Story and characters are (c) Lars E Hellberg

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 isolated memories; sunny summer days, green meadows and the scent of the others. It was the scent 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, and it had been such a painful experience that sentimentality was now mixed with light shivers.
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. It was not until the smell of freshly spilled blood reached his nostrils that he understood something was wrong. At first he could not associate his fear with the man walking towards him; how slow and narrow-minded he had been in those days. The man felled him to the ground with a single, mighty blow. Grey remembered the chock more than the pain. The sense of being betrayed. He knew that humans could cause pain, but he also knew they only hit you if you were disobedient or did something bad. This chock had hardly 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. It smelled like nothing Grey had ever experienced before. The man held Grey's large head between his small hands as if he was just a foal, and then tore his throat wide open with his razor sharp teeth.
It was a while before Grey realised that he was still alive. All around him were the bodies of the others, all emptied of blood. He felt faint; his legs shivered and he could hardly see. And something had changed. Snorting he shook his head and tried to clear his mind. There was no more fear. Even though the reek of blood was still heavy around him, he felt perfectly calm. He closed his eyes and took in the new impressions. A cricket had started to play at a deafening volume, on the other side of the pasture, and multitudes of scents were crowding in on him. 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 lids again. Everything was so clear, so brilliant; every blade of grass was 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 seemed so empty, black 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 his tongue felt was nothing short of heavenly. 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. A man had a gun in his hand, and in the other he held a torch which he shone across the field. When the light hit Grey's eyes, he shrugged 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 shy away. Still he felt drawn to the man. There was an aura around him, a pulsating light that seemed to run through his entire body. It was awfully tempting. Then the torch hit his eyes again, and he replied by meeting the man's gaze. The man paled and took a few steps backwards. Grey let him 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. Grey turned and fled. At the fence he hesitated, but decided to try a jump. He cleared both fence and ditch as if they had been on a child's obstacle course. Free he galloped towards the forest, while more shots could be heard from behind.

Deep inside the protecting forest he stopped, panting. Alone at last. Alone with the living trees and all the pulsating life of the forest. He felt as if he could see the entire world from where he stood. See it, but not in the ordinary way, but rather as bright lights of shifting intensity and colour. The feeling was exciting and frightening. 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 right in his shoulder, and he was covered with dry or drying blood. I look terrible. Carefully he sniffed the air, and caught scent of water nearby. In an ice-cold rill he washed the blood away, and he gently licked 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. The wound in his neck was... He leant forward and looked at the water, but there was nothing. 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 above, but he himself was gone. Odd. There had always been another horse there, silvery grey just like him, who had faced him whenever he had a swim or a drink. He had known, yet not quite known, that it was himself he used to see, and now he found he missed it. The water was empty. Suddenly a new feeling made Grey leave the rill, and take his refuge beneath the trees. There was something about the moonlight. The yellow light felt... disturbing; it gave a prickly, stinging feeling.
As the night passed, Grey grew more and more worried. It felt as if something bad was coming. His premonitions grew stronger with time, and he started looking for shelter. Shelter from whatever was approaching. The forest and the trees would not do, he needed a place where he could hide completely. In the end he found an abandoned cabin in a half overgrown forest glade. I can hide in there. Dawn was near now, and Grey turned around to watch the sunrise. He liked to watch the dawning of a new day; he always had. A choir of singing birds greeted the first rays of sun as they hit the treetops, and Grey's became even more concerned. A wild panic surged within him, and it was rearing to break out. Then the sun hit him with the force of an explosion. Every cell in the large body seemed to burst with a terrible pain. A stench of burnt horsehair filled his nostrils, and fear gripped his mind. He was burning! Flames burst from his flesh, and his eyes were filled with red. Screaming and thrashing madly about, he eventually managed to kick in the cabin door. He threw his body inside. The pain receded as he got out of the direct sunlight, but he could still feel the day hammering at him. A small staircase led down to a tiny basement, and this 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 shortly fell asleep.
