as he could in the low room, and one swift blow from his hoof opened Karl's skull with a cracking sound. The man did not even have time to get surprised. Grey took his time to lick some blood from the gushing wound; there was no hurry now. The other one was injured, and he would not get away. The taste was better than anything Grey had ever experienced, and he greedily drained Karl's body, ignoring Frank's calls from upstairs. It took him no more than a minute to finish, and then he turned to walk slowly up the stairs.

"Did ya find anything, Karl? I'm bleeding pretty bad."

Grey replied with a guttural growl, and the man fell silent. With a deliberate slowness, as if to play with his prey, Grey showed himself at the top of the stairs. Frank's eyes grew wide with fear. Grey enjoyed having the advantage. From now on he would never have to be afraid of humans, never again. Somehow he knew that nothing they could ever do would really hurt him.

Frank got a hand on his rifle, but Grey did not even blink at the sharp bang, and he hardly even felt the shots that hit his front legs. Grey moved slowly forward, his eyes fixed on the man, who seemed to lose his will to fight as he saw what little effect his rifle had. As if bewitched he sat there, staring into red eyes while waiting for death to come.

The smell of blood made Grey dizzy with excitement, and he almost gently lowered his teeth to the man's neck. Then something burned at his mouth, a sharp, awful pain. Not nearly as bad as that of the sun, but enough to make him withdraw with a snort. Something shiny was hanging around Frank's neck, like a small bridle, only not in his mouth. Grey realised that it was the necklace that had hurt him, and raised his hooves to strike. But Frank regained his breath as death stepped back, and he avoided the first blow.

When he rolled away, though, the man accidentally kicked over the gas burner, and its blue flame set fire to the dry wooden floor. Side by side man and horse left the cabin, just as the gas tank exploded, sending a rain of fire in every direction. Outside, Grey had room enough to strike, and he broke the man's leg like a straw. Screaming, Frank tried to back away, as Grey turned to watch his cabin burn. Flames were eating away at the walls, and he was filled with anger and grief as his home was destroyed. His home. His cabin. His only escape from the merciless sun.

Mad with fury, he turned and aimed a kick with his hind legs. Hooves met flesh, and there was a crunching sound as the man's spine broke. Grey remembered to avoid the necklace, and instead he lowered his head and sank his teeth deep into Frank's good leg. Blood flowed from the wound, and Grey stopped to lick it up. It was a suitable vengeance, he thought; all Frank could do was to watch as his life slowly left him.

* * * * * *

Several hours later, Grey was still standing by Frank's cold and dark body. The cabin was now completely burned down, and the ashes were glowing softly. Grief and melancholy filled his mind at the thought of his home being gone. Now there was nothing left to keep him from following his winter notion, and travel. First I must find a shelter from the sun. After a long, last look at the remains of his cabin, he turned and left.

He chose to trot westwards, mostly to get away from the sunrise, but also to stay clear of his old farm. The night passed too quickly for his liking, and the eastern horizon soon started to glow; a display of red and yellow playing on the low clouds, foretelling the coming of dawn. Grey had reached a farm on the western outskirts of the forest. No one was awake yet, and he decided to spend the day inside their barn. When night finally came, he resumed his walk.

In that same manner, he kept on travelling for many days, until he reached the sea. Such a massive body of water, Grey had never even imagined. He had seen lakes during his journey, and been impressed by their size, but this was beyond anything else. Does it ever end? He tasted the water, but found it impossible to drink.

After hesitating for a brief while, unsure of what to do next, he started following the coast south. Here and there he came across human settlements, but he avoided them as much as he could. Only when forced to hide from the dawn, did he seek out open or abandoned buildings. On the fourth night of travelling in this direction, he came upon a crossroads. From the gravelled road he had used, a small, almost overgrown road, now no wider than a game trail, led into another forest. Grey's new sense, which was not smell, told him that no humans had travelled this way for a long time. Curious, he started in on the path. There were several hours left before dawn, and he had just passed some small, wooden houses by the water. They were shelter enough if this new trail led him wrong.

Low branches and thick bushes gave way for him as he walked by; it was as if they were not really there, as if he were a ghost passing through them. As if his entire being was to fleeting, too unreal, to get caught in the green, growing things. A few kilometres down the path, he reached its end. An enormous building stood there, unlike anything he had ever seen. It was made from stone, and much taller than any barn. A narrow tower reached for the night sky.

The creaking oak door opened easily for him; inside, the building somewhat reminded him of a barn. A wide walkway in the centre was surrounded by what looked to him like low, doorless stalls. Paintings covered the walls, showing humans doing things he could not even begin to comprehend, and at the far end of the walkway lay a large, flat block of stone. Its purpose was beyond Grey's imagination. Maybe they had dropped it there when they left this building for good. It was abandoned, Grey felt sure of that. Even the most recent smell of humans was old, almost too faint to pick up even with his new and heightened senses.

