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. "No!"
As though in response to his protest, the falcon darted
away, lifting high to take perch on the mantel. Rieve drew
a shuddering breath and stumbled again to the door. A
heavy, tawny paw hit him hard in the chest and dropped
him where he stood. The panther's fangs shone like daggers
in the fire's glow.
Standing at the panther's shoulder, one hand on the
mountain cat's broad golden head, another extended in a
parody of greeting, stood a light-eyed, pale young mage.
His cold smile awoke a fear in Rieve that even the
panther's gleaming fangs had not.
Rieve moaned. He wondered if he would have time to
prepare for death.
Animals were turning into people all around him, and the
squirrel didn't know where to look first. The falcon, that
beautiful bird, became a tall, dark-haired young man. There
was still something of the falcon's brooding about him. The
squirrel thought that it must always have been this way. The
fox, limping from having been kicked half-way across the
cottage, was no fox at all but a red-haired half-elf who
leaned against the wall, holding ribs that must truly hurt
from the look in his long eyes.
The dog . . . ah, the dog! The squirrel almost knew that
he would be a dwarf, brown-bearded and grumbling about a
sore stomach even before he was changed
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