The Morning After
The forest smelled different in the morning. That was the first thing I noticed as I stirred awake against the scratchy carpet of moss and pine needles. Dew clung to my bare skin, cold and clinging. I sat up slowly, wincing as pain lanced through my ribs and legs. My hands—human again—were dirty, scraped, and trembling. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the sky above the trees was a canvas of pinks and golds. It was beautiful. It should’ve felt peaceful. But I felt like I’d been torn in half. Every movement reminded me of something I couldn’t fully remember—flashes of running, growling, the sting of branches whipping past me, the rush of wind in fur I didn’t yet understand. My arms and legs bore proof of the night before, scratched and bruised, the sting dulled only slightly by the m
- Writer
