Shape-Shifter

Chapter 1

A/N: My sister really wanted me to write a story set in Scotland, so that's what I did, but I'm not really familiar with the Scottish dialect, so please don't hate me if something pops up that wouldn't usually occur in Scottish dialect.

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Chapter 1:

I saw a bird sitting on the window-sill. Heard the horses neighing in their stables. Smelled freshly mowed grass. Felt the smooth, cold tabletop beneath my fingers and bare arms. And tasted the magic words, that would calm any animal, on my tongue.

“Samantha!”

I looked away from the window. Sad thing too, the bird had been telling me a funny story of how she had teased a cat.

“Yes?”

I heard someone snicker, but years of practice helped me ignore them.

“Samantha, you haven't been paying attention, again. I really don't know what to do with you...” The teacher's voice got quieter and quieter, as I turned my attention back to the bird, and told her that she could continue telling me her story.

“Samantha!” shouted the teacher, this time sounding really angry.

“Yes?” I asked sounding innocent.

“You haven't been listening again, right?”

“No, I've been listening, just not to you.”

“Oh, and to whom?” the teacher sounded slightly venomous.

“The bird. She said her name was,”I whistled the bird's name, just how she had shown me, “and she was telling me a story about how she teased a cat. I think it's far more amusing than your history lesson, and if I may say so, far more important as well.” I had a sweet, sing-song voice that belonged to a dreamer. It really helped me with the innocent act.

This time all the teacher (whose name by the way is Mrs. Fallow) could do, was sigh. “Samantha, you really have to stop fantasizing. It can't be good for you. And birds don't tell stories. Stop day-dreaming, all right?” she sounded kind of motherly, almost like she was concerned.

“I'll try, but it's hard, especially since the bird's story was more interesting.”

She shook her head and turned back to the class, who were trying very hard not to laugh. They weren't mean, but they couldn't help it, just like I couldn't help listening to a bird's story, rather than a history lesson.

I barely heard the bell ring. Someone had to tap me on the shoulder, which is kind of embarrassing, but no where near as embarrassing as having a bird's story more captivating than your own.

I took one more look out of the window. I loved Scotland. I had never lived anywhere else, so I can't really compare it to any other place, but I loved it. The people were friendly, the water was sweet. Wildlife had a big variety and the sight of the countryside was amazing.

The same person tapped me on the shoulder again. Nobody pays attention to me twice. They might take the liberty to help me pay attention to what's happening once, but never twice in one day.

“Sorry,” I said keeping my head down.

“For what?”

“For not realizing the first time you tapped me on the shoulder.”

I looked up. The boy looked decent enough, and because he smelled of horses, I'm just going to presume that he either lives at a ranch, or is close friends with someone who does.

“Samantha, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered uncertainly. Everybody knows my name. Why? Because I am famous for being a day-dreamer.