Pelt, by Amy Friedman

(Originally posted to LinkedIn.)

She wound gauze around each appendage slowly, making sure every millimeter of skin was covered. She knew it would take layers upon layers to soak up the ointment covering her blistered paws.

Hands, she said to herself. They’re hands now.

She shifted her gaze to her front limbs, silently mourning the golden fur that once covered them, and went back to wrapping her hands.

Glancing at the mirror, she saw a tawny fall of hair atop her head. Large greeny-gold eyes looked back.

She turned away, growling. Damned wizard. She’d make him pay once she got her lion form back.

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