Pressing our noses against each others muzzles, the other wolves regarded this sequence warily, which made me wonder how exactly Hing-the other shape-shifter-had managed to work his way to alpha of this sorry pack. Moving away, I stared into his deep sea blue eyes, indicating that I wanted to shift with him. Hing barked at one of the cowering wolves. The message was clear-anything happens to the pack, and it was all on him.
Moving away, we made sure we moved far enough, before running, leaping, and transforming into delicate butterflies, then realising we were far too light blue for this raggedly beautiful dark night. We switched to silent, pretty owls, before resting on a low hanging branch of an old, withered beech tree. It wasn't long before we were huddled up together like the group of wolves from earlier.
It wasn't long until dawn had broken the surface of the night sky either. The wind had picked up noticeably. That's when I realised that Hing wasn't next to me-that is, until I noticed the small, fluttering motions of a butterfly's wings. The outline of the wings was tinted dark purple, getting closer to light blue as the colours lapped to the body. Stretching out my owl wings, I let myself glide through the air until all my feathers had drifted off and four intersecting ones replaced the downy feathers and the ear flaps shrunk down to curly antennae.
Hing and I danced and danced and danced in the early morning sun, shifting between eagles and insects, foxes and wild dogs, butterflies and bees, until our visions blurred with the extremities of shifting too often in too little time.
As the moon rose in the sky, Hing and I transformed into two little squirrels, and curled up in a long forgotten nest, too old to be of use to anyone, but too young to just be abandoned.
That night I dreamt of hunters, and guns, and dying forests, and being left alone.
And it scared me. A lot.