Redsand Canyon Awaken my masters.

The sands burst, a crimson spray billowing from the center. A lupine head appeared, mouth wide, a lion's roar that turned into a jackal's screeching howl burst forth from its maw. The body trapped under the red sands rose violently, lurching forward as if in a pounce, only to crumble under its unused paws. She — she was a she wasn't she? — gasped, breathing in sand and grit and angry hot air, and coughed.

Her body felt strange. Lighter. Her paws are no longer tacked with the thick digits hiding hooked claws; they are nimbler, smaller, her claws are dulled and unable to retreat to the furry protection of her toes.  She looks at her body, watching the gold of her fur explode into red past her shoulders. Her tail swung; it is no longer sleek but bushy, like she is trailing a brush behind her.  She is on four paws. Once she stood on two, a long time ago, but she had sunk down to four as time went on, but she was shorter now than before. She is not feline, but canine.

The sun's glint catches her eye and she turns to the disk in the sky, then turns away at the sheering brightness. Father, She intones in her native tongue, her voice rough and thick with unuse. Why did you send me  h e r e, Her lips curl in anger at the unflinched gaze of her father. In t h i s form? She hissed and her tail lashes behind her as if she is a cat again rather than a dog, a wolf.