circles. Her ears rang, hard to hear over the ringing, but there was a sound of cloth tearing—
Her sight cleared and returned, but distorted. She looked up at the man, who had dropped his bow, and was backing away from her, slowly, his face white with terror. She started to say something to him—
—and it came out a snarl.
With that, the man screeched, turned his back on her, and ran.
And she caught sight of her hand. It wasn’t a hand anymore. It was a paw. Judging by the spotted pelt of the leg, a leopard’s paw. Scattered around her were the ragged scraps of cloth that had once been her clothing.

Glenda lay