The Newt glided silently through the cool morning waters of the river, arms and legs pointing backwards, torpedo-like, crested tale moving side to side with silky grace. It passed rocks, slick and green with aquatic moss and water crowfoot, waving gently in the current. Clouds of newly hatched minnows darted about it. A rainbow trout swam past with its mouth agape, ready to snare another water nymph. Now and then crayfish scuttled out of their muddy lairs, claws aloft as if ready for a fight and water rats peeked out of their bankside holes. The Newt swam in sync with the river’s flow on its watery path through Selwood forest. Although it was early morning, the day was already warm. The air was fragrant with the honeyed scent of late hawthorn blossom, which framed the river with a cloud of white. Insects buzzed contentedly amongst the blooms and dragonflies and damsels bejewelled the leaves. From tree to tree small birds emitted their chorus of chirrups, whistles and warbles. A woodpigeon joined them; landing clumsily in an elm tree, and noisily sang its two-note tune over and over. The Newt reached a crop of large rocks in the centre of the river. Arms and legs spread, it sailed skillfully onto the surface. Its padded feet deftly found their way across the hard, wet terrain and climbed to a position where the stone broke the surface of the flowing water. Now it could sit half in and half out of the river, feeling the pleasant flow of water across its skin and the midsummer sun’s rays warming its long sleek body. Its almond eyes scanned the riverbank. A Mayfly flew unsteadily over the water’s surface, drunk on its newfound flying ability. Joyfullying flitting this way and that in the warm breeze, oblivious to the fact its life would be over by nightfall. This didn’t matter though, because today it could fly. It was time for The Newt to make its transformation. It left the rocky sun spot and swam to the water’s edge. The Newt’s body began to twist and twitch and then expand. Silvery skin stretched and lightened, limbs lengthened and re-aligned. Shoulders emerged below the newly formed neck and fingers elongated at the end of wide palms. The Newt climbed out of its water world with a new human form. A Jay, noting the transformation, flew down from its perch on a knobbled oak and landed next to the newly transformed body. The Jay too had business in the human world on this Midsummer Day. Slowly, The Newt took his first steps. This new bipedal form felt strange and unsteady. Soon however, he found his balance. Cautious steps became long strides as The Newt made his way towards his destination. The Jay rose into the sky and followed The Newt’s journey from the air. There was magical stillness in the Midsummer morning. The Newt moved silently; first by the river and then through a patchwork of green fields. A herd of cows looked up from their morning grazing at the tall, slender figure making its way across the land. They acknowledged it with soft lows and then went back to their breakfast. Shape shifting was a common sight in this season. As he moved through the fields, the Newt observed the sensation of his bare feet pressing into the grass. He noticed that his new height gave him sight across large swathes of land; a sensory shift that made vision suddenly central to his experience. For the first time, The Newt observed flowers from above. Delicate white sprays of Jack By the Hedge; powdery pink yarrow blooms, layered purple knapweed and sky blue cornflowers. All these delighted and intrigued The Newt, but he knew his time was limited and so continued onwards. The sun was already turning glistening dawn dew drops into the vapours that would later adorn the sky with candyfloss clusters. The Newt walked upwards towards the town with the Jay in tow, flying low in the sky. The damp grass of the fields gave way to dry tarmacked roads. The Newt climbed over styles and metal gates, his sinewy body easily surmounting each obstacle. The Newt’s initial physical awkwardness now gone, he settled into the sensations of this new strange body. When The Newt found his way into the outskirts of the town it was still early morning. The Jay followed close by, sometimes flying, sometimes hopping along the ground. Soon they reached an arid stone path boarded on one side by train tracks and the other by scrubby patches of bramble, buddleia and dusty nettles. The track tailed off at a deserted industrial park. Around them now were squat breezeblock buildings with metal roller shutters and bars in the windows. The tarmac had retained the heat from the previous day and a shimmering mirage was beginning to form on its surface. The Newt sniffed the air. It had a bitter, synthetic smell which signalled that he was close to the place he was searching for. Following the acrid scent, The Newt passed rusted fences and humming machinery until he found the source, a fire retardant factory leaking a thin, iridescent stream of chemical runoff into the nearby waterway. The stream, once clear and alive, now carried a dull metallic sheen and a toxic smell. The Newt climbed down into the water and traced his fingers along a wide pipe which led to a cracked valve, its edges crusted with residue. The Jay flew up to the guttering of a building and watched as The Newt placed both hands around the valve and squeezed. Beneath his grip, the steel warped and buckled and the steady chemical leak stuttered into stillness, its flow choked off at the source. The Newt’s fingers dug deeper, until the valve sealed completely, twisted into a permanent closure. For a moment he held on, feeling the last vibrations of pressure fade; before slowly releasing his hands, leaving behind the crushed fixture.

