Tristan woke to the sound of birds in the garden. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. His body felt heavy, every muscle sore, as though he had fought all night. He blinked against the light streaming through the shutters.
Shannon's jacket still lay across his shoulders. He remembered the garden, the shift, the feel of fur giving way to skin. Slowly, he pushed himself upright. His arms trembled, but they held.
Tara entered quietly, a tray balanced in her hands. She set it on the table beside the bed. A bowl of steaming porridge and warm goat's milk waited on the tray.
"You'll need strength," she said simply.
Tristan rubbed his face. "I feel like I've been trampled."
"That's normal." Tara poured the milk into the mug. "Your bones stretched, broke, and mended. Your nerves learned new paths. Every first shift is like this."
He accepted the mug. "How many times does it happen?"
