Blood splatters across Clive's face, and the transformation slows so suddenly that Clive finds his self-awareness just as quickly. The great, dog-like maw that threatened to crack and split his own jaw does not surge forth, and he lets go of Khoriya, snatching back his rocky arm and leaving a trail of thick, hot blood dripping from his claws. Steam rises off him, off the tree behind him. He aches. Adrenaline and the beast push him on.

"Run," he says, and he doesn't need to tell the wolf that, but he will anyway, even as his monstrous self staggers up to his feet to give chase. "Run, Torgal!"