The change was slow, insidious. It started with an off-feeling, a suspicion that somehow their hand felt different. With each passing day, it saw more of her hand in its own. That yellow-brown fur, her sharpened & kept claws, the feeling of adipose between each digit, the growing tightness of the glove. The two had sat too many a night, gazing at each other's hands, as though saying goodbye to the body they had long grown with. Eventually, they stopped even doing that. There was no point in dwelling on it -- it only received the attention of passing seconds.

***

The first image of Epidriph & Pquen's adventure into the Rosiamn Ruins to track down Maldretaldre, & the first consequence of it.