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house in the Battle of Farfang
Castle.
    Worse than all this, for some wolves such as Uncle
Hotspur, is the suggestion that a Fangen may be an animal. Werefolk are exceptionally proud people
and cannot bear to look at a dog as it reminds them
that they may not be so very different from beasts.
Whatever the reason, any association with a dog was
a disgrace too terrible to think about.
    Freddy turned to look at his uncle in alarm. Sir
Hotspur, now transformed into a huge red wolf,
was approaching, his teeth bared and dripping with
saliva.
    'You ridiculous buffoon,' he growled. 'You have
brought shame upon us that we will never live down.
The very blood of Sir Rathbone has been polluted.'
    Freddy backed away in alarm. It appeared Uncle
Hotspur wouldn't be eating his trousers after all.
    'I'm going to mince you into little poodle pieces.
Then I'll spit them out and grind them into the floor,'
howled his furious slavering uncle. Freddy watched,
frozen with terror, as the monstrous wolf leapt at
him.
    Freddy gave a feeble yelp and ran away as fast as
his tiny pretty legs would take him. He crossed the
hall and a sea of disgusted wolves howled at him as
he passed.
    'Shame!'
    'Disgrace!'
    Amid the uproar, Freddy scampered out of the
Great Hall, down the passage and up the spiral stairs
to his room. There he sank down under his bed in
shock, sorrow and confusion. How could this be? How
could he be a dog – the most despicable creature on
earth? The son of Flasheart, a most magnificent wolf,
doomed to be loathed and shunned by all werefolk. It
couldn't have happened; there must be a mistake.
    Freddy tiptoed over to the mirror.
    'Oh, stinking smelly feet,' he yipped in despair.
There was no doubting his reflection.
    He was a poodle.
    'Why can't I be normal like any other werewolf?
I'm supposed to be a hero.' Footsteps were approaching
up the spiral stairs. 'Oh, great howls!' Freddy
whimpered, his hair going tight with fear. He scampered
under the bed once more. To his relief, it was
Mrs Mutton who walked in and sat heavily on the
bed. To his further relief, he found that he could still
understand her. The Fangen could always understand
humans when in wolf form, but he hadn't been so
sure about himself as a dog.
    'Well, I've never seen anything like this before,'
she began unhelpfully. 'Your father had pure Wolfen
blood. He was never a poodle, you know, not even
once.'
    Freddy sighed. He didn't need to be reminded
what a ridiculous son he was for the famously brave
Flasheart. His father would have been ashamed of
him for sure.
    Mrs Mutton suddenly clapped her hands. 'I
remember who you remind me of now. Dripsy-Wimpsy,
of course!'
    Freddy had no idea what she was talking about.
He didn't want to know; all he wanted was to wake up
from this nightmare.
    'Whenever your mother's aunt came to visit she
brought her dog too. Well, you can imagine how
Hotspur reacted. But Flasheart allowed the ghastly
little traitor to stay here for your mother's sake. It
was the slyest, smelliest, most cowardly poodle in the
world. Always yipping, farting and pooing on your
uncle's lawn. You look exactly like her.'
    'Woof!' Freddy objected crossly. He looked nothing
like a girl dog and he wasn't farty! Well, not always.
Except if he ate baked beans, or broccoli, or ...
    'Sir Hotspur is very upset,' Mrs Mutton continued.
    'Yip,' yelped the poodle, knowing his uncle would
never forgive him. He had no wish to be minced into
tiny poodle pieces, or mashed like a potato.
    'If I were a poodle, which thank goodness I'm not,
I'd stay up here till morning,' said the old lady as she
stood and walked towards the stairs. 'Come down
tomorrow when you're a boy again. Everything will
look better soon, you'll see.' As she began to descend
she called back, 'Sir Hotair might even have calmed
down by then.'
    Freddy agreed. There was no way he was coming
out looking as he did. Fangen only stay in wolf form
for the first night of the full moon; the next morning
he would transform back