More. Across the battlefield—wolves becoming people.One by one, then in clusters.
Fur to skin. Claws to hands.
A woman shifting while still standing over the human she'd been fighting, both of them freezing, staring at each other.
A boy—gods, he can't be more than sixteen—shifting in front of a soldier and just standing there, thin and naked and bleeding and terrified, and the soldier backing away with his hands up, palms out, weapon forgotten.
Where's Kestria—there.
Human form now, blood on her arm, standing next to Axan who must have shifted too because he's human and naked and has his hand on her shoulder. Holding her back or holding her up. Can't tell which. Both standing. Good.
People.
Just people.
And the humans staring at them with weapons half-lowered. A soldier near the tree line has his hand over his mouth. Two men looking at each other, looking away, looking back. Nobody moving. Nobody knowing what comes next.
A human soldier turns to a nearby bush, puking.
Weapons lowering across the line. Not all—some hands tighten, some jaws go hard, some men step forward instead of back—but enough. Enough to break whatever was holding the charge together.
The male goat bolts across the clearing—trailing a chewed-through lead, running directly between two soldiers who both stumble sideways trying to avoid him.
"HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!" Theron. Voice cutting across the clearing. "HOLD THE LINE!"
Nobody moves.
"I SAID HOLD!"
"Hold WHAT?" The young soldier near me. Almost shouting now. "They're PEOPLE!"
Bodies on the ground—wolves and humans both, some still moving, most not.
Movement from the human side.
My stomach drops.
But it's not an attack.
One soldier breaking from the line. A woman. Middle-aged. Sturdy build, hair pulled back tight. She unbuckles the belt at her hip in one motion and tosses the whole rig backward, behind her line, into the trees. Sword, sheath, the lot. Steps over where it was. Doesn't look back.
She comes forward into the open. Stops where she has a clear view of the clearing.
"Look," she says. Not loud. But her voice carries because everyone has gone quiet to hear her. "All of you. Just look."
She points.
"There. The dwelling on the left. Window."
Heads turn. Mine too.
A child's face at the window. Maybe four. Watching. Wide-eyed.
"And there. The doorway."
Another. Older. Eight, maybe. A girl with both hands gripping the doorframe.
"And the one by the fire pit."
