Ebony wants to belong more than anything.
The daughter of a beta, she has never fit in with her easily intimidated pack mates. She has been isolated, ignored, avoided. So she does something crazy, something fully out of character... She transfers...
This time I know I'm back in the safe grasp of reality. My body has a tangibility to it that it didn't have whilst I hallucinated. I feel more solid, less like I could fall apart - though my head feels like it's collided with a full grown alpha.
It's strange, I didn't expect the forced shift to result in this. I was expecting more. Maybe mutated legs and arms like a lycan from the movies, half wolf and half human. Maybe a wolf body covered in inky skin that drips with every movement instead of fur. I was expecting a horror movie. Instead, I almost feel as I usually do when I shift. I still feel like a werewolf, nothing at all like a monster.
My fur is usually a sleek deep brown, almost completely black aside for the patch of light brown fur under my muzzle. My eyes are a glacial blue - the same as in my human form - which pop out against the depth of my natural cloak, intimidating the toughest of wolves. My body isn't small, like most she wolves with normal pack positions; it's large, matching the height and width of a fully grown male beta wolf.
My usual wolf body isn't normal, per say, since I'm naturally large and was born with the power of my parents rank.
This form definitely outranks my normal one though. It almost makes me feel better to know that there are some spooky changes. At least I didn't blow everything fully out of proportion, even if my imagination ran a little wild with the what ifs and could be's. I can feel the tips of my teeth piercing into my upper lip, having lengthened and sharpened due to the forced shift. My usually soft fur is coarse against my own skin, feeling like brittle grass after a year drought. My body, usually big, feels out of proportion even as I lay still, as though my wolf has gone through an unnatural growth spurt.
These changes, though technically minute, are hard to wrap my head around. To be this big... How long was I transforming for?
My eyes are closed like I've been sleeping. My wolf's head – my head, I guess – is laying on my folded front legs. It feels heavy for a long time, pounding under the pressure of my forced shift. Whilst I'm silent, too exhausted to make a sound or move, my wolf is whimpering in my mind.
She's worried for me. I don't blame her - I was worried for myself too. The remnants of my dream linger, like a reminder that I lost control and unwittingly put my humanity in danger. But having my wolf here, reminding me that she is on my side, makes it easier to push the nightmares away and replace them with guilt. I should have trusted her.
We usually share the reigns in wolf form, becoming almost a single entity. As a wolf I experience through her body, guiding her actions but letting her be free to make the moves for the most part. It reinforces the fact I should have had faith in her ability to navigate after the shift.
I'm surprised to find that she's still in the back of my mind and hasn't taken control of her body. I suppose she didn't want to break our trust by doing something when I'm not liable to input. Or she did, but had enough control to reign herself back in. It sends a feeling of relief through me, because it means I've not done anything incriminating during my black out as some do during their forced shifts. It also means I've not hurt anyone. I put that down to my full acceptance of my wolf, which means she usually has a role in guiding my actions anyway. She has no reason to break free if she isn't trapped.
I still feel her crying in my mind, urging me to feel better. She can sense the almost unbearable hammering in my head. The ache so deep it lingers in my bones. My fears of going feral. My guilt at having doubted her. Her love reassures me all is forgiven. I am her and she is me, it's practically impossible to hold a grudge against an integral part of yourself. Her love soothes me, making the ache just a little more bearable, but theworry is the thing I focus on. It centres me, spurring me to recover and assure her I'm fine.
I slowly focus on my breathing, which is coming in with hurried breathes that do nothing but jolt my sore chest. I slow it down and deepen it, so the fall and rise of my chest cavity is more rhythmic and the blood in my body can properly circulate. Then, I focus on moving each of my muscles with tiny actions. My ears twitch first and I finally tune into the external sounds around me.
***
A/N
I'm a sucker for an anticlimax, be warned.
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