At least, it should have been. Farran had succumbed to the curse more than once in his life, but he’d never had so much reason to fight it. Iloria’s stubborn words echoed in his ears long after he lost his capacity for human speech. It wouldn’t have done him much good in any case, as his sweet young wife looked as unmovable as stone. That didn’t make her any less fragile, and that knowledge kept him battling the curse. It only brought more pain as the change took him in fits and starts, warping his limbs and twisting his body in an agonizing mockery of what usually brought such peace. She knelt before him, tears tracking wet paths down her cheeks as she reached for him. “How—how do I help?” Oh, the rage. It bubbled up, whispered to maul, to claw and strike, to protect. He growled and scrambled back on newly formed paws, and the rest of the transformation smashed into him in that moment of inattention.
