Huge thanks to  binturongboss for the upcoming commission art featuring yours truly that'll be uploaded soon...! Can’t wait to see it unleashed upon the world! Although… I gotta say, the name Werewolfaboo might need a little update... kind of hard to sell the whole "werewolf" angle when you're clearly galloping around as a horse now! Maybe Werehoofaboo? Stay tuned for said artwork that's SOON to come out! For now? Enjoy this gift art / trade... (^v^) Click or tap !!HERE!! to visit their profile!

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Morning mist still clung to the grass as Elli tightened the straps of her backpack, her boots crunching softly against the damp grass. The Exmoor wilds spread out before her like an ancient secret, rolling hills and jagged stone outcrops bathed in a pale, silvery light. 

There was no one else around, just the sound of blackbirds trilling above and the occasional rustle of something in the undergrowth. This was exactly what she had wanted. Isolation, silence, and the wild.

Stretching wide into the rolling damp mist, the trail wound along the spine of a low ridge, offering brief glimpses of the moor stretching into the distance, thick with patches of shaggy grass. The breeze tasted of salt and peat, and carried with it the faint, earthy scent of ponies. 

Further on she walked, the more the weather began to shift. A low fog crept in from the north, sliding between the hills like a ghost, thin at first, but steadily thickening. It clung to her clothes and hair, muffling sound and softening the horizon.

She paused to catch her breath, the chill curling around her ankles. Somewhere in the mist, she heard a soft snort, followed by the sound of hooves on stone. Elli turned slowly. Ponies!

One of the ponies stood just off the path, its coat a rich, dun brown that matched the moorland earth. It watched her with calm, liquid eyes, steam curling from its nostrils. Elli approached slowly, hand outstretched.

The pony didn’t move away. Instead, it leaned into her touch as she brushed her fingers along its thick neck. Its warmth was startling against the chill air, and for a moment she stood there in silence, feeling the coarse hair under her palm and the slow, steady breathing of the creature.

Eventually, the pony turned and wandered back into the fog, disappearing. Elli lingered a moment longer, reluctant to ruin the moment, then adjusted her backpack and continued down the trail.

The fog had grown thicker now, swirling around her legs in pale coils. It glittered faintly in the morning light, beautiful in an eerie, unnatural way. The path was harder to follow, but she didn’t feel worried, just strangely calm, why wouldn’t she be?

As she stepped over a mossy stone wall, she caught sight of her legs and paused. The fog was brushing just above her knees now, and at the bottom of her baggy jeans, something looked off. Thick brown fur was poking out of the frayed cuffs, coarse and muddy like the pony’s coat. Elli blinked. Had she walked through some brush? But no, this fur was growing from her, spilling over her boots in shaggy tufts.

Elli shifted her weight, frowning as she tried to lift one leg for a better look. The jeans were too loose to catch properly around her calf now, and when she raised her foot, the awkward weight imbalance threw her off. She wobbled, windmilling her arms, then toppled sideways into the grass with a startled grunt.

The fog swallowed the sound almost instantly, muffling it to nothing. Lying there, she felt a strange pressure in her right shoe, tight, constricted, like something inside didn’t fit anymore.

She sat up and pulled at the laces, but they had already worked themselves loose. The shoe slipped off with a soft thump, and what she saw underneath made her stomach clench.

Where her foot should have been, there was now a hoof. Not a shoe or a trick of the light, an actual, hardened hoof, dark and rounded and splitting the grass below her. It gleamed slightly with morning dew, rooted where her ankle had once been. She stared at it in disbelief, heart pounding, breath fogging the air in short, rapid bursts.

Elli scrambled back on her elbows, eyes locked on the hoof as if looking harder might make it go away. But the transformation wasn’t stopping. A tearing sound drew her gaze to her other foot, where the seams of her shoe were splitting apart, the fabric stretching unnaturally. 

With a final pop, it burst open, flapping uselessly as her second foot thickened and reshaped, hardening into another solid hoof. The skin above it was no longer skin, coarse brown fur was spreading up her ankles, crawling up her shins in a slow, steady wave.

She tried to scream, to call out into the mist for anyone… anything, but all that came out was a loud, guttural snort. Her eyes widened in shock, and again she tried to shout, but the same harsh exhale burst from her nose.

It flared wider with each breath, her nostrils stretching as her nose began to swell forward, pushing her vision subtly outward. Her face felt hot and tight, her upper lip twitching as the beginnings of a short, blunted snout took shape.

Panic surged through her and she shoved herself up, trying to stand or run. But her balance was gone. Her new hooves clacked clumsily against the stone path, legs not quite bending right.