A small water trough stood by the flat stone, filled with fresh water from a hole in the wooden roof. Large windows of many colours were on the side walls, but some of them were broken. This place would not do as day camp. But behind the flat stone, Grey found a staircase leading down. Following it, he reached a large subterranean room. Walls and floors were covered with plates of stone or metal, all with markings on them  that held no meaning for a horse. The air tasted stuffy, and the floor was filled with dust, but it suited Grey fine. There were no windows, no cracks for the sun to peer through, and no humans had been in there for a very, very long time. A perfect place to sleep. Grey whinnied softly to himself. He was home!

* * * * * *

During the first couple of nights, Grey inspected his new surroundings thoroughly. A few kilometres inland lay a farm, but it seemed deserted. The barn's walls had almost completely given in, and the farmhouse itself seemed empty and lonely. A road followed the shape of the coastline just beyond the farm, but during the night there was very little traffic. Grey saw two cars, both of which sped past without slowing down. To the north he found some small houses by the water; he had seen them before, and they seemed to be in use. The scents of men were fresh. A place to stay away from.

South lay a fantastic landscape. Grey ran for half a night without catching a single trace of humans. No houses, no farms, no fences. Just a wide-stretched forest, teeming with life. Life that now belonged to him.

At first he hunted without selection. Anything that came in his way was fair game. But soon he discovered that humans still came this way, if only passing by. The bodies of large animals, bled dry, frightened them, and several times teams of hunters searched the woods for whatever carnivore had mutilated the big game. So Grey began to hide the remains of his meals. He learned how to dig, his hooves now sharp enough to easily cut through the soil, and he made sure to always bury the bodies of any large animal he had drained. Soon enough, human curiosity ceased, and he was left alone.

* * * * * *

As time passed, Grey found a closeness to the countryside around him. It was a contact on a much deeper level than just walking around in it and letting it wash over his senses. He discovered that he could, by concentrating, feel the presence of other creatures; where they were, who they were and what kind of life coursed through their veins.

During the long summer days, he often sank into deep meditation, allowing his thoughts to flow out and take part of the surrounding forest. He felt the lively squirrels, the shy deer and the thronging birds. He could sense fish, swimming in the rivers or in the ocean, and large elks and bears clamping around as if they owned his forest. There were foxes, hedgehogs, snakes, rabbits and badgers and other small game, as well as the constant buzzing of insects.

Occasionally other hunters passed his territory; wolves often moved up and down the coast, but never stayed for more than a day or two. Grey tolerated the predators. By his mercy, they were allowed to pass his kingdom and take nourishment from the prey that belonged to him. But when a scarred old lynx tried to settle on his grounds, Grey took action. The next night he left his abode to challenge her, but she was at the end of her life, and there was never much of a fight. He enjoyed the rich taste of her blood, savouring it like a gourmet.

And there were still humans, moving around on the outskirts of the land he had claimed, but he chose to ignore them. Apart from a few rare occasions, they never approached his new home, and he preferred it that way. He could feel it when hunters passed by, or when people walked around in his forest picking mushrooms or berries, but he never met any at night. It was as if they didn't even exist during his time of the day. They always retreated before dusk, and never returned until the sun stood high.

* * * * * *

Years went by without change. Grey spent more and more of his time in the dream-like hibernation that put him in touch with the forest. When he needed to feed, he used this ability to quickly find his prey, and after eating he always returned to his home at once. Sometimes weeks would pass, when he did not so much as set a hoof outside his resting place in the crypt. When he finally did go out he found to his surprise that the staircase was blocked by spiders' webs.

The tiny creatures had moved in with him in large numbers, but he had hardly taken any notice of them. They were way too small to provide nourishment, and they did nothing to disturb him. Grey soon came to understand that they felt protected by him; inside his house there were never any rats or birds who could feed on them, just the even smaller insects they caught in their webs. Sometimes he thought he could hear the mutterings of their primitive minds as they scuttled about, and he could spend days doing nothing but following their steady work.

The tower had become a nest for bats, and although they were large enough to be suitable prey, he left them alone. During the day they took refuge far beyond his reach, and at night they were out hunting, like him. Bats and spiders became constants in his serene world, like pets to one who had once been a pet himself. They lived with him, and so they were his. He found their company pleasant.

