From all around the camp she heard gasps and growls of surprise. When she opened her eyes, Liska saw everyone – beast and human – staring at her in awe. Even Deenai, the ancient chieftain of the pack, had her mouth hanging open in shock.

‘But . . . but how does she change so quickly? And without any pain?’

Liska frowned and shrugged her shoulders. What was the big deal?

‘For us,’ Beric explained, ‘the change is very draining. It hurts badly. We can only shapewalk once every month, some less than that. Then we have to wait weeks before we can shift again.’

It was Liska’s turn to widen her eyes. ‘Where I come from, the shapewalkers can change easily. We only have to wait half an hour or so between shifts. And it definitely doesn’t hurt us at all.’

‘And your beast form,’ Deenai pointed at Liska’s cloak. ‘Where does the skin of such a mystical animal come from?’

‘They are handed down through our families,’ Liska explained. ‘They came from creatures that once lived in Arborven – our city. We have many other types amongst our people. Manticores, griffins, pantherines . . .’

Deenai and Beric shared a look full of surprise, wonder and . . . a glimmer of hope.

‘Can you show us how to change like that?’ Beric asked. ‘How to flow between your shapes without pain?’

‘I . . . I don’t know . . .’ Liska struggled to think what to say. Shapewalking had always just been what she did. Like breathing or walking. She had no idea what made it happen, let alone how to teach it to someone else.

‘Perhaps I could help explain.’ Elowen, who had been watching the conversation in interested silence, stepped forward. Liska couldn’t help noticing how different her friend looked compared to the tribe around her. How her bone-white porcelain skin stood out amongst all the fur and flesh. She looked like a walking, talking china doll. As if she had been carved from marble and then magicked into life.

The forest people must have thought the same. They tensed at the sight of her; Liska could sense their hackles rise. But Deenai nodded anyway, inviting her to speak.

‘My name is Elowen,’ she said. ‘And I was once a citizen of Almberg. Back before the heart of Lysalm was taken. Before the city died.’

Growls and mutters came from the crowd around them, but Elowen ignored them and kept speaking.

‘I know you think that sounds impossible. That I would have to be hundreds of years old for it to be true. Well, I am.’

‘A deathless one,’ Deenai muttered, making a gesture of protection with her hand.