Kida tilted her head to one side and stared down the Mayor of Veston, unamused. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, nearly lilting, in a way that made her companions shift into ready stances. “You had knowledge of a rogue Shaperate and did…nothing?”

Mayor Cravelle rubbed the bridge of her nose with a thick knuckle. The dwarven woman had the put-upon expression of a lifetime bureaucrat. “We sent word up to Silvheim and down to Hestapol. I have made three requests to the Church of Anglada. The Shaperate is, by our best guess, nearly fifty miles deep into the Core Woods,” she said, resignation in her voice. “There is little else that I can do, beyond warning what few travelers I see. Consider yourself warned.”

Dika let out a considering hum. “Any bounty posted by the guilds or otherwise?”

Kida heard a soft thump, followed by an offended ‘ouch!’ as someone (probably Stefen) kicked her twin. “Is there any other information you can give us?”

Cravelle pursed her lips, and then nodded. “Something happened about two weeks ago.” Her gaze slipped from Kida’s and to the window, a frown twisting her already weathered features. She seemed to stare at something beyond normal sight.

“…that’s it?” Dika said. “Something?”

“There was a series of explosions. Possibly magical in nature.”

“Oh fantastic... Stefen, if you kick me again, I swear-“

“You believe the explosions and the Shaperate are linked?” Kida asked, ignoring the ongoing scuffle behind her with the ease of long practice.

Cravelle snorted. “There’s naught out there but beasts and trees. If we’re lucky, one or the other took care of the Shapers for us. If we’re lucky.” She sat up and took out a form, obviously prepared in advance. “We’ve gotten no word of bounties posted, but I don’t doubt that the Angladans would give you some form of reward if you provided proof of resolution. I can offer you salvage rights and an expedition approval.” She stamped the form, then blew on it, her breath turning the ink from black to a deep purple. She held it out to Kida, “Whatever you find, it’s yours.”

Kida nodded and took the form. “We’ll see what we can do.”

“We should just press on to Hestapol,” Dika said. “Plenty of work in Hestapol.” He had draped himself across three chairs, head hanging upside down while he watched the door to what passed for an inn in Veston. The tips of his horns only just missed scraping the ground. “Good food in Hestapol,” he added.

“No guild involvement,” Stefen pointed out. “This isn’t our problem.”

Marto growled and shook her head, shaggy hair nearly bristling in indignation. “A rogue Shaperate is everyone’s problem.”

Stefen looked up from cleaning his blades, head tilting side to side as he thought on the canyll’s words. “Point,” he acknowledged. “Counterpoint: we are but four, and a rogue Shaperate usually calls for a whole company.”

Dika scoffed, flapping a hand at Stefen. “You just don’t want to go into the forest. Worried we’ll run into your kin?”

Stefen kicked the middle chair out from under the other man, the barest hint of a smile flickering across his face at the ensuing crash and thump.

“We will scout,” Kida decided. “At worst, we can disengage and provide more information to the guild and the Angladans when we reach Hestapol.” She lifted the paper she’d received from the mayor, the corners of her mouth turning down. “We owe them at least that much, these expedition rights do not have an end date.”

Dika popped up from the ground with a glare for Stefen and a smirk for his sister. “It’s clear that your reputation precedes you, oh gracious one.”

Marto, relaxing now that she knew the Shaperate issue would not be ignored, huffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s clear that Kida received all the heart.”

“And I, all the charm,” he declared dramatically, one hand pressed to his chest.

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Stefen muttered.

“We will leave tomorrow morning,” Kida told them. “Pack carefully, there are more dangerous things than rogue Shapers in the Core Woods.”

Fun fact: running in a brand new body is about as easy to do as learning to ride a bike.

I fell. A lot.

I also bit my tongue, which led to my next oh-shit-this-is-different discovery: six of my teeth were now a good deal pointier. They weren’t that much bigger, which is why I hadn’t noticed before. Fangs had replaced my teeth where a cat’s canines would be on my upper and lower jaw, and I had an extra set of pointed chompers just to the outside of the top set. Not for the first time, I wished I had a mirror.

I sat where I’d fallen and felt around the inside of my mouth. The rest of my teeth were normal and flat.

“Still an omnivore, thank god.”

Thus soothed, I went back to experimenting.

By the end of an hour, I had learned the following:

I was very fast. My strength had redistributed itself and increased, most notably in my legs. My balance had improved so much that I no longer begrudged the tail. Either something had been wrong with my human body OR my new body was a physical genius.

I did not make the same mistake twice. It was the craziest thing! Anytime I stumbled or faltered on my newly reformed leg joints, it was as if my body went ‘that didn’t work, let’s never do it again,’ and then I didn’t. This body was made to move and it was even, dare I say it, fun. There was nobody around to see me making an ass of myself, so I jumped, twirled, pounced, and stalked my way around the clearing, growing more and more confident in my movements in this – my – body with every minute.

The more I moved, the less I had to think about it, and the more I leaned into and trusted the instincts and inclinations that came with my claws and tail. This held true right up until I came out of a midair somersault on all fours and then kept going.

On all fours.

I froze with my claws, both sets, sunk deep into the earth. “What the fucking fuck.”