Grey slept less and less. The days when he did not enter his higher consciousness, he spent thinking. Sometimes his mind's eye looked back at the time before his fateful encounter with the strange man; a time when he had been nothing but one horse among many. He did not miss that life, but at times he felt a sentimental longing for someone to pet him, to groom his fur and caress him; even to have a rider. Yet he would not give away this new life for a return of the old. It was not missed, not forgotten, not desirable when compared to all the new things he had been given. The ecstatic feeling of warm blood running down his throat, the forces of nature filling his body, the lustful charm of the hunt and the grim satisfaction of making a kill, what could compare to that?

At times he even despised his old self; standing in his stall all day, half asleep or chewing hay! When all he had to do was to close his eyes and feel his surroundings flow into his mind. Forest, sea, animals; they all filled him with a sense of freedom, a sharp contrast to the dark and cramped crypt where his body was standing. He could feel the grass beating at his hooves, the taste of fresh air on his tongue, and through closed eyelids he could see the stars, so strong was this illusion. He ran beneath the green branches of birches, soft moss underneath his hooves, and in front of him he could hear the furious heartbeat of the frightened deer he was chasing.

These sensations were all in his mind. Grey realised this, but he didn't care. He had fed the night before, and had no need to go out in the flesh. His dream-self had enclosed the entire forest, until it decided to focus on the deer. Hunting, without leaving the house. This vision felt so alive, so real, that he decided to see for himself if it was. If the deer were really there, panting with fear of the unknown, unseen hunter.

He begun to haul in his dream-self, like a fisherman pulling in his nets, and at the same time he could feel his body begin to move. His mind's eye could see how he abandoned his hunt and headed for home, where he was met by his true self. To his astonishment, once he had reunited with his mind-self, he found that he was soaring high above the ground! Beneath him lay the treetops, and above him was nothing but the stars. The chill night wind beat at his face, telling him that he was awake, that this was no dream and no vision. He was flying, truly flying! Huge black, leathery wings stretched out from his sides and beat frantically to keep him up. The feeling was overwhelming, and he lost his concentration. With a loud crash he landed in the crown of a birch tree.

Snorting with impatience, he threw himself up into the air again and flew on. What ecstasy! How small everything seemed from this altitude! Suddenly his kingdom felt so pathetic, compared to all that lay beyond. He approached the tower, flew lithely in under the beams and grabbed one with the claws that had been his hooves. Hanging upside-down among the bats, he was now one of them and they paid him no heed. He fell asleep there, feeling totally at peace.

Shortly before dawn, he woke up in a pile of wood and stone at the bottom of the tower. In his sleep, he must have reverted to his true form, and now he hurried down into the crypt to escape the rising sun. For many nights after discovering this wonderful talent, he flew with the bats. Together they hunted for insects, and he was indistinguishable from them all, no longer just a horse with wings. The sheer joy of flying made him tired, and he always slept heavily after a night of flight. Yet in his dreams he kept on flying, and when the sun went down he was ready to hunt with his newfound friends again. Every night he would think of flying ever onwards, to explore everything there was to see, but as dawn approached he always returned to the tower with the bats, and went to sleep in his crypt. There was no real need to explore, not yet. Not now while he was still so overjoyed at flying with his bats.

One day he woke up after a flying dream, hours before sunset, and found himself looking down at a small spider, spinning its web in a corner of the crypt. An idea struck him, and he focused his mind on the little creature, willing himself to shrink to its size. A strange sensation spread throughout his body as he grew more eyes and legs, and suddenly the world around him was monstrously large. Grey was astonished. His kingdom now seemed larger than the universe! On his eight short legs it took him the rest of the day just to explore the crypt.

He scuttled around, greeting his new kin, and they recognised him as one of them. How wonderful life was in this perspective; in a way just as ecstatic as to dive at breath-taking speed above the trees. Life was so calm for the spiders, even though they worked and hunted and fought and struggled, all the time. They were content and peaceful, and seemed to have no worries at all.

He spent months with them, living among the eight-legged, spinning webs and eating flies with them, all the while communicating with silent movements and that buzzing near-thinking they all seemed to share. He was comfortable here, and it became hard to remember who he had once been, or even to care about other lives. Yet he sensed that there had been more to him, more than just the spider among spiders, and it kept troubling his tiny brain. With an effort of will, he managed to recall Grey, the horse, the owner of this place and the forest beyond it. It took all the focus he could muster, but he finally managed to change into himself. It was the longing for blood that did it, that forced him back. The longing for good warm, red blood; the flies were enough to sustain him in his spider-shape, but they lacked taste, lacked substance. He hunted for a long time that night.