The dreams were about the light. The light that coursed through all living things. The man with the gun had a glow in him, and the longing for this light made Grey's body shiver in his sleep. When he woke up the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, and he was unbearably hungry. Spots of colour glimmered beneath his eyelids, and he dragged himself up the stairs and out into the mild evening breeze. Without really thinking he bent down and grabbed himself a mouthful of grass. A tangy, bitter taste filled his mouth, and he spent a while spitting and snorting. Hurriedly, he galloped down to the rill, where he washed his mouth thoroughly. After a long while, the taste finally disappeared. He could no longer eat grass! And he was so hungry. Never before had such a feeling of hunger gnawed at his belly. Starvation was a completely unknown concept for one who had lived his life surrounded by bounty. For the first time ever the thought of Grey's own death entered his mind. I'm not going to make it. It was clear to him that he could no longer eat. That his life was in danger. At that precise time, a hornet flew right past his muzzle, and he instinctively snapped after it. The powerful jaws closed around the insect and crushed it immediately. To his surprise, Grey felt power run down through his throat, and flow out into his body. It was not much, but enough to make him feel a little stronger. He dropped the dead hornet, and looked at it. To his new eyes it was black 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 very weak aura surrounding his whole body. He understood. I have taken its light. He looked at the hornet again. On the outskirts of his field of sight he noticed some fish swimming around in the rill. They were not large, but the light and the colours that emanated from them woke his hunger again. Grey silently sneaked 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. Gently Grey pierced its scaly skin, and sipped up the blood leaving the fish. Again power filled him, but it was not nearly enough.

Days passed. Grey slept in the basement during the days, and nights he spent fishing in the rill, 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. The fish kept him alive, but there was a will to have more power, more light. 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 red balls of flame; stronger the more he nourished. The pincer-like teeth glimmered sharply in the moonlight. But the greatest difference was in his movements. He was way faster than he had ever been. The distance between the cabin and the rill, which seemed to him to be just a few gallops, was actually several kilometres. He would catch the fish as if they stood still, waiting for him.
And one night, another creature appeared by the rill. Grey had never before seen an elk, and he carefully approached the young bull. How it seethed 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 the frightening horse it screamed, and fled as fast as it could run. Grey began a light trot, which brought him up alongside of the animal. He thoroughly enjoyed to watch it throw from side to side to avoid what could not be avoided. When he had enough of the game, Grey moved in on the elk and sank his teeth in the back of its neck. The young bull gave up a short scream, and fell over, dead. Blood was streaming from its open carotid artery, and Grey lay 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 body grew dark, just like those of the other horses, that night. He himself shone, light and colours flowed through him, and he felt stronger than he had thought possible. As if in ecstasy he started running back and forth through the forest, and he hardly 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 rested and still full of energy.

Grey's life now took a routine shape. Sleep at day, hunt by night. For how long things stayed like this, he could not tell; he had neither the knowledge nor the need for counting days. Autumn came, the leaves turned yellow and fell to the ground. Every now and then he could see humans at a distance, but the memory of fear kept him away from them. As the days grew shorter he had more and more time to think, to train his new, conscious mind. 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 sight, and he had a new sense, one to show him where there was blood, where there were lives to take. But he missed the smells. Sometimes he would stroke his muzzle over the autumn brown grass, expecting to feel the 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 soon rather thick layer of snow did not bother Grey, though. He ran upon the crust, light as a feather, and easily outran his prey. Soon the days were nothing more than a grey haze, but he did not dare to go out beneath the clouds, because he knew that the sun was hiding behind them, although not as strong as before. Long hours passed between hunt and sleep, and Grey started thinking along new lines, thoughts that he had not even dreamed of before. I can leave. He had to choose between the comfort and safety of the cabin, and a sudden 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 thought remained with him.

Days turned longer, and soon the snow started to melt away. Grey kept to his daily routine. Until one day, shortly before spring would break out. Until the day he met hunters. He was standing in a corner of his basement, sleeping; the sun stood low in the evening sky and there was hardly any snow left. It was when the door to the cabin opened that he woke up. It had been left open since the day he kicked it in; Grey had not had any thoughts as to close it after him. He could hear their voices.
