Leave it to fate.

Your gut says go north, yet following your gut just seems to get you in trouble. With a sigh you pull out a coin and give it a toss. Tails. “I didn’t decide what that meant.” You say with a smile. All the same you it is normal for heads to be north... right... you tap the coin against your lip, pondering the implications. “Fuck it.” You pivot on your heel and take a step south. Instantly you regret the decision as a bell chimes and it is as if a thousand years pass around you. Figures race past, the bridge gets older, seasons fly by, till finally the bridge collapses into the gorge. Looking down you see you are above the southern bank 100’ below, the wide river several times cuts a different path below you as you watch the years fly by suspended in mid air.

Then as fast as it began, it stops. “Fuck.” You Yelp as you rocket downward. Your eyes widen as the ground races to meet you. A word springs to your lips, “Feather.” Your fall slows as if a gentle hand catches you. You land lightly on the grass, your bare toes tickled by the soft blades. “Bare?” It would appear whatever body you were in is yours no longer. The new you, or is it the old you, your mind races to catch up. You feel like you have changed so many times it must have all been a crazy dream. Your head spins. It can’t keep up. Your stomach is churning. With a convulsive jolt you hurl out the contents of your stomach, stumble two steps to your right, and pass out.

Another dream. A vision. Reality. You have no way to know. A cats paw brushes your lips. Your eyes open. A large black cat smiles. “You were doing so good. We thought you would be the one to break the spell. I will leave you this parting gift as thanks. Farewell.” The cat takes two steps away before rapidly aging till the wind carries the dust away.

With a jolt you wake up. With all that has happened you first take stock in yourself. Your skin is pale once more, a slight tan perhaps, your body looks to be hairless, a sexy looking little 4” cock resting on rather a small sack. Reaching up, you feel short soft hair and yanking a single one plus feeling it over you imagine you again have a short pixie cut, this time it is rather light blonde. Your form is otherwise that of a petite woman. Your skin seems essentially flawless, not unnaturally so, but like that of a well fed and cared for person in their early twenties. Your ass is perky and your legs seem to be a little muscular, but you see very little strength in your arms. Your breasts are there, and very feminine, but you definitely won’t be needing a bra, they surely aren’t even A cups. Your nipples do harden at the thought of just how sexy you are. You are also completely naked. “Fuck.” You say with a snort. Then look around. Sure enough the cat did leave you a gift. The magical satchel.

Inside you find a pair of pink ankle socks, comfy looking tan hiking boots, a black lace bikini, and a simple white tunic dress. There is a bundle of a week or so worth of rations, a large canteen, a single bladed knife with a thin leather wrapped handle you imagine would be easy to throw, a short but extendable baton, a big box of bullets, and finally a leather holster on a belt, with a pistol inside and two extra magazines in little pouches. Of course you first grab the gun, feeling a bit helpless at the moment. It is blued with black plastic grips. On the side is stamped “S.T.A.R. Becheverria eibar Spain SA caliber 9mm”. It reminds you of a 1911 but not exactly.

“Cool.” Pulling the magazine reveals 8 rounds, but the chamber is empty. You heft the gun. It is rather heavy, two pounds perhaps a tad more. But feels well in the hand. Balanced very nicely.

As you stand there nude marveling at your gifts you hear someone a few yards or so behind you clear their throat as if trying to get your attention. “Please, I don’t mean to startle you, but I have to ask. Why are you in my goat pen?”

You spin around, your eyes searching for the source of the voice. As you do you become aware of just how odd your surroundings actually are. It would seem you are indeed standing inside of a fenced in area roughly ten by twenty yards with six goats lounging around and munching on grass. The wire fence around is about five feet tall and a man dressed in a brown shirt is peering around the corner of a small building, a barn, badly in need of new paint. Your eyes find the gate, it has a locked latch. Climbing the fence should be an easy enough task. Still you aren’t sure what you should do or say. Your mind searches for something.

“Can you understand me?” He asks. As he does it dawns on you that while you clearly can understand him, you have no idea what language he is speaking.