367 words. So not a fan of the transformation. @.@
A few more passes, just a few, and then she'd go home. Or she hoped.
She had miscalculated the scent. She didn't realize the stronger one, the one in the tree, where the black male sat in wait, patiently watching before he made his move. She had been expecting an attack from the front, but as the knife came before her throat, she realized too late that she hadn't been as careful as she wanted. A shrieking bark was cut off as she tried to push past his grip; just as she feared, Andrezej had come back to finish her. And there was no Gabriel. There was no Anselm. There was no Foalin to make everything okay. Just Talitha. Just Talitha Lykoi and the vile Andrezej.
But the voice that came to her ears was all wrong. As she thrashed, not realizing the knife as it left surface wounds to her chest and neck itself, she hear the voice of the assailant and it was not Andrezej. Wrong. She had been wrong. Again. As always. Andrezej was dead. The realization brought down her panic, the detached voice calmed her to the extent of stillness. She would be fine.
"Who are you and what are you doing by Anathema's borders?"
Anathema? Her voice echoed his own with the lack of feeling, her own tones soft and crooning as she asked her own questions: "What is Anathema." A new pack? A new place? Had she wandered to an ally or an enemy? Was she in danger, should she have been more careful? The de le Poer's body tensed, growing and lengthening in the grasp of the dark male. Her toes separated into fingers, and with unpleasant crackling, her legs elongated to gain new joints. Her fur lengthened, her body thinned, and in the end of it stood Talitha, the tall de le Poer daughter of Inferni's lands. She remained on the ground, unable to stand properly with his arm about her; if she wanted to kill herself, she could have tried, but she didn't.
"Anathema is this pack?" This time, her voice held more merit. She wondered where it was; there was no movement across the ground before her.
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