"Damn kids, bet they've had a damn party here. We'll probably have to pick up empty bottles 'til friggin' midsummer."
"Calm down, Karl, it hardly looks touched."
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 human there. The voices went quiet, but he could hear the men moving about, unpacking their things. Did they plan to stay there? He did not move, as he was afraid they might hear him. The memories of that strange man who bit him, and the man with the gun, who had shot him, had receded with time, but their 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."
"Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!"
"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 could not remember any humans he had ever known to speak any sensible language. He had understood their body language, and maybe caught a few words that had to do with food or fun, but now he could understand every word they said. Another gift from the strange one. He gave as much as he took. They kept talking, and Grey listened in silence. The men were hunters, they owned the cabin and spent the hunting seasons there. They were to hunt rabbits. Slowly an anger grew within Grey. They claimed to own his cabin! They were going to hunt his prey! As if they did not have to care about him! Still, fear kept him in the basement.
"Dammit, Frank, this place smells of horse!"
"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've happened somewhere out here in the bush. Creepy stuff."
"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 vampire had passed the countryside."
"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."
"Nobody cares. I'll open a meat tin."
There was a clink; a metallic sound was heard, followed by a curse from the man called Frank. Then Grey's nostrils were filled with the only scent they could 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! Now there was no other choice but to attack. Karl hesitated instinctively as he reached the bottom of the stairs. 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 the glimmering red eyes in the dark. Grey reared, and one swift blow from his hoof sent Karl's head flying from his shoulders. He did not even have time to get surprised. Grey took his time to lick up some of the flowing blood. The other one was injured, and he could not get away. The taste was divine. Better than anything Grey had ever tasted. Greedily he emptied Karl's body, ignoring Frank's calls from upstairs. Within a minute he was finished, and turned to walk slowly up the stairs.
"Did ya find anything, Karl? I'm bleeding pretty bad."
Grey replied with a guttural growling, and the man fell silent. With a deliberate slowness Grey showed himself at the top of the stairs, and Frank's eyes grew wide with fear. Grey enjoyed having the advantage. Now he would never have to be afraid of humans, never again. 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 forelegs. Frank lost his struggle as he saw the little effect his rifle had. As if bewitched he sat there, staring into the red eyes, waiting for death to come. The smell of blood almost made Grey dizzy with excitement, and he reverently 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 smaller bridle, only not in his mouth. Grey understood that it was the necklace that had harmed him, and now he raised his hooves to strike. But Frank regained breath as death stepped back, and he avoided the blow. When he rolled away, the man accidentally kicked over the gas heater, which set fire to the dry wooden floor. Side by side man and horse left the cabin, just as the heater 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 the 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 lowered his head and bit Frank's good leg off at the knee. Blood flowed from the wound, and Grey stopped to lick it up. It was a suitable vengeance; all Frank could do was to watch as his life slowly bled out of him.

Several hours later, Grey was still standing by Frank cold body. The cabin was now completely burnt 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 go exploring. First I must find a shelter from the sun. After a long, last look at the remains of the cabin, he turned and left. He chose to trot westwards, mostly to get away from the sunrise, but also to stay away from his old farm. The night passed, and the eastern horizon had already 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 the barn. When night finally came, he resumed his walk.
