Bearclaw Valley like phony clothes, but i really like my

astara observed the woman, and in her watching, became painfully aware of how different her body was from phoebe's. how her sharp lines had been replaced by soft curves -- vulnerable curves -- and how thick and unwieldy she had become.

she thought of what it might take to steal one's body from another, to wear them as one might wear a cowl of hareskin.

as phoebe raked along damp soil and wood astara scuttled closer like an incensed shelob -- the only thing missing was the clickclick of her mandibles clacking in disapproval. she figured this pretty thing would notice her after a time; surely, merrick had taken note of her and her lissome body, unburdened by the ugly, disgusting shape of whelping.