Sadly, the dying goblin shaman had been too consumed in gloating over his victorious but clueless enemies, and not helpful enough to mark the Womb of Lamashtu on their map. Guelder, still struggling with brain fog and physical weakness after her latest near-death experience, found herself hard-pressed to decide where to start the search for the place. Luckily, she had Hazel at her disposal, with a much better visual memory when it came to maps, and also Tristian who could recall the locations of monster attacks included in his detailed report. The map containing the exact data had remained somewhere behind the Storyteller's magic barrier, rolled up neatly in a drawer of the mission planning table in the throne room, but Hazel still had a decent general impression of it that they could build upon.

  The Bloom affected the entire area between the Shrike and the Little Sellen, with the highest frequency around the Gudrin's lower stretch where the river exited Lake Silverstep and flowed towards Lake Tuskwater. That much was certain. The tricky part was Lake Silverstep itself.

  The lake was the shape of a chicken's foot (the proud legend of its origin talked about a silver dragon, but Guelder's exhausted brain gravitated towards more familiar phenomena), its talons pointing to the east. The Gudrin entered the middle toe from the northeast, and exited the lake at the backwards-pointing toe towards the west. Hardly any monster sightings had been reported from the northern shore or from the scarcely inhabited mountains to the south. As to the stretch between the source of the Gudrin and the lake, the baroness was none the wiser. If the druids of Varnhold had found something there, they had yet to share their results with her. (Not that she was easy to reach in these last days.)

  Hazel's cartographer instinct (the existence of which had been questioned so many times by the late Professor Jubilost Narthropple) pointed them towards the southern shore of the lake's middle toe. Guelder had her doubts. All the goblin sightings – including the goblin corpses and rock paintings at the hunting grounds, the goblin fort recently ransacked by her team, the goblin village she'd recruited Nok-Nok from, and the abandoned mill where she'd tried to build diplomatic relations with the little green rascals by partaking in their special toad beer – were clustered to the north of the Gudrin. Compared to that, the Womb of Lamashtu, if it was indeed where Hazel thought it was, seemed quite a bit out of the way. Still, the lower stretch of the river was surrounded by plains or small hills, without any remarkable formation that could be named after internal organs of deities, so Guelder had to admit there was a better chance to find it in the mountains around the lake. She decided not to cross the Gudrin but head upstream on its northern bank, avoiding the monster-infested Shambling Steps across the river and hoping to pick up the trail of escaped goblins or pursuing militiamen around the remains of the stinky fort.

  They were travelling light, which would have made for good speed, but the weather was not kind to their eastbound journey. Late winter deployed its most unpleasant pranks: heavy rainfall with sleet mixed in, blown into their faces by the wind, transforming the dirt roads into a sea of cold mud. As to monsters, only a manticore and a wyvern crossed their way, which the team disposed of easily, keeping the baroness out of melee range. The trail of the goblins wasn't hard to follow: their unmistakable vinegar-like scent was so strong that it prevailed over the precipitation even after days.

  Finally, well into the evening, they reached the spot where the Gudrin exited the lake to continue its way westwards. A small fishing village, consisting of only a few huts, was perched by the lakeside. Just as expected, it was empty of life, apart from the rats scurrying around the crude buildings. They had to find shelter in one of them, unless they wanted to spend the night in the open and freeze to their bones or worse.

  From the inside, the huts were in a complete mess, emptied of all valuables, and Nok-Nok identified the destruction as the handiwork of his own kind. There was no sign of battle, except for the southernmost hut, where even the walls were saturated with dried blood, the bed cracked, the duvet and pillows torn, the floor strewn with bloody down feathers. The first local Bloom victim's home. The rest of the people must have left the village before the evacuation order had even arrived.

  The adventurers busied themselves making one hut habitable and gathering broken pieces of furniture for firewood, while Hazel went to explore their options for continuing their journey come morning. Guelder, desperate for any way to make herself useful, took it upon herself to get food. A fishing village was supposed to have fish. All she needed was a bucket on the lakeside and some self-discipline so that she didn't eat immediately what she caught. After the encounter with the hydra in Lake Tuskwater, she wasn't looking forward to shapeshifting and diving for fish, but given the situation in Tuskdale, the team hadn't been able to stock up on rations before striking out. And thanks to the nice and friendly weather, she was soaked and shivering anyway. If her memories were correct, pike started their mating season as early as the month of Calistril, seeking out quiet, moderately deep bays rich in vegetation. At this time of the night, they would probably be groggy enough to let a desperate leopard prey on them. If she was lucky, she would be able to cater for the needs of the entire team.