So he kept on walking for many days, until he reached the sea. Such a massive body of water, Grey had never even imagined. Does it ever end? He tasted the water, but found it impossible to drink. Now he started following the coast south. Here and there he came across human settlements, but he avoided them as long as he did not have to hide from the dawn. The fourth night travelling in this direction, he came upon a crossroads. From the larger path he had walked, a small, almost overgrown road, now no wider than a game trail, led into another forest. The new sense, which was not smell, told him that no one had travelled this way for a long time. This path is not used. 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 track led him wrong. Low branches and thick bushes gave way for him where he went; it was as if they were not really there, as if he was 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 was there, unlike anything he had ever seen. It was made from stone, much higher than any barn, and with a tall tower reaching for the night sky. A huge, creaking oak door turned out to open easily for him. Inside, the building reminded him of a barn. A broad walk in the middle was surrounded with what looked to him like small, doorless cribs. Paintings covered the walls, showing humans doing things he could not comprehend, and at the far end of the gangway was a large, flat block of stone, whose purpose was beyond Grey's guessing. A 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 he 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, markings that had no meaning to him. The air tasted stuffy, and the floor was dusty, 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 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. 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 at least in the night there was little traffic. During his inspection, Grey saw no more than two cars. North, there were some small houses by the water; he had seen them before, and they seemed to be in use. The traces of men were fresh. A place to stay away from. South was a fantastic landscape. He ran for half a night without running into a single trace of humans, except for the abandoned path, which ran on parallel lines with the coast. 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 prey. But soon he discovered that humans still came this way, if only passing by. The bodies of larger animals, lying drained where he had left them, frightened the humans. Several times teams of hunters searched the woods for whatever carnivore had mutilated the big game. So Grey began hiding the bodies. Digging was a task he eagerly practised, and then he shoved the corpses into the hole he had made. Soon enough, human curiosity ceased, and he was left alone.
As time passed Grey found a closeness to the countryside. A contact on a much deeper level than just walking around in it. He discovered that he could, by concentrating, sense other beings; feel where they were, who they were and what power coursed through their veins. During the long summer days he 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 outside the coastline, large elks clamping about as if they owned his forest. There were foxes, hedgehogs, snakes, rabbits and badgers, the constant buzzing of insects; and occasionally a bear, lynx or wolf passed his territory. He tolerated the predators. By his mercy they were allowed to pass his kingdom and nourish from the prey that was his. But when an old, scarred lynx tried to settle on his grounds, Grey took action. The next night he challenged her, but she was old, and there was never much of a fight. Like a gourmet he enjoyed her rich, tasty blood.
And there were humans. They moved about 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 house, and he preferred it that way. He could feel it when hunters passed by, or when people gathered mushrooms or berries, but he never met any at night. It was as if they did not even exist during his time of the day. They always retreated before dusk, and never returned before the sun stood high.

Years passed 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 would return to the house. Sometimes weeks could pass, and he never once left his resting place in the crypt; when he finally went out he found to his surprise that the staircase was blocked by spiders' web. The spiders had moved in with him by numbers, but he hardly took notice of them. They were too small and too powerless to provide nourishment, and they did nothing to disturb him. He understood that they felt protected by him, now that they did not have to worry about birds or rats. Sometimes Grey thought he could hear the muttering of their primitive minds as they scuttled about, and he could spend days just 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 took refuge far beyond his reach, and at night they were hunting, like him. Bats and spiders became constants in his serene world, pets to one who had once been a pet himself. They lived with him, and so they were his. He found their company pleasing.
Grey slept less and less. The day 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 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 and caress him; to have a rider. Yet he would not give away his new life for a return of the old. It was not missed, not forgotten, not desirable when compared to the new life he had been given. The ecstatic feeling of warm blood running down his throat, the force 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 box 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. But all the while 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. He was running beneath the green branches of birches, soft moss underneath his hooves, and before him he could hear the furious heartbeat of the frightened deer in front of him. These sensations were all in his mind, he realised this. 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. I'm hunting, without leaving the house. It felt so alive, so real, that he decided to see for himself if it was. He hauled in his dream-self, like a fisherman pulling in his nets. His mind's eye could see how he abandoned his hunt and headed for the house HIGH ABOVE THE GROUND! Beneath him lay the treetops, and above him, the stars. The chill night wind beating at his face told him that he was awake. This is not a dream! He was flying! Huge black, leathery wings stretched out from his sides and beat frenetically 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. 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 hung himself upside-down among the bats, and they greeted him as one of theirs, and he fell asleep there. Shortly before dawn he woke up in a pile of wood and stone at the bottom of the tower. In his sleep, he had reverted to his true form, and now he hurried down into the crypt. For many nights, after discovering this wonderful talent, he flew with the bats. Together they hunted for insects, and he was indistinguishable from the others. The sheer joy of flying made him tired, and he slept heavily after a night of flight. Yet in his dreams he kept 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, but as dawn approached, he returned with the bats and went to sleep in the crypt. I do not need to explore. Not yet.