Grey kept changing his shape, learning how to maintain his true self regardless of what form is body took. Sometimes he shared the chirping hunt of bats, and sometimes he was a placid spider in his web. He also hunted with a wolfpack whenever they passed through his lands, and he found their closeness highly appealing. There were times when he just barely made it home before dawn, because he had stayed too long in the company of warm, furry bodies. He joined a lonely lynx on a nightly hunt, and he caught fish in a river with a bear. Yet he always returned to himself in the end. Grey was Grey, and he was unique. At least, that was what he thought.

* * * * * *

Some time later, after a night of hunting, Grey returned early to the crypt. It was several hours before dawn, but he had drunk his fill from a young deer, and felt content with watching his forest through his mind. Slowly he let himself float out, but this time he sensed something new. A shadow had swept in over the land, and it fell heavily on parts of his forest. It was a void, cold and empty, and it was advancing on him. A sensation of almost tangible malice swept through him, something that he had only known once before, and then only fleetingly. 

He woke up from his half-sleep hastily, trembling and snorting with fear. That feeling. The feeling was the same as the night when his old self had died. Him. Fear set his mind to panic. Hide among the spiders? Too risky. A spider would be defenceless if... Run away?  No! He had already left a house once, not again! Besides, dawn was close, where could he go? Shivering, unable to make up his mind, he fell back into his trance. The shadow had not grown, but had stopped at a human house just outside the forest. Does he stay there? Is he insane?

Grey's dream-self felt the sun rise, but he did not dare relax. The shadow was still in the human house, and its mere existence made him break out in a sweat. Then there was another sensation. The shadow was reaching out with its mind, just as he had been. Feelers were creeping out from the human house, winding their way through the forest, and with an unerring precision they homed in on Grey. A numbing cold covered the crypt, and Grey felt as if something were right in there with him. He remembered how his dream-self had once frightened a deer, and now he knew just how that deer had felt. As he himself was looking down on the shadow's hideout in his half-sleep, it was now looking down on him in turn. It took all the strength of will that Grey could muster to not rush out, blind with terror, into the murderous sunlight.

"There you are, my friend." The voice exploded inside Grey's skull, making him whinny with fear. "I thought I could feel you. Now, let's have a closer look."

Grey was fully awake now, feeling the unseen eyes that were watching him. The cold presence was as strong as ever, even though he wasn't using his special senses anymore. He glanced nervously around, but there was noting he could do, nowhere he could run while the sun was up. How small and insufficient the crypt suddenly felt. How cramped...

"A horse!? Well, I thought I sensed something strange about you. What an oddity you are."

For a little while everything was quiet, but Grey could feel the shadow move around him, examining him, probing his body, filling his nostrils with its almost-scent until he was once more on the verge of panic.

"Now I remember!" Laughter rang inside Grey's mind, so loud that he almost thought he could hear it with his ears as well. "That time... they interrupted me. Shot me. I took your friends, but you... I never had time to finish you off. And now, different though we are, you're like me. Vampire!"

The contact broke, and the shadow receded. Grey dared not even move, let alone seek the creature out. Vampire. The word echoed in his head. Vampire. What did it mean? The shadow had called him by that name, had given a word to that which Grey had experienced, but was unable to explain. He had long ago figured out that his change was linked to the attack by the strange man, and now he knew for sure what had happened. What that man had done to him. Vampire. The word made sense to him now; it was what he had become.

The whole thing had been an accident. He was supposed to have died with the others that night, to have been drained of blood and left behind like a lifeless, empty shell. All his strength, all his being, all his life would have been nothing but a nameless meal for the mysterious one. The shadow. The vampire. Now that Grey knew who and what he was dealing with, some of the fear paled. Of course he remembered the pain from the attack, but that was nothing compared to the pain that had been the sun.

Where fear withdrew, anger filled its void. A rage he had never known existed within him. Not for his transformation into a... a vampire, not even for the attack itself, but for the merciless cruelty. There had been no need to kill every last one of the horses! Grey killed when he had to, and he took pleasure from the hunt and the blood, but he did not squander the lives around him. Every life he took was valuable to him, because they gave him what he needed to survive. But here was a creature that killed and killed and killed, for no other reason than cruelty. Grey slowly began to understand the concept of evil, even if he did not know the word.

That day seemed to take forever to end, but the sunset came as it always did. Again, Grey felt indecision that was almost painful; to try and run or to stay and fight. Every fibre of every muscle in his body screamed for flight, for safety, but he chose to stay. He knew that the man possessed the same honed senses that he did, and that no matter where he fled or how far he ran, he would be found. Better to stay here, in his home, and choose the place where he would make his stand. Even without reaching out with his mind, he knew when the sun set, and he could feel the shadow begin to move. A few seconds passed, and then the large wooden door exploded inwards. Must he destroy?

