When she opened her eyes again, she found the world had changed.

Above her, gemstone-coloured birds flew into forests as green as a palm frond. Not the stately ibis, no- birds with hooked beaks, perhaps some kind of falcon, she thought- but more beautiful and colourful than any bird she had ever seen in the desert.

The crash of waterfalls she thought at first was an approaching sandstorm- the sheer breadth of them was astounding- to see rivers merge and collide before falling off the cliff’s edge was a novelty to the woman who knew only the gentle drift of the Nile.

Grass grew- yellowed slightly under the advent of autumn, but still as lush and abundant as Bastet’s eyelashes.

It was inspiring for the artist to see- and when she gazed down at her own hands, she gasped-

- for it was not only the world that had changed.

”No!” She cried, her voice the piercing wail of a merlin’s call.

After 5000 years of rest she awoke- with paws. Ink-stained still, but her supple palms had been replaced with pudgy pawpads, her long, elegant fingers had become short, arched toes.

When she lifted her paws to inspect them, the parcel she’d been clutching to her chest fell from her grasp. The soft skin fell open, and several small but fine clay pots tumbled to the grass. Wax seals held them shut, and the young maiden offered a prayer of thanks as she pulled her feet- also paws- beneath herself.

A jackal? No- not with this pale fur. A hound? Perhaps…But why? Why would she- whose hands had been nimble even in her latest years, capable of precise beauty with deft brushtrokes- be robbed of her most precious attribute?  She had used them to paint glorious tributes to her Pharaoh, to carve and weave and mould. Why should her most cherished, most pious trait be taken away and replaced with paws?!

She clumsily pawed the little pots back into the skin pouch, soothed by the familiar clinking of hardened clay. She closed her eyes.

Gods, she imagined- Gods with heads of beasts.

Perhaps it was not a curse; but she realized that even though her humble possessions had come with her into the Afterlife, she might never be able to use them again.

She lifted a paw to trace about her neck- to find even her jewelry had disappeared, though she did not realize yet that its mark still remained in a trail of bronze fur about her neck, spilling down her chest.

She looked to the water nearby, to the edge of the river where it was calmer. She reached for the pouch, only to find her claws simply knocked it aside. She flexed her paw as much as she could, spreading her toes and clenching them- but she could not grasp the drawstring of the pouch. With a sigh, she dipped her head and grasped it gently with her teeth; keeping her lips peeled back so she might not drool on the skin and cause it to soften further and tear.

She set it down as gently as she could on a bed of crisp grass, and peered into the rippling surface of the water.

It was not a hound that peered back at her- not a loyal servant of the courts, but a creature that reminded her more of a courser- but wild.

A wolf.

She gazed at her reflection for a long time. She mourned her former beauty- even the wrinkles and sunspots that had come with age. But the longer she looked, the more her expert eye began to see a new kind of prettiness; symmetrical features, the sharpness of her jaw and eye shape, the deep, mesmerizing green of her irises. She was young- a girl, perhaps, in wolf terms, but one who had shed her puppy fat. With a light gasp, her gaze traced the bronze about her neck and chest- and recognized the sign of an Ankh. Her necklace, changed as she had.

Her long life had been an adventure, followed by a much longer respite. The afterlife, for her, had begun and she, changed, would persevere.

Carefully clutching her pouch by the braided drawstring, she moved away from the waterfalls- casting her gaze toward the horizon where it grew flat and even- with everything so different, she sought out a land and a life that was familiar to her.

Satriya had set up their camp well away from the desert, but here in dense sun the corpses of stray travellers had begun to rot. Daylight was too vigorous even for carrion scavengers, and the results were gusts too acrid to inhale.
Jodai returned, a perimeter and kingdom still his to guard while Pharaoh ruled from a hundred miles west. Though he was exhausted from the journey’s run, heat forbid his rest. An image of the sun god filled his mind, and he was harried by rank, formless flesh.
First the wave that silenced Hapi, and now this terrible malignancy which destroyed man and prey. Heavy padding brought him towards a deafening of falls. For once, his jaded mind forgot itself and prayed.
Let this be the last and most awful manifestation of Ra.

