And for your benefit, I've included the promised special peek. Be sure to click into this post to view it!
. . . The prince flopped the wolf over his back and let the muzzle rest atop his head. He pulled the left leg of the pelt in line with his left arm, and held it in place for her to watch.
"I'll
slow it down for you," he said.
As
she watched, he thought of what made a wolf: keen senses, speed, cunning,
loyalty. He'd changed so many times that it was a second nature to him –
thinking about it was difficult, nigh impossible at first. But then the change
started and he focused upon his left arm, willing it to stagnate. He couldn't
stop it completely, but that wasn't his goal. The prince wanted to demonstrate
the power of the Wappenröcke for Lady Eleonora.
He
was a boy of ten when he received his first Pelzmantel, and since then
he had learned to ignore the discomfort that came with each shift. But this
time he focused on it, and felt his flesh pull towards the tanned pelt, felt it
draw to him just as eager. The paw was the first to come to him, to slide
across his hand and absorb him into it. His fingers cracked, and Lady Eleonora
flinched. The prince's fingers bent back like some unseen person was pushing
against them, making it feel like the bones underneath were being compacted
like coal into diamonds.
Muscle
tingled and wrapped over itself until his hand was the size of the paw, then it
disappeared into it. The sensation climbed his arm, compacting the bones and
muscles to the equivalent size for a wolf's leg.
It
was like fighting against an ocean wave, and he could no longer hold it back.
He gave into it, slipping through the fur and dropping to the floor with his
muzzle parallel to the table. Fredderick opened his mouth and tried to speak.
It came out as "Aaawwrghf."
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