Resigned to being wet, she dressed in her drenched tunic and cloak. The rat fur clung to her, clammy and still foul; she doubted the smell would ever leave it. The rain kept pouring, and her spirits dampened with it. She could not stop shivering, but still she walked on.

It was afternoon and her belly was rumbling when she finally saw the bush of blueberries. Her mouth watered. The rain was finally easing up and a real meal waited ahead.

"A little gift of hope," she whispered.

Swaying with weakness, she walked toward the berries, already tasting the healing sweetness.

A growl rose.

Laira was only steps away when the bear emerged from behind the trees.

Shaggy and black, the beast placed itself between her and the berries, rose upon its back feet, and roared.

Laira froze.

She held only her pointed stick as a weapon. She was a small, scrawny thing, barely larger than a child. Before her bellowed an animal that could slay her with a single swipe of its claws.

Stand still, Laira, she thought. If you flee, he'll see you as prey. He'll chase. Stand your ground.

The bear fell back to all four paws, snorted, and turned toward the berries. It began to eat.

Laira found herself growling. Hunger and weakness gave her the courage she'd normally lack. That was her meal. Three worms were not enough. Without these berries, she could die.

Pointed stick raised, she took a step closer to the berries. Maw stained blue, the bear turned back toward her and growled.

"Away!" Laira waved her stick and bared her teeth. "Go, go! My berries!"

It reared again, several times her size, and lashed its claws. Laira leaped back, waving her stick.

"Go! Go!"

It swiped at her again, and she stepped backward, tripped over a root, and fell into the dry leaves.

The bear drove down to bite.

Laira winced, reached down deep inside her, and grabbed her magic.

The bear's fangs slammed against her scales.

Wings grew from her back, pushing her up. Her own fangs sprouted. Her tail whipped, cracking a tree, and her face lengthened into a snout. With hunger and fear, she lashed her hand—only it was no longer a hand but a dragon's foot, clawed and scaled. It slammed into the bear, knocking the small animal down; the beast now seemed smaller than a cub. Laira leaned down and bit deep, tearing through fur, ripping off flesh, tasting hot blood and sweet meat, and she knew nothing but her hunger and craving and the heat of the meal. She feasted.

She ate the bear down to the bones.

When her meal was done, she lay on her scaly back, smoke pluming from her nostrils. She was no longer hungry. She was no longer cold. Her wounds—agonizing to her human form—seemed like mere scratches now.