The Pack was quiet, sleeping or halfway there. They had gorged, as was only appropriate for a feast. Ranshee looked over them from her own couch, far too large for her but still claimed as hers, through half-closed eyes: Evraia and Jauoteth lay sprawled together, the former awake but quiet, mind and body, and the latter snoring contentedly, full for perhaps the first time in a long time, given how lean he was. He was, Ranshee expected, low in rank in his previous pack, as well; well, Ranshee would provide even for those low in rank, in her Pack.

Azeron lay on his back on his own couch, not snoring but certainly deeply asleep, for his belly was as full as anyone else's, and he had fought well for her on the Hunt. He deserved his rest. Not far from her own couch, once again in the more familiar four-footed form, Autaru was curled up with his tail plume covering his muzzle and Kyverh nestled in his hair. Autaru had refused to move a farther distance than that from her; it made her uncomfortable, and she was glad he was asleep and not watching her with those brightly colored eyes.

And Broken Rage, who had chosen a couch and settled in it, was not asleep, but watching her. That gaze was not as unsettling as Autaru's, and Ranshee met it readily. There was no unfounded adoration or unwanted affection, no mind-images of lost pups, just honest loyalty and straight-forward acknowledgement of leadership. She was the one she could trust to protect her when she changed forms, the one she could trust with the knowledge of how it pained her.

::You do well by your pack, so far, Leader,:: came the orange-tinged voice, interrupting her thoughts.

::I-Ranshee will always do well,:: she replied, watching the striped dragon thoughtfully. Now would be good. They were all asleep, except for Evraia, who was close to sleep. Broken Rage could change into something that would fit in the tunnels leading to Ranshee's "official" room... she could fit in there, change in there, be safe in there.

Yes. Now would be good.

::Come,:: she said decisively, rising. ::A thing I show you. Tell no one.::

Curiosity flickered in Broken Rage's red eyes, but she rose, too, carefully and silently shifting down into the familiar serpent shape when she saw Ranshee heading purposefully for the smaller door, that there was no way she would possibly fit through otherwise. One glittering eye watched them leave from the dark pack's lair, but neither paid it any mind.

Ranshee led the way to her assigned room, striding in and closing the door firmly behind Broken Rage's striped tail. "A thing I show you," she repeated aloud. "Trust you, none other. Tired of this," she grumbled, more to herself than Rage, and gave herself a vigorous shake. The tiny body felt so... tight, uncomfortable, unnatural. And cold, too. She would be well, rid of it.

::Pack Leader?:: Rage asked, eyes fixed on her and uncomprehending. Ranshee didn't waste time on explanations: demonstration worked so much better.

It was wonderfully simple, compared to other magics she tried to work and other things she tried to remember, to recall what she was really like. If she couldn't, she might never change her shape. Only a careful reconstruction in her mind would produce the correct shape-change, and a change gone awry was even more painful than a correct one, and much harder to reverse. She pictured herself, every detail, ever nuance, every familiar curve, angle, and blur of herself: Ranshee. Four-footed, shaggy, narrow muzzle and wolfish teeth, silvered and grayed and tawny, long and unwieldy tail, twin gathers of pale hair at her temples, the blue stone beads her father had given her. Ranshee. Golden-eyed, sharp and seeing too much and too little; sharp-toothed, swift to bite and struggled to speak. Ranshee. She-wolf who was not a wolf, she-chy who was not a chyrith. Ranshee.

The shape-change, after so long trapped in one form, hurt more than she remembered it. There was no light, no smooth growth of flesh or shifting of bones. Everything was tearing, burning, grinding, groaning, expanding beyond the limits of her body, reshaping itself forcefully into what it was supposed to be. Her breath came in pained pants, her heart felt like it would burst, her limbs felt like they would shatter, but she held still, crouched on the floor, waiting for her bones to settle again, for her pelt to thicken, for her body to finish reorganizing itself.

Finally it was over, and Ranshee collapsed onto the cold floor with a wheeze of relief. The chill that seeped through her thick fur was soothing, and she shut her eyes against the stabbing headache she'd woken with her true self. The room felt crowded, now, small and cramped, with her haunches pressed against the wall and her shoulder against a piece of furniture which she never used: the bed. The curve of her shoulder spike twined around the bed's leg and under the dangling blanket. If she lifted her head, the horns on the back of her head might have scratched the ceiling.

Broken Rage had seen it all, understood what was happening even while she had been shocked by it, surprised, not expecting. None of the others suspected; she had never seen it in their minds. Broken Rage hadn't guessed, either, but she was the one to know, the one to trust. The only one to trust with her greatest secret and her greatest moment of weakness. So far, at least.

She heard the dragoness change shape again, taking something soft and furred, and crossed the room to lay a human-like forepaw on her head. ::Does it always hurt so much?:: she asked, wonderingly.

"Yes," Ranshee answered hoarsely, voice a low growl, deeper now that it came from a larger chest but still hers. "Every... time."

There was a moment of silence, as Broken Rage stroked her face and neck with soothing hands. ::You hurt. Autaru could--::

::No!::

The mind-barked negative stilled Rage's hand. Ranshee opened one eye, fixing her with a hard stare. Rage didn't even need to ask. ::I promise I will tell no one,:: she said.

Ranshee sighed and closed her eye again, letting herself relax, letting Broken Rage do what little she could do. ::Good,:: was all she said, but she thought the dragoness at least understood her gratitude. And her trust.

::Good.::

Chapter Ten

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