Her groans filled the air; she strained against her skin. Serena exhaled and collapsed on the floor, her forehead brushed the ground, damp strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. The world tilted, quiet save for the faint rustling of leaves and the birdsong echoing faintly from the branches above.
"I need to try again," she murmured. Serena flipped herself onto her back and stared at the early morning sky. A few birds chirped from the tree above.
The woman sat up and sighed. She ran her hands through her hair and put it up in a quick knot.
"I'm sorry, Serena, do you want me to take over?" Feyra asked.
"No, no need for that. I can do it."
She had risen with the sun, set her mind to one goal: shift. Spring would come, and if she still couldn't change forms by then, she would be defenseless. A rogue with no wolf was a target. Her jaw clenched as her nails dug into her upper arms.