"Come now, horsey, where are you hiding? Come out."

It was a sweetly seductive voice, and before he could stop himself, Grey had taken a step towards the stairs. He saw himself being groomed and petted, happily chewing on a mouthful of sweet hay. Hay... The memory of bitter grass chased that vision away, and he almost gagged at the thought. He could no longer eat that way! The image was false! Snorting angrily, he bounded up the stairs, and there stood the man.

He seemed much smaller than he was in Grey's memories; perhaps his own imagination, combined with the ease with which the man had tossed him to the ground, had made him seem more ominous. The man was pale and had long grey hair, and he was dressed in dark clothes that seemed to Grey ungainly and more of a hindrance. What made him shy away was the eyes. Two brightly glowing rubies against the near-white face; they radiated a massive power, the like of which Grey had never before encountered. The brief contact he had made with them caused new images of peace and calm flood his mind, but the illusion had already been broken. Grey would not allow himself to be charmed again by the mental images the man sent him. Instead he envisioned himself lying on the ground, his neck open and dark red blood gushing out of him. This man meant him no good, and Grey knew it. A sound that was half growl, half neigh, left his throat.

"So, you're not coming to me. Smartened up a bit since last time, have you? No matter, it won't help you."

The sugary sweetness was gone from his voice now. There was only a dark threat, accompanied by a guttural sound that sounded almost like a cat's purr. Grey backed away further.

"I do think you can understand what I'm saying." Grey shook his head, snorting. "Interesting. Nothing like this has ever happened before, to my recollection. You're quite unique, my friend."

The instant the echo of the word 'friend' died out, the man dashed forward and stabbed at Grey with sharp, almost claw-like nails. Grey lithely dodged him, and at the same time struck the ground with his hooves. Shards of stone threw the man backwards. He attacked again, and Grey avoided him again. Slowly they circled the stone table until the man got behind it. There he stopped, unwilling to approach a piece of wood that hung on the wall. His eyes widened when Grey showed no sign of even noticing it.

"Amazing! The cross doesn't repel you! Could it be our faith as mortals that makes us vulnerable? Our fear of Hell? You don't believe, don't even know, so it does not bother you. I have underestimated you, my friend." The man folded aside his ankle-length cloak, and bowed. "I am Ahriman, the Fallen. Last of the vampires."

Grey leaned his head to one side and looked at him. He was surprised at the sudden change in the man, who had gone instantly from hostility to the same curiosity that had been in his mental voice during the day. Then the meaning of the second half of Ahriman's introduction struck Grey, and he backed away again.

"Yes, I said last. The others are dead, all of them. You weren't supposed to exist, either, you're a mistake! You see, vampire bites are contagious. If you drain your prey to death's door, but fail to kill, they come back to life, immortal. Only a vampire can kill a vampire."

Grey nodded. He had understood. He had seen wounds heal even as he watched. Maybe even the sunlight wasn't able to kill, only to burn and hurt. Ahriman burst out with a short laughter.

"I know what you're thinking, horse. The sun burns, destroys, hurts, but we come back. Silver poisons, eats away at body and mind, but we come back. The cross sears and chars both skin and soul, well, not for you. But if you're struck down by another vampire, you'll die. And you will die!"

Ahriman leaped over the altar with frightening speed. His claws scraped at Grey's ribs, and dark blood started flowing down his side. The man who called himself Fallen stopped to lick at his hand. A smile spread across his lips, and a feral hunger crept into his gleaming red eyes. The sight made Grey shudder.

"Nothing tastes like another immortal. I had almost forgotten the succulent pleasure. It has been so long since I killed the others."

"Killed them!"

The violent mind-cry surprised Ahriman, who staggered away from him. Grey had never before thrust his thoughts out like that, and the brief contact showed him a glimpse of Ahriman's mind. Blood and turmoil, death and destruction; a creature cheating death by murdering its way down the centuries and spilling oceans of blood. A man who parted with his sanity long ago. Ahriman's thoughts ran red, and red was all that he sought.

Grey used his advantage to strike with his hooves. He hit hard, and Ahriman was thrown into the stone wall with a bone-crunching crash. Grey fell upon him immediately, biting and tearing with his sharp teeth. The man had been right; immortal blood was intoxicating, filled with the power of centuries. Grey did not allow himself to stop and enjoy it, but aimed for Ahriman's neck instead. Before he could kill, though, a searing pain ripped through his belly. Ahriman pulled back his hand, and the pain came to a crescendo. Grinning, the man held up a handful of dripping flesh. A piece of a white rib hung from it. Grey screamed and tossed back. but the man was faster. A blow that rattled the windows pushed Grey halfway through the stone wall.

