He sat on the floor and leaned against the rocky wall, shutting his eyes. He tried to clear his mind, but the thoughts wouldn't go away. Eventually, he lay down, unsure how long he stayed awake before sleep finally took over.
The next morning, something strange woke him up. A weird sensation in his groin. His eyes snapped open, and to his horror, a bird was happily pecking at his privates like it had found breakfast.
With a loud yelp, he jumped. The bird flapped its wings and flew a short distance away, then stopped and stared at him like he was the weird one.
He looked down, inspected the area carefully for any scratches or missing parts, but everything seemed to be intact.
"You little pervert," he muttered, glaring at the bird. "Of all the places to peck, you chose that?"
He sighed. "Not your fault, I guess. I'm the one who decided to give you a live show." He got to his feet.
The bird gave a cheerful whistle, fluttered its wings, then turned around and started shaking its tail feathers in a ridiculous little dance.
"What the hell?" he frowned, staring. "Are you... twerking?"
His face darkened. "My Vanessa glows like the moon. You? You're just a feathery creep! Get the hell outta here!" he barked.
Startled, the bird squawked and flew off, disappearing into the sky.
He stretched, feeling stronger and more focused. He was ready to face this strange new world, and silently hoped Vanessa would be consoled, move on, find peace, and raise their child well. Boy or girl, he wouldn't know.
He looked up at the rocky wall he needed to climb. Staying trapped in that hole wasn't an option, not with birds making passes at him and poking his privates.
He considered looking for food, but his wolf had eaten well the night before. He'd be fine.
Shifting into his wolf, he started climbing the steep rock. It wasn't easy. The walls seemed endless. When he finally looked down, he realized how far he'd come. One wrong step and he'd be a pancake.
Then, of course, the bird came back. It landed on him, flapping its wings and whistling like it was cheering him on.
"You've got some nerve!" he growled.
But as a wolf, it just came out as a deep, angry snarl.
That did the trick. The bird squealed and flew off like its tail was on fire, disappearing for good this time.
He dug his claws into the rock and kept going, resting now and then. After what seemed like forever, his wolf finally reached the top of the height, breathless and furs covered in dust. For a moment, he just stood there, staring. It was nothing near the sky as he imagined.
Turning back into his human form, he looked around. In front of him was a vast field, not of grass, but something that looked like wheat.
Or wasn't it? Wild wheat? He walked closer, studying the plant. It wasn't wild wheat.
Indeed, it was a wide field of golden wheat, swaying gently in the breeze like waves on a calm sea. The sun touched the tops of the stalks, making them glow. Thin paths cut through the field, and in the distance, he could see small fences, maybe even the shape of a house or two.
His heart skipped.
He had believed he was dead. He thought this was the afterlife, quiet, strange, and empty. But no spirit planted wheat. No ghost built fences or walked narrow paths between golden rows.
People lived here. Real people.
He squinted and noticed something odd, scarecrows. Dozens of them, scattered across the field. Their arms were stretched out, dressed in old, worn clothes.
Birds sat on some of them, pecking at the wheat. Drake frowned. If this was a spirit world, couldn't spirits chase birds away with magic? Why use scarecrows?
He stepped forward, the dry grass crunching under his feet. As he moved closer, faint voices reached his ears, soft, human sounds. Talking. Laughter. A child's squeal.
Then the farmhouse came into full view. It was a small, sturdy building made of wood and stone, with smoke curling out of a chimney. People walked in and out of it, men, women, even children. But something was strange.
Their clothes.
The men wore loose shirts made of rough cloth, tucked into simple trousers. Some had wide belts, boots, and cloaks slung over their shoulders.
A few wore hats made of straw or wool. The women had long dresses with aprons tied around their waists. Many wore cloth scarves or hoods over their heads, and their sleeves were rolled up as they worked.
Drake stared, stunned. He had seen outfits like these before, in old paintings, in movies about knights and castles. This was medieval. Completely out of place in the modern world he remembered.
Should he approach them? But he wasn't ready to face them just yet. Not like this.
He was completely, gloriously naked.
His clothes had vanished during the shift. He didn't mind being nude in the woods, trees didn't judge. But wheat fields? Farms? People? That was a problem.
And then came the birds.
They were everywhere. Perched on scarecrows, sitting along fences, even hopping through the wheat like tiny, nosy villagers. They weren't just staring at him. No. They were gawking, especially at his groin.
He recalled the bird from earlier, it had gawked on his groin too.
One bold little bird flew down and landed on a nearby post, tilted its head, and let out a long whistle.
Drake blinked. "Did you just… whistle at me?"
The bird shook its feathers and whistled again, this time sounding suspiciously impressed.
"Oi!" Drake scowled, trying to shield his manhood with both hands. "Don't look at me like that. You birds got no shame! That's a man's pecker, not a public attraction."
Another bird swooped down, landed a few feet away, and, Drake swore on his wolf blood. It twerked.
Its feathery backside bounced up and down with rhythm and pride. A whole group of them joined in, hopping and chirping, heads bobbing, eyes locked on his most private part.
"Okay! Okay!" he groaned, backing up. "You're all definitely females. No male bird would twerk at another guy. Right?"
He paused. "What if you're not all females? What if it's a mix?" He gasped and grabbed a wheat stalk to cover himself.
"No, no. I am not seducing woodland wildlife! I'm straight! Straight! I have a woman. Vanessa! She's hot, she's got legs for days, and she doesn't twerk without reason!"
He turned in a circle, stalk in hand like a sword, yelling at the birds, "My Vanessa is the definition of beauty! Compared to her, you feathered freaks look like wet laundry!"
The birds chirped something that sounded a lot like mocking laughter.
Drake groaned. "This is my life now. Naked, chased by horny birds, defending my sexuality to a flock of flying perverts. Perfect."
But most importantly. Where was he? And when was he?