Barrow

The beast at the barrow did not remember what it was. The beast at the barrow knew only that this was its home, and that it should protect it. It prowled the area around the barrow on its padded paws, watching for interlopers. But there were few, for this highland barrow was to a place that few came.

Few, but not none. For one day, the beast had visitors. He heard their footsteps before he heard their speech, but they were speaking loud enough it heard their speech long before they drew close. They were ghost hunters, investigating a sighting of a haunt.

(At the back of its mind something in the beast wondered that it understood their speech. Why should a beast understand the speech of men? Yet it did, as if it was natural to it. Well, it didn't matter.)

They spoke of the ghost that they had seen there. A four-footed thing, like a wolf with a human face. The beast in the barrow had seen no such thing. Unless, of course...

Well. It didn't matter. They were interlopers. The beast leapt out and snarled, and was gratified by their screams. The beast chased the intruders away.

Long after they had fled, the beast at the barrow thought over what they had said. The beast had seen no other beings at the barrow; could they have been talking about it? There were no mirrors here; the beast had not seen its own reflection. A wolf with a human face. Did the beast have a human face?

Had the beast been human once? Perhaps. The beast almost remembered such a time.

But it didn't matter. All that mattered now was to protect the barrow. The beast circled its home again.