  After a thrilling but also freezing underwater hunt, the team dined on fish stew prepared over a fire built from two broken chests, while Hazel reported their findings.

  "I think I found the local shipbuilder's place," they recounted between two mouthfuls of stew. "I saw two boats propped up for repair, both in a sorry state, and one that we could actually use."

  "One boat," said Valerie, shaking her head. "For the six of us, plus baggage, plus leopard."

  "Unless, of course, one of us can fix boats. Valerie, I know you are genius with mending holes in fabric. If you can do the same magic with boats, now is the good time to prove it."

  "We should have brought Ekundayo instead of you, Hazel. He easily matches your archery skills on his worst day, can work with wood, and is not a smartass."

  "Should haves get us nowhere, Valerie," said Guelder, moving closer to the fire to stop her teeth from chattering. Her clothing wasn't drying as fast as she'd hoped it would. She made a mental note to undress completely before her next venture into deep water. "We have no time to call in reinforcements or the like. We must work with what we have."

  "Look on the bright side," said Tristian. "At least Linzi and Nok-Nok are small. Just imagine, if we travelled with Regongar and Kassil instead, how much harder it would be to fit us all into one boat!"

  "Was that supposed to be funny, Tristian?" snapped Linzi, her face flushed with anger. "Because it isn't!"

  "Indeed," said Hazel triumphantly. "Not funny, but all the more brilliant. Tris, you might have saved the day!"

  Ignoring the baffled looks of the others, they rummaged in their backpack and pulled out a box full of vials containing some light green liquid.

  "What's that?" wondered Valerie.

  "Potions of Reduce Person. An experimental batch from Verdel the blacksmith. Remember, Guel?"

  She did, albeit faintly. Amidst all the troubles of the Bloom, the latest gift from the capital's jack-of-all-trades had kind of escaped her attention, even though Hazel had had a good laugh as they'd visualised her downing one of the vials before checking in with the staff of the dwarven workshop.

  "Do we trust these?" Valerie pursed her lips. "I'm much more comfortable with Bokken's products. He has proved his expertise countless times, but as to Verdel, I'm not that sure about him. His cold iron weapons are amazing, but then again, that's not something we actually ingest."

  "As I said," interrupted Guelder, "we must work with what we have. A Delay Poison spell will help to prevent any side effects. But mind you, one potion will not last until the end of the journey. I would say these eight vials will serve two people at most. What else do we have? Linzi, any scrolls we could use creatively?"

  The bard sank her hands into her backpack, then thought better of it and gave it to Guelder to rifle through.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  It was a much more horrifying experience than the baroness had expected. She wasn't stranger to unsold loot piled up in one's bag, either, but Linzi's backpack was an entirely different level. Anyway, after a short struggle to navigate the chaos, her fingers, sticky with spilt ink drying at the bottom, held up something potentially useful.

  "A Scroll of Baleful Polymorph... I wonder if we have more of those... And yes, we do! Two of them! Hooray!"

  "WHAT?" screamed Hazel. "Guel, you do not want to turn me into a dog, right?"

  "Not you, Hazel. As the strongest members of the team, you and Valerie will do the rowing, so you two are exempt from any interventions on my part. Linzi and Nok-Nok, you will drink the potions to save more space. I am going to reserve the Polymorphs for Tristian and Pangur. Expect to be turned into something small, friendly and manageable. Considering my inclinations, it will probably be housecats. And Linzi, please prepare three instances of Remove Curse for tomorrow."

  "Yay!" enthused Linzi, rubbing her palms together. "Vengeance served cold! Now I can repay Tristian for squeezing me like a doll on the way to Tuskdale. I will ceaselessly scratch his chin and tickle his belly and make him PURR! Mwhahaha!"

  "All right," sighed Tristian, hiding his face in his palms. "If that's what needs to be done..."

  "Just make sure the goblin doesn't eat him, will you, Linzi?" said Valerie dryly. "And how about yourself, Your Grace?"

  "Hm... It might be time to try out a new shapeshift."

  No matter how Guelder looked at it, that was the only way.

  To many people, it came as a surprise that Guelder despised cats. There had been none in her home grove, but her short time spent in the town of Uringen had convinced her that her misgivings were well-founded. She was repelled by their habits of killing for fun, toying with prey, and most of all, weaponising their charms to coax benefits out of people. Just like she'd done to Hazel not long ago, which filled her with shame every single time she thought about it. Changing into one of those lesser creatures would probably reinforce those deeply hidden instincts in her. But alas, if the other option was to swim next to the boat... All she had to do was overcome her pride.

