Focus.
I breathe deeply, or at least try to. By the third attempt I succeed, and by the fourth I have returned to my original shape.
It is not the wolf that Cyrus had first seen, but instead is the form of a horned horse. I remain wearing it, not trusting myself to shift again after that mishap, and look down at Cyrus. I am sure there is concern on my face, and no small amount of fear.
I attempt a smile, and though I know it is small, even the action helps to reassure me, and I say with a weak laugh: “I think I’m gonna stick to this form for a while.”
@Cyrus