The fatigue weighing down my body and the slow warmth of being held made for the perfect combination for me to drift to sleep. I was but a child after all. I awoke swaddled in an animal skin in a cot by the warmth of a crackling fire. I could see the man who saved my life under a blanket in a chair nearby, sniffling as he slept. His face was chiselled and gaunt with signs that he had most likely cried himself to sleep. 

I unbundled myself and using the bars of my cot picked myself to my feet. The cot wasn’t too big and pushing the blanket into a corner gave me the slight boost I needed to flop myself over the top of the cot and onto the floor. My feet and legs were unsteady and my limb movements were difficult to interpret but I managed to waddle around the living room to take in my surroundings. Firstly I took a good look at my saviour. He was tall, perhaps around six feet and three inches, and lean. He had a patchy scruffy stubble and his skin was the condition of someone who knows a hard days work all too well. His hair was mid-length and while he slept fell to a short bob of burgundy locks the tips curling from drying out naturally. Most humans looked sweet while they slept and I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t simply my feelings of thanks to this man for saving me but he looked particularly kind. I felt truly sorry for him that despite everything he was unable to save his actual child. 

The room we were in was small, it couldn’t be bigger than a one-room cabin. The fireplace we were next to doubled as both living room and kitchen with the cooking utensils, cooking pot and pans hung and packed away to one side. Across the room was a half-drawn curtain partially hiding a double bed. Various small dressers and storage could be seen with a small bookshelf, mirror and cabinet near the door, which by the sound of the wind lead outside. The walls were log lined and worn and the roof seemed sturdy if old. 

I made my way over to the mirror and bookshelves to see if I could work out anything more only to be thwarted by my tiny stature. I looked around and managed to find a footstool which I tried to quietly drag over. Lifting myself to the cabinet first I found a foldable picture frame with two paintings inside. It looked really out of place with the rest of the room’s decor and probably cost this family a lot, paintings didn’t come cheap after all. One painting was of a couple on their wedding day, the man looked like a younger more well-rested iteration of the babbling saviour by the fire. The woman was slender with long auburn hair and the pair were hugging in the picture. The second image had the same couple cuddling a young baby together. These must be my new parents. I moved the stool to the mirror to test my hypothesis and indeed the resemblance was uncanny. It was my first time properly taking in my new form and despite my best efforts to prepare myself it still came as a very surreal experience. I was short, even for a toddler. I couldn’t be more than three or four. The soaked clothes I had been in before had been replaced with a thicker pair of burlap pyjamas that had been lined with thin wool which was far too big for me. My hair was full, long and messy reaching down to my shoulders in a similar curled way to my new father. It was a striking greyish black that seemed to be distinct from both presumed parents though. My face was soft, lips pink and much like my hair my eyebrows were thick almost threatening to join together. My eyes had long lashes and were a bright amber colour. I could feel something well up within me and before I could stop it tears began rolling down my face. How strange?