Boba circled around, confused by what had happened to him, and tried to get a good look at his new form. The big gray fluffy tail of a wolf greeted him. Boba looked up at Midna then down at his pile of discarded clothes. He tried to talk, to ask her what she had done, but all that came out were barks and growls.

(Midna takes wolf Boba to a place where they can fight some Moblins.)

The shadows thickened ahead, twisting into snarls of orange twilight. I caught the stench first—rotting hides and rusting iron. Moblins. A pack of them, lumbering out from a side chamber: four hulking brutes, clubs bigger than my old sword, beady eyes glinting under horned helmets. One snorted, spotting us, and raised its club with a guttural roar. Midna’s weight shifted on my back, her tiny hands gripping my fur. “Oho, dinner time, wolfie! Don’t embarrass me now.” I didn’t need telling twice. I launched forward, paws silent on the stone until the last second. The lead moblin swung wide—too slow. I ducked low, jaws snapping for its knee. Teeth sank into gristly leg, and it bellowed, toppling like a felled tree. Hot blood flooded my mouth, metallic and foul, but the wolf in me reveled in it. “Atta boy!” Midna whooped, flipping off me mid-leap. Her shadow hands ignited, whipping out twin whips of dark energy that cracked like thunder. One lashed the falling moblin’s throat, severing it clean. Black ichor sprayed. The other three charged, clubs pounding the floor in unison. I rolled aside from the first smash, feeling the whoosh of air. Springing up, I barreled into the second one’s gut—my shoulder hit like a battering ram, driving the air from its lungs. It staggered, and I was on it, claws raking its belly open while my fangs tore at its arm. It flailed, club glancing off my flank with a jolt of pain that made stars burst in my vision. “Shake it off, pup! They’re uglier than you!” Midna cackled, hovering above. She slammed her hands together, summoning a dome of twilight magic that pinned the third moblin mid-swing. It thrashed inside the crackling barrier, helpless, until she clenched her fist—boom. The dome imploded, crushing it to pulp. The last one grabbed me by the scruff, hauling me up like a ragdoll. Its breath reeked of decay. I twisted in its grip, legs kicking, and sank my teeth into its wrist. Bone crunched. It howled, dropping me. I hit the ground running, circling for the killshot. Midna beat me to it—her energy field erupted from below, impaling the beast through the chest. It twitched once, then slumped. Panting, I shook blood from my muzzle, fur matted and sticky. The hall fell quiet, save for the drip of shadows. Midna landed lightly beside me, smirking as she patted my nose. “Not bad for a fleabag. But next time, fetch me its club first. Souvenir!” I huffed, bumping her with my shoulder—hard enough to make her wobble. She laughed, hopping back aboard. Deeper we went, the wolf’s heart pounding with something fiercer than anger. This form wasn’t a curse. It was a weapon. And she knew it.

After a long and fruitless search, The moon hung low and orange, the color of old embers, when we finally reunited in a quiet clearing.

I padded to the center, circled twice the way dogs apparently do (embarrassing, but my body knew what it wanted), then dropped with a heavy whuff. Every muscle burned. My flank still throbbed where the club had clipped me. Midna floated down beside me, unusually silent. She sat cross-legged on a fallen stone, arms wrapped around her knees, staring up at that bruised moon. The usual smirk was gone. I rested my head on my paws and watched her. After a minute she spoke, voice small. “You bled a lot today, wolf boy.” I huffed. It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t bother trying to answer with a bark. She drifted closer, then hesitated (actually hesitated) before settling on the grass right in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the coolness radiating from her twilight skin.

“Lie down properly,” I thought at her, nudging her leg with my muzzle. She understood, the way she always understands when words fail me. Midna curled up against my side without another quip. Her back pressed to my ribs, tiny compared to this huge wolf body, yet she fit perfectly in the curve beneath my foreleg. My fur was still damp with sweat and blood, but she didn’t seem to care. She just tucked her head under my chin, one small hand resting on my paw. For a long time we stayed like that, breathing in tandem. The night smelled of crushed spirit-grass and iron. I could feel her heartbeat through my fur—quick, then slower, then matching mine. “…I hate seeing you hurt,” she murmured at last, so quietly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it. “Even if you are ridiculously durable for a mortal.” I lowered my head, careful, and rested my muzzle across her shoulder like a living blanket. She tensed for half a second (surprised, maybe), then relaxed completely, fingers threading into the thicker fur at my neck. “You’re warm,” she whispered. “Stupidly warm.” A low rumble started in my chest—not a growl, just… contentment. She felt it and gave a tiny, shaky laugh that didn’t sound like mockery at all. “Don’t tell anyone the great Midna cuddles with a dog,” she said against my fur. I licked her cheek once, gentle. Salty. She tasted like twilight and fear and relief all at once. She curled tighter against me, one horn poking my throat, and for the first time since the shadow took my human shape, I didn’t feel like a beast wearing a hero’s soul. I felt like exactly what I needed to be tonight: something strong enough to keep the darkness away from her.

The first pale rays of twilight-morning crept over the broken pillars, turning the black grass silver. I’d been awake for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of Midna’s back against my ribs. She was still curled tight in the hollow of my foreleg, one tiny fist tangled in my chest fur, mouth slightly open, making the softest little snoring sounds I’d ever heard. For once, no smirk. No sharp tongue. Just… Midna. Vulnerable. Mine to protect. A mischievous impulse stirred (wolf instinct, maybe, or just payback for all the “good boy” jokes). I shifted carefully, sliding my muzzle closer until my breath ruffled the loose strands of her hair. She scrunched her nose, grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “five more centuries,” and tried to burrow deeper into my fur. Perfect. I started gentle: one slow, deliberate lick right across her cheek. Salty skin, cool twilight warmth, the faint taste of last night’s battle-smoke still clinging to her. Her eyes snapped open. “Wh—Boba, you absolute—!” She didn’t get to finish. I licked again, broader this time, from the sharp line of her jaw up to the tip of one pointed ear. She squeaked (actually squeaked) and tried to shove my snout away, but her hands were tiny and I was very, very determined. “Stop that this instant, you overgrown—mmf!” Another lick, this one down the slender column of her neck, lingering where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. She wriggled, half-laughing, half-scolding, but I had her pinned gently between my forelegs now. My tongue traced the curve of her shoulder, the delicate ridge of a collarbone, the soft dip just above where her little black-and-teal dress began. “BOBA—!” It came out breathless, indignant, and something else entirely. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. She tasted like dusk and secrets, and every time she squirmed it only pressed new skin against my tongue. Down the slope of one arm, across the surprisingly plush curve of her waist, over the flare of a hip that fit perfectly under my muzzle. She arched (just a little) when I lapped along the line of her thigh, the fabric of her dress riding up under the attention. Her fingers dug into my fur, no longer pushing me away but holding on. By the time I reached the tips of her toes and started back up the other side, she was trembling, cheeks darker than I’d ever seen them, eyes huge and luminous. “You,” she managed at last, voice husky, “are a menace.” I gave one final, shamelessly thorough lick from the hollow of her throat to the part of her hairline, then flopped back down beside her with a satisfied chuff, tail thumping the grass.

For a long moment Midna just stared at me, chest rising and falling too fast. Then the smirk returned (shaky, but there). “Well. Good morning to you too, wolf boy.” She flicked my nose with a finger, but there was no heat in it. When she leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine, I felt her smile against my fur. “Next time,” she whispered, “I may tie you up with magic bindings.” I licked her once more (just the corner of her mouth, quick and soft). She tasted like trouble.