Sala slipped into the shadow, pulling the darkness around her like the tepid waters of Felarn Sea. Bound in twilight she waited, testing the air for her brother’s scent. She smelled tinker and tanner, butcher and baker, beggar and prince, and then—
“Yaigh!” Her brother nearly leapt out of his borrowed skin as Sala lunged from the darkness, claws and fangs aglow in the moonlight. “Don’t. Do. That.” Words punctuated by angry blows, none of which came near to hitting the lightning quick form.