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“Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?”
    He flinched. The obvious truth behind that statement made him ashamed. The colors were already whirling around the Dandy, who was turning towards his doom. The Wolf leaped from the woods, howling and using his voice for the first time in nearly two years.
    “Get away from her, you fool!”
    The Dandy was surprisingly agile, back on his saddle in an instant. He stared at the Wolf with eyes as wide as a doll’s. In his hand, he held the pearly handle of a small gun, which he pointed at the Wolf. He turned and fled just in time to evade the first bullet.
    The Dandy was tenacious, chasing after the Wolf and shooting. He needed strength and speed he never knew he had before he could lose his pursuer. It was late in the afternoon by the time he did, and the Wolf returned to the river to soothe his thirst, his limbs heavy with exhaustion.
    She was waiting for him. The Wolf found her steed grazing inside the trees, and paused to prepare himself for their meeting before he came out of the woods. Ella Bandita sat in the same place he had found her, her back now to the river and her eyes fixed on him. She clapped slowly, her hands thundering on his approach.
    “Bravo,” she said. “That was magni ficent.”
    The Wolf sat before her without saying a word.
    “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a hero?”
    He remained quiet. The throbbing in his hollow made him ache. The Wolf could hear his pulse again, but from a distance. He yearned for the resonance of the heartbeat echoing inside, but the ecstatic serenity of his night run was impossible in her presence.
    The urge to lunge for her still threatened. The Wolf couldn’t stop staring at her throat.
    Ella Bandita waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she raised her brows.
    “You must know what’s coming,” she said. “Fifty miles north is the cave where I keep my hearts. I’ll be eating yours as soon as I get there.”
    “Will you turn me back into a man before you do?”
    The Wolf spoke without thinking, the question startling him as much as it did her.
    Ella Bandita’s eyes widened before she shook her head.
    “No. Why should I?”
    “Because there’s no reason for you not to,” he retorted. “And I would like to die as the man I was born to be.”
    Looking into her eyes made the pounding in his hollow excruciating. The pain spread through his veins to every part of him, but the Wolf held her gaze. Finally she shrugged and reached for the small leather pouch looped around her holster. He held his breath, afraid to hope even when she took a pinch of dust. Ella Bandita glanced at the Wolf and hesitated. Then she blew and a small cloud hovered around him until she spoke the word.
    “Man.”
    He didn’t feel his thick fur dissolve. He only knew he was suddenly cold, his vision blurred and his insides churning. Then he noticed how awkward his pose was, sitting with his rump on the ground, arms stretched forward between his knees. The Wanderer lost his balance, rolling back on the ground. He wore the same pants and shirt he had that night, but the garments seemed foreign to him and he didn’t care for the cha fing of the fabric. He shivered, his skin mottling from the unexpected chill in the air.
    Then he stood up and nearly lost his footing. His legs trembled, the sensation of standing on two limbs both familiar and strange. Holding his arms out, he stared at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. His palms were more muscular than he remembered. He rubbed them together, wondering if the skin had grown thicker.
    The Wanderer had forgotten about Ella Bandita until she spoke.
    “These years as a wolf have made you very handsome.”
    Her voice purred, trilling along his flesh. She was almost lying down, leaning on her arms for support, her provocation subtle and inviting. Her eyes were as cold as ever when he looked at her, but the hint of mischief in flamed him yet again.
    “How far are you willing to