One day he woke up after a flying dream, hours before sunset, and found himself looking at a small spider, spinning its web in a corner. He focused his mind on the spider, trying to shrink to its size. He got more eyes, and suddenly the world around him was monstrously large. Grey was astonished. His kingdom was now larger than the universe. On his short, eight legs it took him the rest of the day just exploring the crypt, yet 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 all the time. They were contented and peaceful, and seemed to have no worries at all. He spent months with them, living among the eight-legged and eating flies with them, all the while communicating with silent movements; the buzzing near-thinking they all seemed to share. He was comfortable here, and it was hard to remember who he had once been. With a push of will he changed into himself. It was the longing for blood 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 changed his shape at time. Sometimes sharing the cheeping hunt of bats, and some times he was a placid spider. He hunted with a wolfpack as it passed through his lands, and he found their social closeness good. He joined a lonely lynx in a nightly hunt, and he caught fish with a bear. But he always returned to himself in the end. Grey was Grey, and he was unique. At least, that was what he thought.

After a night of hunting, Grey returned early to the crypt. It was several hours before dawn, but he had drunk from a young cow elk, and felt contented. Slowly he let himself float out, but this time there was something new. A shadow had swept in over the land, and it fell heavily on parts of his forest. It was as if an empty space was advancing on him, and in its wake there would never again be life. For the second time in his life, Grey felt a touch of pure evil. Hastily he left his half-sleep, trembling and snorting with fear. That feeling. The feeling was the same. 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 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 cold sweat. Then there was another feeling. A numbing cold covered the crypt, and a presence could be felt. Was it like this for that deer? The shadow was sending. A sensation of dread was spreading from its campsite, out across the forest, and with a horrible precision it homed in on Grey. As he himself was looking down on the human house in his half-sleep, the shadow was now looking down on him, and he was almost mad with fear. It took all the strength of will he could muster not to rush out, blind with terror, into the murderous sunlight.
**There you are, my friend.** The voice exploded inside Grey's skull. **I thought I felt you. Let's have a closer look.**
Grey was fully awake now, feeling the unseen eyes watching him. How small and insufficient the crypt suddenly felt. How vulnerable...
**A horse!? I thought I sensed something strange about you.**
For a long while everything was quiet, but Grey could feel the shadow moving around him, examining him, probing his body, filling his nostrils until the fear was-
**Now I remember!** A mental laughter rang in Grey's mind. **That time... they interrupted me. Shot me. I took your friends, but you... you got away. And now you're like me, yet not like me. Vampire!**
The contact was broken, 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; given a word to that which Grey had experienced, but was unable to explain. He had linked his change to the attack by the strange man, and now he knew what the word meant. Vampire. It had been an accident. He was supposed to have died with the others. Supposed to have been emptied of blood and left behind like a lifeless, empty shred. All his strength, all his being would just have been an anonymous meal for the mysterious one. For the shadow. Now that he knew who he was dealing with, some of the fear paled away. 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 replaced., an anger he had never known existed within him. Not anger for his transformation into a... vampire, neither for the attack itself, but for the merciless cruelty. He did not need us all! 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 cruelty. He 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 does. Again, Grey was pained by the choice; to try and run or to stay and fight. Every fibre, every muscle in his body screamed for flight, for safety, but he chose to stay. I will never get away from him. Even without using his new sense, he felt exactly when the sun set, and he could feel the shadow start to move. A few seconds passed, and then the large wooden door exploded inwards with a terrible force. Must he destroy?
"Come now, horsey, where are you hiding?"
