Her pulse from across the camp. Inside her dwelling. Fast.
I walk to the edge, to my spot. The same ground I've always stood on—facing outward, back to the pack. Alpha watches.
The last of the light dies.
Pressure and heat all at once, bones snapping and jaw extending and spine lengthening in one long wrench. My hands hit dirt—paws. Black fur pushing through skin, the world tilting, colors draining to gray and silver. Smell exploding into everything.
The camp opens up. Scent first. Every wolf. Every heartbeat.
The pups tumbling near Hella, still clumsy in their new-moon forms. Axan settling at the western edge, gray coat silver in the dark. Kestria nearby—woodsmoke, the sour edge of a wound still healing, lying nearherdwelling.
Her dwelling. Her pulse loud and close and fast. Awake, moving inside, the pink bird making noise—sharp clucks, panicked, wings hitting walls.
I face the treeline. Eyes on the dark, ears back toward the pack. Her pulse through the wall won't let me hold still.
The rhythm in her chest spikes.
The first shift outside her door. Kestria. The wet crack ofbones, the groan that comes out wrong—half human, half animal. Her breath catches through the wall.
Then the rest. All of them. The camp filling with sounds of bodies breaking and reforming. Wolves where people stood. Pups yelping. A young wolf howling—too loud, no control, shushed by a growl from Hella.
Inside her dwelling, a crash. The bird.
Her heartbeat hammering now. Faster. Sharper—
Minutes pass. She doesn't slow. My pulse shouldn't be tracking hers. I should be listening for anything that doesn't belong.
Warm bread and chamomile. Cutting through pine, cold dirt and every wolf between us.
The wolf turns its head.
Her door opens.
She steps out. Small. White hair loose. The pink bird clutched against her chest.
She stands in the doorway and looks at the open ground full of wolves.
Doesn't run. Doesn't scream.
Just stands there. Pulse pounding, hands tight on the bird. Looking.
No fear-scent. She doesn't have it. Scent coming off her—adrenaline. Heat.
Kestria lifts her head from the ground near the dwelling. Brown coat, amber eyes. A low whine, soft and steady. Melori looks down at her.
"Kestria?"
A soft chuff.
"Okay." High and thin, steady. "Okay. You're—yeah. Okay."
She crouches. One hand leaving the bird, reaching out. Slow. Kestria's ear. She scratches behind it, and my sister's tail moves once against the dirt.
"You're still you." Quiet.
Steady voice. Hammering pulse.
She straightens. Looks across the open ground.