It felt odd to carry her pouch with her mouth- odder still to feel the impulse to chew through the fine leather carrying string with the sharp teeth and powerful jaws she now had. The mere taste of the leather was more enticing than she had expected- but she was a woman of strong willpower (or she had been, when she had been human!) and she would deny herself those silly, canine impulses, she would!

.

It took her less than twenty minutes of travel before her mind began to wander, and her jaws began to work. A cord fine and strong enough to be carried by a soft human hand was no match for a couple idle chops of brand new canine molars- and she felt the cord break in two places, dropping the little pouch to the ground at her feet. She uttered a soft curse, and dropped the little string of cord that remained in her mouth, darkened by saliva, to the ground beside the pouch- and before she could stop herself, she snapped it back up, chewed it briefly and swallowed it down. Phthalo-green eyes widened in surprise at her sudden, impulsive action! She wondered fearfully if she should make herself vomit the piece of leather back up, lest it cause her digestive troubles- but then realized that the urge to eat her own vomit was present in her now-canine mind...And that was sickening enough to convince her that the leather would be fine right where it was, rather than being chewed and swallowed a second time.

She pawed the pouch gently, sighing with relief to hear the clinking of little clay pots, still sealed and unbroken. When she picked up the pouch again, it was by the cuff of the bag- the cut strings dangled. She carried it as she moved, and tried to distract herself with her other senses, so she might not chew into the leather pouch again.

Her sense of smell was extraordinary. Comparatively, it was like going from a dark room lit only by a candle, and out into a lush jungle in broad daylight. The scents had colours and warmths, depths she could not understand and complexities that made her brain feel tired almost immediately. Flowers, grass, water, earth, musk and air- each scent she had ever known became heightened, and so many more she did not recognize at all bombarded her, leaving her wondering what they might each belong to.

Among them- light and sweet- was the scent of cedar. It was a rare scent, out of place she thought- and so, she followed it, only to find it heavily mingled with the scent of fur, earth, faint traces of blood, and perhaps...marsh? More overpowering than these, the closer she came to the source, was the scent of dog- more precisely, the scent she now carried herself.

Wolf.

She did not know their ways, but could not help but feel drawn toward him nevertheless. Wolves...They lived in packs- perhaps it was the wolf side of her that longed, now, for companionship that led her to be drawn to an apex predator. She did not feel fear, not as she would have had she been human- but she felt instead admiration, respect, longing...And when she caught sight of the wolf whose expression was too difficult for her to read, she paused to gaze in wonder. She found herself lost, seeing what was now her people...And couldn't help but wonder if he might not be someone she knew- also transported into this new form. If this was the case, she would need to greet him properly.

She set her precious parcel alongside her paw, gently fishing the drawstrings away from herself, and lowered her head into what she hoped would be the equivalent of a deep bow. For extra measure, she leaned back into her hips, stretching her long forelegs out before her so her shoulders might too dip. If it weren't for the reverent expression on her face, she might simply look as if she was taking a luxurious stretch- but she had much to learn, yet, about the mannerisms of wolves.

Fey and curious, she tilted her head slightly and peered up toward the man with one opened to reveal a sliver of deep green.

Sapair never came upon a wanderer without bristling his menace. The desert rarely bred humility. The breaking heat likewise affected wolfkind in their relations with one another. Where food was scarce, so too was grace. Jodai had dealt with more than one performer who liked the sound of his own voice too much.
He did not check himself but drove in upon the bent figure, snuffling the strange scent of their furs and then the collection of objects spilled at her side. Only when she was deemed devoid of threat did he pace back. Hard eyes settled on the pale snout.
Like so many in Satriya, she was only a child.
“Rise,” he bid, caring not to temper the harsh sound of his own nature, but he noted her discipline. It set her apart from others.
“Where is your family?”