Mette Ivie Harrison, Children's writer, triathlete, marathons, Ironman, training, fitness, workouts, The Princess and the Hound, Mira, Mirror, The Monster In Me, The Hound and the Bear, Young Adult Books, Fantasy, Romance, yoga


books	recommended	blog	bio	triathlon	writing	calendar	contact me
Chapter One: The Hound The magic faded, and the hound knew all was right again. The smell of forest and sweat and animal heat, instead of cooked meat and rotted fruit and burning candles. Her paws were on the ground, making her feel steady for the first time in many months. She could stretch her back and scratch herself as needed and she had a tail again to keep her balance. She felt how strong and wide her jaw was now, and she tested her teeth by gnawing at a branch on a tree at her side. It snapped instantly, cleanly, just as prey would, when she was ready to chase it. She could hear the distant call of a bird, fleeing the scene of magic in what had to be terror. She tried out her strong legs, and discovered she could run as fast as ever, leap over streams and logs, then turn around in a flick of movement and be racing back the same way again. That was when she nearly careened into the bear. And remembered why it was here. He. The bear who had been a man, whose story she had heard when she was a princess. The one Prince George had brought her to, the one who had watched her change from woman to hound. Where was Prince George? And the princess? The hound had not seen them leave. She had been too busy rediscovering herself. Now the bear sniffed in her direction. She sniffed back, and approached him slowly, head down to show that she would not attack. Her lips twitched and she caught a snarl in her throat. The bear seemed to be having the same difficulty, warily watching her, as though she would leap at his throat. She was close enough now to breathe in the air that he had exhaled, to look into his dark eyes and not turn away. She took another step forward, until her nose touched the fur under his jaws. He lifted his head, to make a better place for her. She tucked her head into his shoulder. It was a good feeling. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. She was home next to this bear as she had never been home before. His fur was the forest. His breath was the sky above. His warmth was summer itself. The bear made a sound, something like a groan. Was it in the language of bears? Or an attempt to say something human? She did not understand it. But it did not matter. She thought she could live happily forever without hearing a word again, of any kind. She felt and smelled and touched and tasted and saw the whole world, and she had no need for anything else. She leaned back into the bear, and took in his smell again. One breath, and then another. And another. It was good. But in the end, the bear stepped apart from her and gestured with one large paw to the sunken part of the forest. He took a step in that direction, stopped a moment. She held her breath, but he did not look back. He lifted his head higher and went on his way, expecting her to choose her way herself. If she wished to go with him, or if not. He put no pressure on her, did not growl at her or threaten her to make her do as he wished. She thought briefly of the year she had spent as human, when she had never been allowed to choose anything for herself. The boots she had had to wear, pinching at her feet, the gowns that were “suitable,” the words she was expected to say, the curtseying, and smiling. But that was gone. She was a hound again. She had never to think of any of that again. And the bear was an animal, like she was. He wanted no more of her than another pleasant moment together. So she lumbered cautiously alongside him as they crossed twice over a stream and moved to a quieter, colder section of the forest, near a rocky outcropping that was the only hint of mountains here. The bear went towards the rocks and the hound held back, watching him. He disappeared into a hole, the entrance to a cave. She crossed the stream and peered inside. The bear settled down at one end of the cave, stretched out on the floor near the back, with his side to the cold rock. She could smell water in the air, and then heard a drip of it. It was falling on the bear, but he did not complain. He waited once more. She moved forward, then tucked herself in closer to him, letting her legs curl up underneath her. She could feel the brush of his fur against hers. The cave was cold and damp and she shivered. Then moved closer to the bear, until she could feel the hurried breathing of his chest against her. Gradually, it slowed. As did hers. Return to home page

Chapter One: The Hound

The magic faded, and the hound knew all was right again. The smell of forest and sweat and animal heat, instead of cooked meat and rotted fruit and burning candles.

Her paws were on the ground, making her feel steady for the first time in many months. She could stretch her back and scratch herself as needed and she had a tail again to keep her balance.

She felt how strong and wide her jaw was now, and she tested her teeth by gnawing at a branch on a tree at her side. It snapped instantly, cleanly, just as prey would, when she was ready to chase it.

She could hear the distant call of a bird, fleeing the scene of magic in what had to be terror.

She tried out her strong legs, and discovered she could run as fast as ever, leap over streams and logs, then turn around in a flick of movement and be racing back the same way again.

That was when she nearly careened into the bear.

And remembered why it was here. He.

The bear who had been a man, whose story she had heard when she was a princess.

The one Prince George had brought her to, the one who had watched her change from woman to hound.

Where was Prince George? And the princess?

The hound had not seen them leave. She had been too busy rediscovering herself.

Now the bear sniffed in her direction.

She sniffed back, and approached him slowly, head down to show that she would not attack. Her lips twitched and she caught a snarl in her throat. The bear seemed to be having the same difficulty, warily watching her, as though she would leap at his throat.

She was close enough now to breathe in the air that he had exhaled, to look into his dark eyes and not turn away. She took another step forward, until her nose touched the fur under his jaws.

He lifted his head, to make a better place for her.

She tucked her head into his shoulder.

It was a good feeling.

She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes.

She was home next to this bear as she had never been home before. His fur was the forest. His breath was the sky above. His warmth was summer itself.

The bear made a sound, something like a groan.

Was it in the language of bears?

Or an attempt to say something human?

She did not understand it.

But it did not matter.

She thought she could live happily forever without hearing a word again, of any kind. She felt and smelled and touched and tasted and saw the whole world, and she had no need for anything else.

She leaned back into the bear, and took in his smell again.

One breath, and then another. And another.

It was good.

But in the end, the bear stepped apart from her and gestured with one large paw to the sunken part of the forest.

He took a step in that direction, stopped a moment.

She held her breath, but he did not look back.

He lifted his head higher and went on his way, expecting her to choose her way herself.

If she wished to go with him, or if not.

He put no pressure on her, did not growl at her or threaten her to make her do as he wished.

She thought briefly of the year she had spent as human, when she had never been allowed to choose anything for herself. The boots she had had to wear, pinching at her feet, the gowns that were “suitable,” the words she was expected to say, the curtseying, and smiling.

But that was gone.

She was a hound again. She had never to think of any of that again.

And the bear was an animal, like she was.

He wanted no more of her than another pleasant moment together.

So she lumbered cautiously alongside him as they crossed twice over a stream and moved to a quieter, colder section of the forest, near a rocky outcropping that was the only hint of mountains here. The bear went towards the rocks and the hound held back, watching him.

He disappeared into a hole, the entrance to a cave.

She crossed the stream and peered inside.

The bear settled down at one end of the cave, stretched out on the floor near the back, with his side to the cold rock. She could smell water in the air, and then heard a drip of it. It was falling on the bear, but he did not complain.

He waited once more.

She moved forward, then tucked herself in closer to him, letting her legs curl up underneath her. She could feel the brush of his fur against hers.

The cave was cold and damp and she shivered. Then moved closer to the bear, until she could feel the hurried breathing of his chest against her. Gradually, it slowed.

As did hers.

Return to home page