"I could follow you forever," she whispers lovingly, strokes his pale cheek. "All the way around the world. I'll be your traveling companion, your first mate. We'll sail around Cape Horn in a boat with sails of puppy dog fur."

He lies still, exhausted from the change back and forth. His pelt lies beside him, brown matted maroon with blood (his and hers), on the littered floor. Drusilla licks at her arm, where his claws marked her hard. Her puppy dog is sleeping, sliced from the skinning.

"Wake up!" she demands, pokes him insistently. "Wake up, wolfie!" He doesn't move.