"You come in here! Take my home!" Another blow. "Settle down in my crypt!"

Yet another blow, and Grey heard more than felt how bones shattered inside him. He was beyond pain, now, and he barely even registered as Ahriman hit him again.

"You challenge me! Me!!" Ahriman grabbed him by the blood-stained mane and looked straight into his large, round eyes. "In my own home you challenge me."

The sharp claws tore Grey's neck open, but fear of death gave him new strength for a second. He threw his head to the side, making Ahriman lose his balance, then he turned and struck with his back hooves. Ahriman's body bounced off the flat stone and hit the wall behind it. The cross caught Grey's eyes; Ahriman had shied away from it. He fears that piece of wood. Grey landed a blow of his front hooves on the flat stone, and a shower of pebbles hit the cross. It fell right on top of Ahriman, who roared with pain, threw it off with some difficulty, and retreated down the walkway.

Grey quickly became a bat, and flew up into the tower. The Fallen, too, changed his shape, and a gruesome winged monster followed Grey upwards. In the tower their arrival stirred up the bats that were not out hunting, and they scattered in all directions. Grey hid among them and fled with them, and Ahriman seemed unable to find him. Perhaps he was worse injured than Grey had thought, or maybe Grey looked so much like a bat that he was inseparable from the others. The flying monster sank back into the church, but a faint scent of burned flesh remained. Grey did not linger, but flew down into the forest. He had escaped.

* * * * * *

When dawn came, Grey had taken refuge in an empty barn, burrowing into a stack of mildewy hay like a hedgehog in a pile of leaves. He had flown as far as he could that night, but when his strength finally left him he had to land. During the day he licked his wounds, noticing that they would not heal. So Ahriman had spoken the truth. Damage done by a vampire, again that word for what he had become, could kill. His chest had been torn open, and blood kept seeping from where his missing rib had been. His throat had been cut, as well, and even though he could still breathe, he could not produce the slightest sound. Worst of all was the loss of blood. The life-giving fluid leaked slowly from him, and he needed to feed. Slowly he reached out with his mind, until he sensed a couple of deer grazing nearby. He remembered how Ahriman had almost lured him in with his thoughts, and now he tried to do the same. Slowly, unbearably slowly, he managed to persuade one of the deer to enter the barn. Three times it jumped, and almost fled, but at last it approached him. Once he was fed, Grey focused on his wounds. He tried to concentrate his newly won strength on his injuries, and after a few hours of struggle, the cut in his neck started to close. Two more deer had to give up their lives before his injuries were no longer life-threatening.

He remained hidden in the barn for several days, and during his convalescence he had lots of time to think. The house with the tower had been Ahriman's home. So what? Grey himself had been forced out of the place that had been his, it was just something that happened. From the past, he turned his mind to the future, surprised at how easily he could shift his thoughts. How different his mind had become.

What should he do next? He dared not face the man who called himself Fallen again; surely he could never survive another confrontation? But he had wounded Ahriman. He had tasted his blood, and the cross-thing had also hurt the man. Grey could remember the brief mental contact he had had with Ahriman. A lot of new thoughts and words had come to him then, but strongest of the memories was the story of the Fallen himself. As clearly as if it had happened to him, Grey could see before him the frightened human, running from one that was not of his own kind. One who was horribly alien, and deathly dangerous.

The hunt had ended as it must; sharp teeth piercing the soft skin of his neck. But before the kill was over, Ahriman had jabbed a knife into uncovered vampire eyes. It had shrieked with pain as it withdrew, but its agony was nothing compared to that of Ahriman's own transformation, as unasked for immortality invaded his body and changed it forever. Then followed what Grey himself had known, the discovery and exploration of his new self and the stunning new things it could do. That first horrible touch of the sun's rays, and the yearning hunger that could only be satisfied with blood. With stealing the light and the life of others. Unlike Grey, though, Ahriman soon came to find ecstatic delight in the killings. Years piled upon years; so many dead! And over all that time his thoughts became twisted until they succumbed to all-encompassing madness. Blood-rage. Slaughter upon slaughter, a hundred dead became a thousand, ten thousand...

Grey snapped out of the weird memories when the barn door slowly creaked open. He stiffened; could it be...? No, the sun was still up. It could not be Ahriman. Two small humans peered in, shining a lantern in front of their faces. Children. Grey remembered children from his previous life; the little ones were mostly kind and curious, even though some of them could be quite cruel. Whispering voices of fear mixed with joy. Clearly, they had found something exciting, something forbidden. Grey ignored them, and hoped that they would not smell him.

"He's in here," whispered a clear boy soprano. "I'm tellin' you!"

