By the Light of the Moon Read Online Free PDF

and let the wolf run, he could turn wild in the woods and find a mate who would give him a beautiful litter of pups. Instead, he kept on climbing, enjoying the knowledge of what he could do more than he would the act of breaking free, the state of unencumbered freedom.
    Owain had left the company of his own kind, not without thought or reason, and had little desire to return. He would never be human, would always be looked down upon in their world — but it was easier to take that from them than from his own people. He had made his choice years ago. All he had done after was living with that decision.
    When he begged entry at the drawbridge, it was only after the captain of the guard was called that the doorman pulled up the cast iron portcullis to admit him. As though that would have kept them safer had he been intent on harming the Keep.
    “Sir Fredrick Clifton,” the man introduced himself, “Captain of his Lordship’s guard.” He was older than Owain himself, a man past his prime for humans, but Owain could sense the soldier in him; a brave man who hadn’t seen many battles in his life as a backwater guard.
    “Owain,” he said simply, standing at attention.
    Sir Clifton eyed him suspiciously, but when he didn’t seem to find anything too objectionable, he nodded and gestured to the Blaidyn to follow him into the Keep.
    “You are the first … the first Blaidyn in his Lordship’s command,” the man continued uncomfortably. Owain sensed that there were many things he didn’t say but that was to be expected. He had learned long ago that humans were as notoriously secretive and polite as they were terrible at either. For a race so dependent on smells and gestures in their communication as his own, humans seemed to interact in an elaborate game of play acting, in which thinly coated lies were exchanged as polite interaction far more often than truths were uttered. He was used to it by now, and only gave the captain a thin-lipped polite smile.
    He smelled fear; it was a scent he knew well. Not a pleasure by any means, as fear smelled sharp and unattractive.
    Sir Clifton led him into a small study on the ground floor. A window looked out over the small moat and toward the mountains, the walls were covered in maps and bookshelves and a floor plan of the Keep was pinned onto the table in the center of the room.
    “His Lordship will be with you shortly,” the captain said, as he looked around and then departed. Owain wondered whether his hasty retreat was ordered or fear-induced but didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he concentrated on the floor plan. It really was an interesting structure. He knew little of architecture, nor had he held many indoor positions in his career as a hired sword, but he didn’t like doing anything unless he was ready to do it well. In order to protect a girl in a castle, he had to know the layout, the nooks and crannies, the passageways and shortcuts.
    When a while later, the door opened behind him, Owain quickly straightened up and turned around. The speed of his reflexes had the entering man halt in his step, staring for just a moment. Finally, he seemed to remember his station and his face relaxed as he stepped closer, followed by Sir Clifton.
    Owain bowed low, his hand on his unadorned leather breastplate. A nobleman was easy to recognize. This one was old, in his late forties or fifties, at least. Owain found it hard sometimes to guess human ages; they passed from youth into old age so much faster than his own kind. Lord Rochmond smelled of good soap, of tobacco and of worries. He was shorter than he had expected, but Owain didn’t cower to try and hide the height difference.
    “Thank you for coming, Mr. Owain,” the nobleman said after a long moment of mutual appraisal. He then walked over to the other side of the table and sat down without offering his guest or the captain of his guard a seat as well.
    “Just Owain, my Lord.” His correction was quiet, the perfect picture of a