She stumbled sideways, hit the ground again with a thud, and lay there breathing hard, her flared nostrils sucking in the heavy, fog laced air. The silence pressed in around her, and the fog just kept getting thicker.

A low snort echoed through the fog, deeper than hers. Through the thick white veil, shapes began to move. Dark, sturdy forms, hooves muffled by the soft earth, breath steaming in the air. Ponies. A small herd of them, appearing like ghosts just beyond reach. They moved slowly, deliberately, their eyes calm and unreadable as they watched her struggle in the grass.

She tried to call out again, to plead for help, but her voice was gone, swallowed by the fog and reshaped into another helpless, nasal snort. Her mouth wouldn't form words anymore; her jaw ached, her lips twitching with a stiffness that didn’t belong. Then came another sound, not from the fog, but from herself.

Rrrrip.

The back of her jeans split with sudden violence, the fabric giving way to something thick and strong forcing its way out. A rush of cool air hit her lower back, and she felt it: the swaying, unfamiliar weight of a tail.

Long strands of coarse black hair fluttered in the mist as the new appendage flicked instinctively, reacting to the tickling fog like it had always been there. It thrashed once, then settled into a slow, lazy swish, brushing over the torn denim and fur covered thighs.

Elli gasped but again, only a sharp equine snort escaped. The ponies watched in silence, and for the first time, one stepped closer.

The closest pony stepped forward, its hooves silent on the soft earth. It lowered its head toward Elli, still trembling in the grass, and pressed its warm, damp muzzle to her cheek. For a brief moment, it was comforting, soft breath, the earthy scent of hay and musk. Then its tongue flicked out and gave her a long, wet lick across the side of her face.

Her skin tingled, nerves alight with a heat that pulsed outward from the spot it touched. She gasped sharply, but something inside gave way. Her vision blurred, then doubled, the edges twisting as if reality itself were shifting. 

Pressure built in her face, pushing from behind her nose, inside her skull. With a sudden crack pop, her face jolted forward, her nose stretching out with a sickening pull. Cartilage snapped, skin reshaped, and within seconds a broad, rounded snout jutted out from where her face had been.

She could no longer move her upper lip properly; it was stiff and thick, twitching involuntarily as little bristly hairs sprouted along the sides of her growing muzzle. Her ears were ringing, her eyes watering from the strain of the transformation.

She tried to push herself up, to scramble away, but the ground was slick beneath her, the fog dampening everything into a blanket of wet moss and mud.

Her hand slipped. She went down hard, her palm squishing into the mud, fingers splaying, and then locking. She felt the shift immediately. Her wrist popped with a sharp twist, bones fusing.

Fingers flattened, blackened, melting into a solid shape. With a panicked wheeze through her warped nose, she pulled back, but it was too late. One hand was gone. In its place was a stout, curved hoof, half caked in mud and trembling as it tried to support her weight.

Her jeans continued to stretch unnaturally over her reshaping legs, fabric tearing in slow, jerky motions. Fur raced upward from her knees, dark brown and thick, consuming skin and smearing away her humanity with every inch. Her thighs bulged, the shape of her pelvis groaning under the strain.

She tried to scream again, to shout her own name, to remind herself she was still Elli… but all she could do was let out a confused, trembling whinny that echoed hollowly through the fog.

The herd drew nearer. They weren’t afraid. One of them nudged her gently with its nose, while another stood behind, its breath curling around her swaying tail. She was no longer just a hiker to them. No longer just a girl. She was becoming. The fog swirled tighter, heavier, curling around her like a curtain.

Elli's hooves scrabbled in the mud, useless against the shifting weight of her changing body. Her legs twitched violently, denim pulling tight across thickening thighs before tearing apart in long, uneven rips. Thick brown fur surged up from her calves, racing higher with each pounding heartbeat.

It spread over her knees, up her thighs, overtaking pale skin in a wave of coarse warmth. The texture changed her, muffling the human shape beneath it, replacing it with something sturdier, more animal. She grunted through her stretching muzzle, sliding deeper into the wet moss as her hips popped and shifted under her.

Her arms trembled where she tried to push herself upright, but they weren’t hers anymore. The fur had reached her elbows, and already her fingers were stiff, curling against her will. The bones in her forearm pulsed, shortened, thickened. Her wrists creaked as they began to lock into a new configuration. Her palms dragged in the mud, flattening as hooves started to overtake her hands. 

No matter how she struggled, she couldn’t get any leverage, her limbs no longer bent the way she needed. Her strength, her balance, her body, none of it worked as it should.

She cried out again, but it was a broken, braying noise. A strand of her own hair fell across her face, a mane, she realized. Her once short hair was growing wildly, spilling over her eyes in dark, tangled clumps. 