It was a seductive voice. Before he could stop himself, Grey had taken a step towards the stairs. For a fleeting moment he could picture himself, groomed and petted and satisfied, happily chowing down a mouthful of sweet hay. Hay... but he could no longer eat that way! The image was false! Snorting he bounded up the stairs, and there stood the man. He seemed to be 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 larger. He was fair of skin, with 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 shining rubies against the pale face; they radiated a massive power, the like of which Grey had never before encountered. But the illusion was broken; Grey would not allow himself to be charmed again by the mental images the man sent him. For his mind's eye he could see himself lying on the ground, his neck open and the brightly sparkling blood leaving him. He means me no good. A sound that was half a growl, half a neigh, left his throat.
"So, you're not coming to me. Smartened up a bit since last time, have you?"
The sugary sweetness was gone from his voice now; there was only a dark threat, accompanied by a guttural sound. Grey backed further away.
"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 unique, my friend."
The instant the echo of the word 'friend' died out, the man leapt forward and stabbed at Grey with sharp nails, like claws. 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 the piece of wood that hung on the wall.
"Amazing! The cross doesn't harm you! Could it be our original faith that makes us fear Purgatory? You don't know, so you don't fear."
The man stopped, 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 Ahriman.
"Yes, I said last. The others are dead, all of them. You weren't supposed to be, either, you're an accident! You see, vampires are contagious. If you empty the body to death's door, it comes back to life, immortal. Only a vampire can kill a vampire."
Grey nodded. He had understood. He had seen fatal injuries heal while he was watching. Maybe even the sunlight was unable to kill, only to burn and hurt. Ahriman burst out with a short laughter.
"I know you, horse. The sun burns, destroys, hurts, but we come back. Silver poisons, eating away at body and mind, but we come back. But a lethal blow from another vampire, and you die. And you will die!"
Ahriman leaped over the altar with a frightening speed. His claws scraped at Grey's ribs, and dark blood started flowing down his side. The Fallen stopped to lick at his blood-covered hand.
"Nothing tastes like another immortal. I had almost forgotten the succulent pleasure. It has been so long since I killed the others."
**Killed them!**
Grey's violent sending surprised Ahriman. He had never before thrust his thoughts out like that, and the short contact it gave showed him a glimpse of Ahriman's mind. Blood and turmoil, death and destruction; a creature cheating death, murdering his way down the centuries. A creature that had parted with its sanity long ago. Ahriman's thoughts ran red, and red was all he sought. Grey used the advantage to strike at him with his hooves. He hit hard, and Ahriman was violently thrown into the stone wall. Grey fell over him immediately, biting and tearing with his sharp teeth. The man had been right; the immortal blood was intoxicating, filled with the power of centuries. But Grey did not allow himself to stop and enjoy it, but aimed for Ahriman's neck as a searing pain ripped through his belly. Ahriman pulled back his hand, and the pain came to a crescendo. Grinning he held up a piece of Grey, a couple of ribs and something else, something greyish. Grey screamed and tossed back. but the man was faster. A blow that rattled the windows pushed Grey halfway through the 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.
"You CHALLENGE me!!! ME!!!"
Ahriman grabbed him by the blood-stained mane and looked him in the big, round eyes.
"In my own home you challenge me."
The sharp claws tore Grey's neck wide open, but fear of death gave him new strength for a second. He threw with his head, and the man lost balance, then he turned and struck with his back hooves. Ahriman's body bounced off the altar, and hit the wall behind it. The cross caught Grey's eyes. Ahriman had shied away from it. Grey landed a mighty blow with his front hooves on the altar, and a shower of stone hit the cross. It fell right on top of Ahriman, who roared with pain, tossed it off with some trouble, and retreated down the gangway. 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 Grey woke up those of the bats that were not hunting, and they scattered in all directions. He hid among them, and fled like them, and Ahriman seemed unable to find him. Perhaps he was more gravely hurt 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. Grey had escaped.

