He sees her gaze shift - ugh, she's creepy like this - but can't see the young. Twigs on the trees around them tremble when she drops to a crouch and kneels disoriented. He doesn't see why she'd do that, but a really unhappy feeling sweeps away his dismay at his own fresh changes.

The swandog falls hard but survives, snarling and whimper-shrieking in a way that seems suddenly rather pitiful, even with the toothy serrations in its beak flashing. For a moment it's making the only sound here.

Julien finds he's holding his wings very tightly against his body, his tail low enough to press against his legs. He makes himself shout. "Blaine?"