Motely Refuge

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. This used to be a peaceful place without rowdy dragons or other ruffian shifter types. But then the Goldmans moved into the valley and ruined everything.

Now we’ve got a serious dragon problem.

I know what you’re thinking. And I’m going to stop you right there. You’re thinking I have some deeply malformed issues with dragons, and I’m being biased, like I’m some sort of dragonist—but it’s simply not true! It’s not my fault I haven’t met a dragon who isn’t a walking tornado with wings. We now have a tornado family living in our valley. A valley that’s been a haven for shifters trying to escape trouble for as long as I can remember. Before the Goldmans showed up and changed everything because they didn’t get the memo.

Let me explain.

It all started a month ago, when the Goldmans arrived in Motely Refuge, seeking safe harbour like any other shifter family—you stable-formed folk don’t make it easy on us shifters out in the big wide world, so we need to find somewhere we won’t be treated like monsters or animals. There were five of them, and you could tell they were a family from their colourings. A massive golden dragon, Ed Goldman, was out in front. His wife, a slightly smaller emerald dragon, Debbie Goldman, was drifting between him and the smaller dragons trailing behind. The three broodlings, Dave, Johnny, and Emma, had scales that were an even blend of mum and dad, and seemed to fly in a disordered way which looked oddly like bickering. They glided into town with the afternoon sun glistening off their extended wings, descending into our valley with their crates of possessions swinging listlessly beneath them, suspended by ropes clutched in their claws—they seemed innocent enough.

When they landed, they left their belongings in the street and shifted into humanoid form, marching straight toward the Realty Office. Suzie said they were aggressive with their demands and secretive about their background. Selkies are such gentle souls, I bet poor Suzie was bullied into giving those Goldmans exactly what they wanted. And now we’re all paying for it. They’re living at the farm on the edge of town with no neighbours. I bet they’re up to no good. Nobody knows where they came from or why they're here. They just turned up, unwanted—like a tornado. That should have raised alarm bells. It should have made our shifter senses scream. We should have known they’d turn out to be shifty shifters.

Motely Refuge is—was a place where you could leave your front door unlocked at night because you trusted everyone who lived here. Despite being a town of exiles, it’s only because we’re misunderstood, feared without reason, because shifters are different. Because how could a being with two forms be trustworthy? The irony is that many without two forms have two faces. Unfortunately, since the Goldmans moved in, the safety status of Motely Refuge is under review. I wouldn’t leave my doors unlocked anymore. That shifty Ed Goldman tried to blame me for that, too. It’s not my fault I’m trusting—it’s part of a werebear’s nature. What happened that day was not my fault.

The only reason I was even on the main street of town that day was to get some forest green paint for my werecub’s bedroom from Howler’s Hardware. For all the pain it’s caused, I wished she could have just been happy with the mist grey that it already was. I stepped out onto the footpath, tin in hand, ready to head home, when an enormous midnight-blue dragon skidded to a stop in front of me. It was terrifying looking into those black, soulless eyes. I’m embarrassed to say my hand trembled. What was I meant to do? I couldn’t walk back into the store without drawing attention to myself—so I froze. This is one of those times I wished I wasn’t a cyclic shifter and could access my bear form at will, like dragons. He didn’t look friendly—but he looked like a dragon. So, when he asked me where the Goldmans were staying, forgive me for thinking he was kin and pointing him toward their farm. It was an innocent mistake anyone could make.

But now Ed Goldman has a grudge. As if everything that’s gone wrong in Motely Refuge since he turned up is my fault. Did he think that the soul-eater wouldn’t find him if I hadn’t provided directions? Ha! All I did was speed up the inevitable. Goldman is evading responsibility. Trying to blame me is like shooting the messenger. Deflecting blame achieves nothing. He should focus on the real problem. The dragon problem. Even if that means resorting to more… drastic measures.

That way Motely Refuge can be a tornado free zone once more—like before there were dragons in the valley.