"You're just making things up." Big sister's words of wisdom. "But it doesn't work, I'm not g-getting scared."

"C'mon, check it out. I'm not lying! He's right in here."

Could the boy have spotted him while he slept? Grey reached out with his mind to theirs, and tried to make the children forget about him. He was not used to manipulating others, however, and their thoughts were more complicated that the simple minds of the grazing deer. The children shook their heads, puzzled, and then they were right there, staring at him. They seemed to know instinctively that he was the one who tried to invade their minds. Grey pulled back his lips in a silent snarl and showed them sharp teeth that gleamed in the lantern's light. His red eyes met theirs, and he cast out his mind.

"Go away!"

The girl gasped and backed away, but the boy pulled a toy gun from behind his back. Grey knew a rifle, and he struck quickly. Before he could kill, though, he realised that the gun was too small to real, and he changed his mind. His jaws snapped shut a hair's-width from the boy's fingers, and cut the toy off as if it were a blade of grass. Both children ran out of the barn, screaming, and Grey lay back again. Hopefully they would not dare return that day, and in the morning he would be far gone. He did not want to kill the young; it went against his nature, and he was pleased that he had managed to scare them away. The mind images from Ahriman's memory told of far too many, far too young, meeting far too terrible ends.

But the day did not pass quickly enough. Just before sunset, they were back again, this time accompanied by an adult. The man carried a large rifle, and Grey, still too weak to change shape, felt anger rise up inside him. Why could they not leave him alone? The man raised his rifle as he shoved the barn door open, and the children stepped in at his heels, peering around him with large, fearful eyes. Once more, Grey collected his thoughts and sent them.

"Leave this place!"

The man pulled the trigger reflexively, and a board in the barn wall shattered. As he hurried to re-load, Grey got up and advanced on them, growling threateningly. He still didn't intend to kill, but he realised that an even bigger scare was needed this time. But before he could see what was happening, the girl had raised a second gun. There was a loud bang, and pain exploded in Grey's flank. Enraged, he reared, knocking the boy to the ground. The man never had time to get his rifle ready. A blow from Grey's hooves crushed his skull, and while still in the forward motion, Grey sank his teeth into the girl's torso. It was over in a couple of seconds.

Two of the humans were dead, and the boy lay unconscious on the floor. Grey drained the dead bodies, then lay down to rest again. Just before sunset, the boy woke up, glancing around himself with unfocused eyes. On the floor in front of him lay the weapons, broken. Grey had buried the bodies alongside the deer he had fed on, true to his habit even on foreign ground. The boy touched his head and groaned with pain, and when his eyes finally found Grey he gasped. Grey watched him calmly, then reached out with his mind. The dead were there, and so were others who Grey deduced were the rest of the boy's family. He studied the reaction to each memory as he woke them to life. What fascinating creatures they were, so devoted to one another. He gathered his thoughts and pushed them over to the boy.

"Why did you not leave? The others are dead now."

"You c-c-can sp-speak?"

"No."

"W-we were... are they d-dead?"

"You were going to shoot me."

"You...you scared us. Hid in our barn and sc-scared us."

"You should have left."

"Yes, we should have." The boy began to sob. "Did you really have to kill them?"

"Yes. Now leave."

At that moment the barn wall exploded. Bits of wood flew like deadly projectiles through the air, piercing both Grey and the boy. There stood Ahriman, a dark shape against the last light of the day. A flaming red scar covered the left part of his face, and madness shone from his bright red eyes. There was a faint smell of burned flesh coming from him, that reached even Grey's less-than-keen nostrils.

"Horse!"

"Grey."

"So, you can mind-speak now. Soon you'll be babbling away like one of these short-lived bugs." He pointed at the boy's dead body. "Why did you not kill him? It's your right."

Grey didn't answer, but snorted with hatred and disgust for the man. He ducked quickly to pull a splinter of wood from his leg, and then he turned to run. Ahriman leaped after him and slashed his hind leg. Grey kicked back and hit straight on, sending the man flying. Ahriman crashed through the wall again, and Grey seized the opportunity to run out the door. The last remains of the hurtful sunlight singed his skin, and he realised that Ahriman must have travelled through daylight to reach him. Was there no stopping that man?

A roar of fury was heard behind him, but Grey did not pause to look. With a powerful leap he was airborne, once more a bat, and he flew south along the coast as fast as he could. The winged horror that had pursued him in the tower now rose above the trees behind him, and this time he could not trick Ahriman to get away. In the dusk between the time for birds and bats, they were alone in the sky. A wild hunt followed. Grey was not fast enough to escape, and the monster was not fast enough to catch up. Instead, they tried to feint one another. Grey would pretend to turn towards the coast, and when Ahriman followed he turned back quickly, gaining a few, valuable seconds. Another time Ahriman suddenly rose up higher behind Grey, and used the extra altitude to swoop down on him. But Grey was too agile in the air; his tiny bat-body was much more manoeuvrable, even though the monster could maintain a higher speed.