It tickled the sides of her lengthening face, tangled in the fog, swayed with every futile movement she made. She shook her head in confusion, but the weight of the growing mane only made her slip further, sending her muzzle smacking into the mud.

The fur was climbing now, past her shoulders, up her neck. A heavy warmth pulsed beneath her skin, drawing it upward like ink spreading in water. The muscles in her neck thickened, straining against the collar of her jacket until it snapped, falling limp around her broadening chest.

Her spine arched, vertebrae popping one by one as her posture collapsed fully forward, her elbows bending the wrong way, locking into a new stance. She wasn’t kneeling anymore. She was on all fours and not by choice.

Body parts had given up pretending to be human. Her arms were legs now, limbs made to bear weight, not manipulate tools. Hooves pressed into the muck where fingers had once curled. Her mind still fought, desperately, but her body had passed the point of no return. She snorted, eyes wide beneath the curtain of her mane, her sides heaving as the herd surrounded her.

And still the fog deepened. Still the fur spread. Still the moor swallowed her.

Elli’s mind was a tangle of panic, slipping further from sense with every passing second. Her body gave another violent lurch, her back arching as her spine lengthened with a sickening series of pops and cracks. Her hips flared outward, bones creaking as they widened into the powerful, load bearing shape of a pony's hindquarters.

Her thighs thickened monstrously, swelling with dense muscle as her entire frame ballooned with new weight. The wet, clinging fabric of her jeans shredded apart like tissue, the waistband tearing as it was stretched far beyond its limit.

She let out a pitiful noise, half snort, half wail, but even that was wrong. The sound came from deep within her barrel chest, her lungs reshaped to carry the breath of something larger, heavier.

Her torso groaned beneath the last tatters of her coat, her ribs expanding, shoulders broadening as fur consumed her entirely. Her forelegs buckled beneath her again, unable to hold the new bulk until they finished their shift. The hands were already gone. Her elbows reversed fully, locking into their final stance, hooves sinking deeper into the mud with the weight of a true pony.

More tears ripped through her jacket, seams snapping one by one. Her chest swelled, furred and barrel shaped now, built to carry her forward on four sturdy legs. There was no nakedness, no shame. Only warmth and pressure, the feel of the fog on her thick coat, the sense of being filled, grown into something massive and solid. 

Her shoulders rippled with fresh muscle, her belly rounded into a compact equine curve, and her tail flicked again, long and lazy and natural. Her face, the only piece still fighting, was next. She snorted through widened nostrils, vision blurred by the tangle of mane hanging over her eyes. Her ears had crawled up the sides of her skull, pointed now and flicking with sound. Her jaw ached. Her teeth ground against each other, flat and strange in her stretching mouth. 

The front of her skull began to push forward again, bone flowing like soft clay, tugging her face into its final shape. Her forehead sloped. Her eyes shifted wider apart. The soft, bristly fur crept upward, claiming her cheeks, her brow, her chin.

She blinked. Her thoughts… slipped.

Fog.

She remembered fog.

That was the first and clearest thing. The way it curled around her ankles, then her legs. How it clung to her back and tangled in her mane. She knew it like a blanket now, thick and quiet and endless. The fog had always been there. Hadn’t it?

Hay.

She could smell it. Somewhere nearby. It tickled her nose and filled her lungs with warmth and comfort. She wanted to chew, to grind the fibrous strands between her teeth, to breathe in the earthy scent and let it ground her. She knew that smell. She’d always known it.

And mother.

Yes… mother. Not a woman. Not a hiker like her. But a mare. Tall, soft, brown like the hills. She remembered standing beside her, side pressed to side. The warmth of her breath. The twitch of her tail. They had grazed together. Run together. That was real, wasn’t it? That was her beginning. She couldn’t remember another.

She took a step forward, hooves squelching in the mud. Her head, still half-formed, twitched as her muzzle stretched further. Her teeth were flat now, her lips thick, twitching. Her ears flicked toward the rustle of hooves in the fog. The herd. She turned her head, the last human shadows slipping from her eyes as the shape of her skull completed its transformation. It no longer hurt. Her neck, long and strong, carried the heavy head with ease.

Thoughts flickered, dimmed, vanished. What was a name? What was a hiker? The moors were her world. The fog, her sky. The herd, her kin.

She flicked her tail again, blinked her big dark eyes, and stepped closer to the others. The fog closed in behind her, soft and silent, erasing the muddy tracks where a girl had once slipped and cried and changed.

There was only a pony now. Brown, sturdy, and still. She blinked once at the mist, then lowered her head to graze.