“Don’t run away. Come back!” Tears thickened Gwen’s voice, but Sorcha kept running. She had to. If she stayed, she’d be trapped in this cat body. The car honked three times, blaring impatience through the country air. “I love you!” Gwen called. Sorcha reached the line of evergreens that edged the green lawn. She swiveled and crouched, peeking through the tall blades of grass. Gwen was picking up her bag with her ballet shoes, her shoulders slumped. She crossed the yard toward the driveway as the car horn blasted angrily. At the corner of the house, Gwen glanced back. Her face was to Sorcha, too far away for Sorcha to see clearly, but she imagined tears made tracks down the thin cheeks. I’m sorry. Sorcha tried hard to send her apology, picturing her silent words flying through the air, from her mind to Gwen’s. She should never have comforted Gwen yesterday. Fletcher always said she was too soft and that’s why she needed him to take care of her. But how could Sorcha resist Gwen’s cry for affection?