Then, suddenly, Ahriman was gone. Grey looked around, almost panicking, but he could neither see the monster, nor sense its presence. Was this another trick? He did not have to wait for the answer. Ahriman flew up from the trees below, with a thrashing human woman in his claws. He drank as he flew, and her screams quickly ended. The new energy helped hem speed up, and he closed in on Grey inch by inch. Grey tried desperately to think of a plan. He could not take prey of his own, he was too slow and too weak as he was now. To change shape would take much time, but it was the only possibility.

More than half the night had passed when Grey suddenly turned. Before the monster could react, he was above it. Ahriman screamed out his anger and snapped at Grey, but missed. Grey turned around, and placed himself directly above the hideous shape of his foe. Then he returned to himself, and his large horse body rammed the flying beast forcefully. Grey beat at Ahriman with his hooves as they fell. He sank his teeth into the vampire's back, into his shoulders, his neck, and the huge, leathery wings. A bite and a quick jerk of his head separated Ahriman's arm from his shoulder, and Grey took nourishment from the spraying black blood. The second before they hit the ground, Grey became a bat again, while Ahriman landed heavily among the trees. The bat flew in above him, and changed back into Grey. Once more he slammed into Ahriman, who had now resumed his human form. Bones broke like twigs, and more blood ran from dozens of wounds.

"You kill everything! Now you will die!"

"No!"

With a blood-chilling scream, Ahriman managed to throw Grey off himself, and he fled towards the coast. This time it was Grey who took up the hunt. Using his enhanced senses, he knew exactly where he had Ahriman. On top of a high cliff facing the ocean, the Fallen waited for him. Blood was still gushing from where his arm had been. He trembled on broken legs, yet his eyes were still lit with a furious red fire. Grey let hear a low growl as he slowly approached his enemy.

"Die! Die now!"

"Never." The voice was now no more than a hoarse whisper. "Never. I am immortal. I am forever!"

Ahriman attacked clumsily, and Grey could easily avoid him. Another bite tore through the skin of man's back, and more vampire blood stained the cliff. Ahriman screamed, and staggered towards the edge. With a final scream he threw himself into the crashing waves below.

"Forever!!"

"You will not get away!"

Grey leaped into the foaming water. He could vaguely sense the vampire's fading life signs ahead of him. Grey was a fish now, a large, silvery fish who homed in on its prey. Ahriman, too, had tried to change, but he was too weak to assume a true form. A soft, amorphous mound of flesh tried to escape the approaching death, but Grey was relentless.

"It is with mercy I destroy you!"

Slowly, as if to peak further the ecstasy of the hunt, his slender form drove in on the bleeding, quivering Ahriman. Again Grey changed shape, and gained in size; a shark that moved in for the kill. Time after time he bit into the dying pile of flesh, and his strength grew as he filtered the bloody water through his gills. Soon irregular heartbeats silenced completely, and what remained of the lifeless vampire floated to the surface, where others waited for their turn. They were like Grey; slender, beautiful, sharp-toothed killers of the sea, and they took what they wanted. Grey himself swan for the shore, and a proud, silvery grey horse emerged from the waves, rearing triumphantly.

* * * * * *
Epilogue
* * * * * *

He stands on a hill, looking out over his kingdom, his enormous kingdom. A whole world lies at his feet; he can take what he needs, do what he wants and go where it pleases him to go; and he does, whenever he so wishes. He fears nothing, not even the dawn that now approaches the horizon. It is just another part of his life.

All around him the world is brimming with life, the life that keeps him alive. He sees them as his children, and at any time he can be one of them, without them knowing him for what he is. The thought fills his large heart with pride and love. He takes from them only when he has to, otherwise he leaves them alone.

Above, the stars are going out, one by one. The cool breeze of the night is gaining heat, and dewdrops are wetting his hooves. Within him there is only peace now. He is a part of the world, and it is a part of him. A swooshing sound tells him that the bats are coming home to their tower. The forest animals are moving, to either begin or end their time of the day. Beyond his field of vision, humans are beginning to stir. These strange creatures that he hopes one day to fully understand.

Now the first rays of sun light up the treetops above him, and the birds sing their salute to the Lifegiver. It is their time now, and he leaves for his home, for the calm coolness of the crypt. Now and forever, he is safe and free.