The transient human form of The Newt began to feel uncomfortable. Too rigid, too dry. Suddenly he was thirsty. The Newt looked around for a clean source of water, but could see none. His throat was sore and mouth gummy. Now it was the Jay’s turn to lead the way. It called to The Newt to follow. They went further into the industrial estate until they reached a carpark. It was empty, save for a young man who sat hunched on a low wall. The young man’s head was shrouded by a dark hoodie. With one hand he scrolled on his phone. With the other he nervously rolled and unrolled a £20 note. Dark shadows sat under his eyes. Every now and then he sniffed, and ran a thumb under his nostrils. Six was the agreed time to meet his dealer: a pudgy little man with a penchant for white tracksuits and designer trainers. The dealer was late. He had enjoyed a busy night. It was festival season and demand was high; so he was in no rush to do a £20 deal. The young man had drunk a couple of cans of lager that morning to take the edge off. He had with him a bottle of lucozade and a bag of stale croissants rescued from the bin behind the bakery. He needed his hit though. A movement on the other side of the carpark drew the young man’s attention. The tall slender figure of The Newt was moving towards him, his pale skin, almost silver shimmered like moonlight. As the figure emerged from the shadows it became clear he was undressed. This was the last thing the young man needed. It was probably some hippy from that festival. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to get his hit, go home and get high. ‘Oi mate what you doing here?’ The figure stopped, but made no reply. ‘What are you doing? The festival’s that way’ He jerked his head towards a field on the other side of the road. Still no response. ‘You need to get some clothes on. You know exposing yourself in public is like a criminal offense.’ The figure remained silent, but tipped its head to the side. This was going to be a pain. ‘Mate! You cannot stay here.’ The Newt looked the young man directly in the eyes. He put his hand to his mouth and pointed a slender finger at its lips. ‘Can’t you talk or something?’ The Newt stared at the bottle of Lucozade. the young man followed his gaze. ‘Christ sake.’ he whispered. Then the young man spotted The Jay hopping around The Newt’s feet, and a memory was triggered. A pink brown bird with black tipped wings and striking blue stripes in his mum’s back garden. He was eleven and had been playing in the overgrown grass, watching grasshoppers and ants with curiosity. It was a warm June day. He had no school. His mum, who was between boyfriends, was out at work and he was alone at home. He’d made himself a peanut butter sandwich with some stale bread and was eating it with relish. The bird landed next to him. It cocked its head to one side. Then it proceeded to peck at a patch of grass rich with scurrying ants. At first he did not dare move. He didn’t want to ruin this magical moment. Slowly he realised that the bird had no fear of him. He rose up to a kneeling position and pulled a morsel of sandwich and held it out to the bird. It stopped its pecking and looked at him, head to one side. Then, cautiously, it hopped forward, took the bread and hopped back quickly. A feeling of indescribable joy swept through the boy. He pinched another small piece of bread and offered it to the bird. This time the bird took the bread and stayed right next to his outstretched hand. Instinctively the boy gently placed the side of his little finger on the bird’s head and stroked it down its back. He had never touched a bird before and the feathers felt silky beneath his finger. The rest of that day had been spent with the bird. The bird hopping cheerfully around the boy while he fed it crumbs and made drawings of it. Just as the sun was setting, the bird cawed a farewell and flew off. The boy’s mum returned to him sitting on the sofa quietly colouring his sketches. She looked at them. ‘That’s nice. You could be an artist, love. I’ve got a shift at the pub. I’ll pick up takeaway when I come home yeh.’

‘Here’ Said the young man handing the Lucozade to The Newt. The Newt took the bottle and held it up, peering at the contents. ‘Oh come on.’ Said the young man. He gently took the bottle from The Newt, unscrewed the cap and handed it back to him. ‘Go on. Drink it’ The Newt slowly put the bottle to his mouth and took a large swig. His green eyes widened, and he drank down the rest of the bottle in one. ‘Easy mate.’ said the young man. The Jay chirruped gently. The Newt reached out his hand and placed it on the young man’s arm. As The Newt’s hand touched his skin, a calm spread through the young man like a cool stream. He felt something shift inside him. Like a small piece of a missing puzzle fell quietly into place. The Jay hopped onto the young man’s arm. Then back onto the ground in front of him and then back again onto his arm again. The bird dipped its head as if bowing to the young man. The young man copied the gesture, and the bird repeated his bow. The two now took turns to bow their heads at each other, like clockwork figures from a cuckoo clock. The Newt let out a gentle laugh. It sounded like a babbling brook. It was the first noise the young man had heard from the strange figure. The Newt smiled at the young man. His dark green eyes were flecked with gold. The Newt nodded his head to the Young Man, who returned the gesture. Then the Newt set off walking with a slow, steady stride, back towards the river. The young man watched the Newt disappear. Then, he himself began walking towards his home, with the Jay perched on his shoulder. He would get some pencils and paper and do some sketches when he got home. Twenty minutes later the dealer pulled up into the carpark. He looked around for the young man, but he was gone.