Chapter 8: The First Run

I went down to the walled garden behind the kitchen before the sun was up.

I left Ronan's coat folded on the stone bench.

I stood on the frozen grass in my nightgown with my arms wrapped around myself.

"Run," said the voice in my head again.

It was clearer now, and it sounded impatient.

"I don't remember how," I said, out loud, feeling like a fool.

I hadn't shifted since the night Torin marked me.

An elder had told me a late shifter sometimes lost the knack.

Torin had kissed my head and said it didn't matter.

The wolf didn't answer.

She only pushed, from somewhere low in my chest, the way you push a door that has been stuck for years.

Something gave.

It didn't hurt.

I had been told my whole life that the shift was agony.

For me it was only a long stretch, like waking up fast.

The nightgown tore away.

The frozen ground rose to meet my hands, and my hands were paws.

The cold air smelled like a thousand things at once.

Frost, woodsmoke, bread rising in the kitchen, and the sleeping guards on the wall.

I stood up on four legs.

I looked at the garden wall, which came to about my shoulder.

Then I looked at my paws, which were silver.

On the battlements above me, a sentry shouted, "By the Moon," and dropped his spear.

I was bigger than any of the guards' wolves.

I could feel it in the length of my stride and the weight of my body.

I could see it in the way the sentry stared down from his wall.

I wasn't weak.

I had never been weak.

The thought hit me with such force that I ran.

I cleared the garden wall in one jump.

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