“That’s a fair point,” he says faintly.
Before I can second-guess myself, I step back from the table, out into the slightly more open space of the clearing.
“Don’t panic,” I warn him. “It looks worse than it feels.”
Then I let the shift roll over me.
Changing shape isn’t a smooth process.
Bones shorten and grind, spine compressing, hips narrowing. My center of gravity drops. Fur retracts along my limbs and torso, sinking back into skin that darkens, then lightens. Claws blunt into nails. My hands reshape, fingers lengthening, palms slimming. My face aches as my jaw and brow pull inward, nose sharpening.
I’ve done this plenty of times, but never in front of a human.
There’s a moment—brief but always a little exhilarating—where I’m halfway between forms, everything in flux. Then it finishes, and I’m just… smaller. Softer. Significantly less durable-looking.
My feet settle into the leaf litter, bare and human. The air feels different against my skin. Colder. More exposed.
When I open my eyes, Elias is on the ground.
He’s literally fallen over.
He sits sprawled in the dirt, one hand braced behind him, the other clutched to his chest like he’s manually keeping his heart from escaping.
His eyes are huge.
His gaze travels from my face down my torso, lingering for a beat too long on the fact that, yes, I am completely naked, and then snaps back up again so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t injure something.
Humans are very weird about nudity.
In my sasquatch form, everything sensitive is tucked away, protected by fur and structure. It only… presents itself… whenneeded. Intentionally or otherwise. Here, though? Human bodies are just on display all the time. I’ve never understood it.
“Do you… need something to cover yourself?” Elias asks, voice a little strangled.
“If it’ll make you more comfortable,” I reply.
“It might keep me from dying of embarrassment,” he says bluntly.
“Then yes,” I say. “A covering would be good.”
He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly trips again. “Stay there,” he says, as though I’m the flight risk in this scenario, and bolts into the station.
I stand in the clearing, suddenly hyperaware of everything. The way the evening air brushes every inch of my skin. The way this body, while still tall and broad by human standards, feels smaller, more precarious. The way the scents of food and smoke mix with Elias’s scent wafting from the open door.
He returns a moment later clutching a towel.
It isn’t large.
He stops dead a few feet away, clearly realizing at the same moment that the towel might be… insufficient.
“Oh no,” he mutters. “I didn’t think this through.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, trying not to laugh at his horrified expression. I take pity on him and relieve him of the towel, wrapping it around my waist. It fits. Barely. It reaches mid-thigh and strains a bit when I move, but it covers enough that he visibly relaxes.
“Better?” I ask.
He nods rapidly. “Yes. Definitely. Much better. So much better. This is fine. Totally fine. We are fine.”
He is not fine.
