felt cool against his. All his efforts to get up had made him overheat, despite his lack of fur.
“Uh…” The Bitch gave him an odd look. “Are you okay?”
“Hot,” he said—or at least, tried to say. It was hard to talk while panting.
His tongue didn’t work right. No matter how he stretched it out, it barely reached past his lower lip. It wasn’t cooling him down at all.
“Here, lean on this.” The Bitch propped him up against the side of a couch. She put a hand to his forehead. “Well, I don’t think you have a fever, but you’ve definitely warmed up. You were so cold before, I guess it makes sense that you suddenly feel like you’re boiling. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
That sounded like a good idea, since his entire mouth felt lined with cotton. Now he understood why he’d never seen a two-legs pant. But how did they cool down? Or did they all swing from freezing to boiling, with never a moment of comfort?
He licked his nose anxiously—or tried to. This also did not go well. What was the point of such a short, fat stump in his mouth? How was he supposed to keep his nose damp? No wonder two-legs couldn’t smell anything, with such parched, bone-dry nostrils.
Every part of his body was either too dry or too moist. In some places, his bald hide seemed to be seeping. Droplets of some thin, unpleasant liquid beaded his forehead and dripped down his chest. That couldn’t be right.
While he was still trying to work out whether he was dying, The Bitch returned. His mouth tightened in longing—partly for her, but more for the tall, cool glass of water in her hands. He couldn’t help the thin, plaintive whimper that rose in his throat.
“Here you go.” The Bitch offered him the glass. “Can you manage this on your own, or do you want me to help you?”
He stared at the glass, then down at his own curled forepaw. He tried to envision wrapping those long, intricate toes around the glass. Gripping with precise, delicate strength. Raising it to his muzzle.
It was easier to imagine the water spontaneously levitating out of the glass and into his waiting jaws. “Help. Please.”
“No problem.” The Bitch knelt down, lifting the glass to his face. “Here you go.”
He thrust out his head, trying to lap at the water—right as she tipped the glass against his lips. The resulting wave slopped over his nose and chin. He spluttered, sneezing.
“Easy now. There’s no rush.” The Bitch curled her free hand around the back of his head, holding him steady as she raised the glass again. “Let’s try that again. Little sips, okay?”
He submitted to her guidance, letting her pour a thin trickle of water past his dry lips. Even swallowing felt strange. The heavy, alien flex of his new tongue nearly made him gag.
Thirst overruled revulsion. No matter how his mind recoiled, this body had its own needs. With The Bitch’s help, he took another sip, and found that it was a little easier the second time.
By the time he’d drained the glass, the peculiar motion of lips and throat was almost natural. Thirst satisfied, he felt stronger, less unsteady. It was as if the water had washed away some of the lingering poison.
“Enough?” The Bitch asked. “Do you want me to get you some more? Or some food? Though on second thought, I don’t know if it would be a good idea for you to eat anything yet.”
“Definitely not a good idea,” Fenrir said, with feeling.
He was very glad his new body didn’t seem to be hungry. He hadn’t the faintest idea how he was supposed to get food down this narrow gullet. His flat, fragile teeth would splinter against even the smallest bone.
“Well, you’re looking a bit better, at least.” The Bitch showed her teeth in a two-legs smile. “I’m glad. You had me worried there, big guy.”
He tried to smile at her in return, but it didn’t feel right. Dropping his lower jaw and lolling out his tongue seemed unnatural, like his body was resisting him.
Maybe it was resisting him. Any wolf knew that the part of you that woke and thought and felt was just a tiny fraction of the whole self. There were vast, deep layers underneath the shallow surface of the mind. Memories written in muscle and bone, passed down from all the generations that had come before.
He’d been dragging this new body around as though