They lived on the far side of Meri Acres farms, a part by the distant Meridell woods that most wouldn't consider part of Meridell, much less Meri Acres. It wasn't even the part of the woods shadowed by the Citadel hovering overhead (although that was indeed very close). The only one to even consider them Meridellians was the Royal Treasurer, and then only on Tax Day.

They lived at the top of a hill, their cottage set close to the trees. It overlooked pastureland and most of Meridell. They were a family of five: a father, a mother, his father and his brother--they were all cursed. The whole family had been, for three generations earlier than the grandfather, and that was only as far as he knew for sure. No one knew why, but they were ugly and hunched and gnarled--misshapen. The grass in their yard grew short and sparse and brown, and the water from their well came up warm and with a distinct metallic taste.

And then there was the pup of the family. He was young and vibrant, his brown fur was lush and silky, and his movements flowed with energy and grace possible only with a perfect form. He was so different from the others in his family, so untouched by the curse that he could pass in the village unnoticed. His family sent him down the hill on errands nearly everyday, and he often joined the other children in their games before returning home for dinner. He was happy and beautiful.

One day he discovered that nearly all of the hairs in his tail had fallen out. Only a very thin fuzz remained, and his tail felt very tender and swollen. He had noticed that he had been leaving hair everywhere he went for the last few weeks, but it was midsummer and he had blamed it on the heat. Now he worried—was he having night terrors, and chewing his tail in his sleep? But then the soft hair on his ears fell out too, and the rest of his hair fell out in patches. All over his body was sore, and parts kept growing—his ears, his tail. His paws had doubled in size, and while his limbs grew, they remained bent. His shoulders began to slouch, then his back hunched—and then the greatest pain—dark spikes tore through his skin, protruding along the ridge of his back and his furling brow, much like the claws lengthening on each oversized paw.

The final phase lasted for over a week, and he remained in bed almost the whole time while his mother replaced bandages on his back. When he was able to walk again, he found himself entirely changed. All of his fur had fallen out, except for sparse, wiry hairs on his tail and a soft, pale wisp along his belly. His skin had toughened to a thick hide, the color of sickly dark leather. His movements were limited by his hunched spine and his gnarled joints—he could no longer run down the hill to town when his parents sent him on an errand, but had to half hobble.

He saw his friends in town, but when he approached them they only stared. A parent stepped in front of one of the younger children and shooed him off. When he entered the shops, the shopkeepers ignored him until the other customers left the shop in disgust, and then only gave him the worst slivers or rag-tag ends of whatever he asked for.

On the road back, a gang of older children (all the same age as he was! They had been his friends the longest) had gathered sticks. He hung his head as he approached their group, and they split to let him pass, but then all of a sudden began beating him with the sticks. He ran as well as he could until he tripped over his own paws, dropping the packages of groceries. Some tore and tumbled along the road. The kids retreated, laughing and yelling, but also pelting him with rocks from a distance. He gathered what he could of the groceries and hurried up the hill again, tears streaming through his swollen eyelids.

He was still crying when he returned home, setting the battered and dusty groceries on the table. His mother was peeling potatoes for dinner.

We decided you had to learn for yourself, she said, with only one glance in his direction before returning to the potato. They will show you no kindness. You should show them none in return. That is our curse.

He only stood sniffling as she peeled the last patches of the potato. Then she set it aside and knelt in front of him, drying his eyes with a handkerchief.

Your back may be hunched, Vos, but you still hold your head high.

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