  "I warn you all in advance," she said. "I will not tolerate any of the things that Linzi plans to do to Tristian happening to me, and I will retaliate any such attempt in the usual manner." She flashed her claws for emphasis. "Also, I remind those who will travel as cats that they are permitted and encouraged to enforce their boundaries."

  "And in case you try your new shapeshift tonight," said Hazel, "you are permitted and encouraged to sleep atop my chest. Just make sure to prepare your spells for tomorrow first."

  The baroness silenced Hazel with an annihilating glance, then left the party along with Pangur and her spellbook, and took to another hut, so that she could figure out the new shape undisturbed. Building on her leopard experiences, another feline form shouldn't be hard to master.

  She closed her eyes and reached into the deepest layers of her consciousness, visualising herself as one of the stray cats on the streets of Tuskdale. Pangur sometimes caught one for dinner, and Guelder didn't discourage him from doing so. Keeping the rodent population from exploding was all well and good, but the cat population couldn't be left unchecked, either. She let Nature's power flow through her and change her body.

  As she opened her eyes, she looked into Pangur's deadpan face, then down at her own spotted paws. Failure. The slightest intrusion of leopards into her mind was enough to land her in leopard form.

  She dropped the shapeshift and started all over again, leaving more time for the magic to take hold. I am a cat. Limber, graceful, fiercely independent, just like a le–

  Brambles.

  Pangur sat across from her, motionless, only the tip of his tail moving to feel out his surroundings, his gaze silently asking whether all this fuss made any sense. Guelder, too, started to have her doubts. Anyway, third time was the charm.

  I am a cat. Smaller, fluffier and more calculating than my usual self. I give my softness and happy vibes in exchange for food, whenever I fancy. I allow my subjects to worship me... Hell, this was really not an idea she, as a ruler, was comfortable toying with. Yet, mere inches away from the transformation, she couldn't let herself be thrown off by matters of political philosophy. Just a little more...

  Jaethal's voice spoke in her head. Grasp the taste. Parse it. Define it. Hold onto it. It was actually good advice, except it pushed Guelder out of the shapeshift mindset immediately. Once the flower was taken care of, she would have to talk to Jaethal about what she'd found out regarding the fate of Falara Summer Breeze and Enneo's role in it. Perhaps the inquisitor could help her make sense of it all.

  Somewhere in the afterlife, her father was probably chuckling at his daughter's failed efforts at becoming something else than what she was meant to be. And maybe he was also rooting for her.

  Guelder started all over again, this time focusing on tastes and smells.

  She remembered that day before the fall of the Stag Lord. They had been camping out in the North Narlmarches, with Tristian on cooking duty, following the ancient recipe of hearty meals: "take everything you have and toss it all into the cauldron." The end result had been so terrible that Regongar had chosen to catch a rat and devour it raw to make up for skipping dinner. He'd been selfless enough to share it with Guelder, doubtlessly intending to troll her. Well, the joke had been on him. Now Guelder focused on the taste of adrenaline-enhanced, bloody, juicy rat flesh, adding the scent of cat saliva...

  Pangur made a sneeze-like sound, scoffing at the lesser creature that crouched in front of him. Guelder stretched her limbs, shifting her weight from the back to her front paws, familiarising herself with the new body, and triumphantly walked up and down before him, twisting her tail into impossible patterns above her head.

  Do not turn up your nose, friend. Tomorrow you will join me in this form. Get used to the idea.

  She sauntered back to the party, happy with her new looks. Her sleek, medium-length winter fur was thick and warm, displaying a pattern similar to her leopard coat but in more subdued colours. And if Linzi's enraptured squeals were anything to go by, she was adorable.

  Linzi had to be stopped from recording this detail of their journey by any means necessary. Considering that a housecat could get to places a leopard could not, it was better to keep this new shapeshift a secret. Perhaps walking up and down across her open book, then lying down on top of it would do the trick. If not, she could still push the inkwell over. (Where did those genius ideas even come from?)

  She didn't hiss at Hazel when they lifted her up onto their lap and sank their fingers into her fur. In fact, their touch felt soothing. It was so good to just be a well-fed cat in a warm room for a night, without any care in the world. No goblins, no militia, no plague, no flower, no Kesten, just sleep, at the warmest and most comfortable spot available. Once Hazel wiggled into their bedroll, she moved onto their chest with a little meow and curled up, purring. Despicable shapeshift or not, she'd finally found the form of affection she was happy to give and receive: cuddled against their sleeping body, enjoying their warmth and offering her own in return, purring a rhythm of peace and calm into their dreams. Being physical without the need to transition from this pure and distilled intimacy into something more dangerous and passionate, something she thought she was better off without.

  Why couldn't she get this from life without becoming a cat?