Then the girl had gone, leaving only a smattering of bright white lights that dissolved into the heavy, humid air. Teige had thrown an arm up to block the light; they'd both fallen back in the wet grass, gaping.

"Ey," Teige said, peering over his arm. Hawk's arm itched, and the itch was travelling up his shoulder and throat. He looked--his arm had gone scaly, bright poisonous yellow and black, all the way to the elbow where a shock of grey feathers covered his upper arm, puffed out as through electrified. His nails had become steely, long, curved talons. Teige stared at the last bit of light, then at Hawk.

"Ey," he repeated, this time in a voice of dawning comprehension, "You�can�change shape!"

He grabbed Hawk's wrist, dragging the arm towards him to inspect it, and shot Hawk an oblique look.

"Were you just fibbing to me before, about not being able to do this, then," he said. Hawk covered his mouth rather shakily.

"Sh-shit," he mumbled helplessly, "I din't mean t'do that."

Teige appeared not to have heard. "Eh, it ent a very good change, t'be perfectly fair," he said critically. He parted the feathers on Hawk's upper arm with his fingers to show a patch of bare brown skin beneath. "Look, you just grew shit on your outside. The skin underneath ent changed at all. Tsk," he clucked, "Amateur."

Hawk was realizing then that the prickling on his throat and his face was the feathers spreading their way towards his eyes and nose, seeming to melt effortlessly out of his skin. He turned a hollow gaze on Teige.

"It--it's still spreading," he said, and Teige raised an eyebrow.

"Well don't�panic."

Hawk grabbed his shoulders. "This has never happened before," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'M PANICKING."