When dawn came, Grey had taken refuge to an empty barn. He had flown as far as he could manage that night, but when his strength finally left him he had to land. Now he was licking his wounds, wounds that would not heal. So he spoke the truth. Wounds caused by a vampire, again he tasted the word, could kill. His belly was open, and parts of his intestines could be seen behind the broken ribs. His throat had been cut, as well, and 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 nourish. Slowly he panned out with his mind, until he sensed some deer grazing nearby. He remembered how Ahriman had almost lured him with his sending, and now he tried to do the same. Slowly, unbearably slowly, he managed to persuade on of the deer to enter the barn. Three times it jumped, and almost fled, but at last it approached him.
Now he focused on his wounds. He tried to concentrate his newly won strength on his injuries, and after a few hours of struggle, the wound in the neck started to close. Another two deer had to give up their lives before his injuries were no longer life-threatening. He remained hidden in the barn or several days, and during his convalescence he had lots of time to think. The church had been Ahriman's home. So what? Grey himself had been turned out of the place he had called his home. What should he do next? He dared not face the Fallen again; he would never survive that. But he had wounded Ahriman. He had tasted his blood, and the cross - how easily he understood strange words now - had also injured the man. Grey could remember the brief mental contact he had with Ahriman. A lot of new words had come to him then, but strongest of the memories was the story of the Fallen. 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 kind. That was horribly alien. Sharp teeth piercing the soft skin of his neck, and before it was over, a sharp knife to uncovered vampire eyes. It had screamed with pain as it withdrew, but its pain was nothing compared to that of Ahriman's own transformation, as unasked for immortality invaded him. The years piled on years; so many dead! Thoughts were twisted until they could no longer be called intelligence. 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 is still up. Two humans came in. Children. Whispering voices of fear mixed with joy; here was something exciting, something forbidden. He ignored them, and hoped that they would not smell him out.
"He's in here," whispered a clear boy soprano.
"You're just making things up." Big sister's words of wisdom.
"C'mon, check it out. I'm not lying!"
"Aah!"
Could the boy have spotted him while he slept? Grey reached out with his mind, and tried to make the children forget about him, but he was not used to manipulating. The children shook their heads and stared at him; they knew instinctively that he was the one who tried to invade them. Irritated he pulled back his lips and showed them the sharp teeth, the red eyes were lit up like lanterns, and he cast out his mind.
**Go away!**
The girl screamed and ran, but the boy pulled up a toy gun. Grey knew a rifle, and he struck with the speed of lightning. His jaws clanged together a hair's-breadth from the boy's fingers, cutting off the toy as if it were a blade of grass. Both children ran off, screaming, and Grey lay back again. Hopefully they would not dare return that day, and the next he would be gone. He did not want to kill the young; it was against his nature, and he was pleased that he had managed to scare them. The mind images from Ahriman's memory told of too many, too young, meeting far too terrible ends.
But the day did not pass. It was not long until they were back again, now accompanied by an adult. The man carried a large rifle, and Grey, still too weak to change shape, grew irritated. Why can't they leave me alone? The man raised his rifle as he shoved the barn door open, and the children stepped carefully in at his heels. Once more Grey collected his thoughts and sent them.
**Leave this place!**
The man fired at once, but missed badly. As he re-loaded his rifle, Grey got up and advanced on them, growling threateningly. Now the girl raised a second gun, and a bullet hit Grey's flank. Enraged he reared, knocking the girl to the ground. The man never had time to get his rifle ready. A violent blow crushed his skull, and extending the motion, he sank his teeth into the boy's torso. It was over in a few seconds. Two of the humans were dead, and the girl lay unconscious on the floor. Grey emptied the dead bodies, then lay down to rest again. Just before sunset, the girl woke up, and Grey was ready for her. On the floor before her lay the weapons, broken. Grey had hid away the bodies, true to his habit even on foreign ground. The girl touched her head, and moaned with pain, and when her unfocused eyes finally found Grey she gasped with terror. Grey watched her calmly, then reached out with his mind. The dead were there, and so were others, who Grey decided were the rest of her family. He studied her reaction to each memory as he woke them to life. What strange creatures they are. He gathered his thoughts and pushed them over to her.
