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adjust his posture to accommodate their slight
weight, was still fresh after a few hours.
He’d kept the transformation as simple as
he could: he’d picked a young Crochan the
night before, one of the novices who might
not be needed at all hours or noticed very
often, and studied her until she likely deemed
him a letch.
This morning, the image of her face and
form still planted in his mind, he’d come to
the edge of the camp, and simply willed it.
Well, perhaps not simply. The shift
remained not an entirely enjoyable sensation
while bones adjusted, his scalp tingling with
the long brown hair that grew out in shining
waves, nose tickling as it was reshaped into a
delicate curve.
For long minutes, he’d only stared down at
himself. At the delicate hands, the smaller
wrists. Amazing, how much strength the tiny