**Why would you not leave? The others are dead now. You had the chance.**
"C-c-can you 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 could have left.**
"Yes, we could have." She sobbed. "Did you have to kill them?"
**Yes.**
At that moment the barn wall exploded. Bits of wood flew like deadly projectiles through the air, piercing both Grey and the girl. There stood Ahriman. A flaming red scar covered the left part of his face, and madness shone from the brightly red eyes.
"Horse!"
**Grey.**
**So, you can mind-speak now. Soon you'll be babbling like one of these short-lived bugs.** He pointed at the girl's corpse. "Why did you not kill her?"
Grey did not answer, but snorted with hatred and disgust for the man. He ducked quickly to pull a piece of wood from his leg, and then he turned to run. Ahriman leaped after him and cut him in the thigh. Grey kicked back, and hit straight on. Ahriman made a new hole in the wall, and Grey took the opportunity to run out the door. The sun had just set, and remains of the hurtful light singed him lightly. He must have travelled in daylight to reach me. Is there no stopping him? An insane roar was heard, 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. 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 each other. Grey would pretend to turn towards the coast, and when Ahriman followed he turned back quickly, gaining a few, valuable metres. Another time Ahriman suddenly rose up higher behind Grey, using 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. 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 a shrubbery, with a screaming human in his claws. He drank as he flew, and the screams quickly ended. The new energy made him go faster, and now he approached Grey, centimetre for centimetre. 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 power, but it was possible.
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 he missed. Grey turned around, and placed himself directly above Ahriman's hideous shape. The he returned to his original shape, and slammed forcefully into the flying beast. Grey beat at Ahriman repeatedly 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 powerful snap separated Ahriman's arm from his shoulder, and Grey took nourishment from the spraying black blood. Then they reached the ground. The second before they hit, Grey became a bat again, while Ahriman landed heavily among the trees. The bat flew in above him, and changed back into Grey. Again 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 die! Die!!!**
With a blood-chilling scream, Ahriman managed to throw off the fighting Grey, and he fled towards the coast. This time it was Grey who pursued. Using his enhanced senses, he knew exactly where he had Ahriman. On top of a high cliff facing the ocean, the Fallen waited. Blood was still streaming from the place where his ram had been. He trembled on broken legs, and waved angrily his one arm, even that injured.
**Die! Die now!**
"Never." The voice was now no more than a hoarse whisper. "Never. I am immortal. Immortal!"
Ahriman attacked clumsily, and Grey could easily avoid him. Another bite had vampire blood running down the man's back as well. Ahriman screamed, and staggered towards the cliff. With a final scream he vanished over the edge.
"Immortal!!!"
**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 form. A soft, amorphous mound of flesh tried to escape the approaching death, but Grey was relentless.
**I am merciful, now, that I destroy you!**
Slowly, as if to peak further the ecstasy of the hunt, Grey's slender form drove in on the bleeding Ahriman. Again he changed shape, and gained in size; a shark advancing to destroy its enemy. 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 the remains of the vampire floated up to the surface, where others waited for theirs. They were like Grey, slender, beautiful, sharp-toothed killers of the sea, and they took what they wanted. Grey himself swan for shore, and a proud, silvery grey horse emerged from the waves, rearing triumphantly.

He stands on a hill, looking out over his kingdom. His enormous kingdom. A whole world is at his feet; he can take what he wants, do what he wants and go where it pleases him to go; and he does, when he so wishes. He fears nothing but the dawn that now approaches the horizon. All around him there is a seething of life, the life that keeps him alive. They are 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. He takes from them when he has to, otherwise he leaves them be.
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. 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, whether to start or finish their time of the day. Beyond his field of vision, humans are beginning to stir. These wondrous creatures that he hopes one day to understand.
Now the first rays of sun light up the treetops above him, and the birds salute the Lifegiver. It is their time now, and he leaves for home, for the calm coolness of the crypt; now and forever safe and free.