[ There's relief in finally knowing that this is what it was — that horrible feeling in her gut like fight or flight only a thousand times worse (only frightening instead of empowering, only helpless). There's relief, quickly followed by the sick realization that this is bad — no, this is very bad — and Polly isn't entirely sure what she can do to stop it.
When the wolf pushes his nuzzle against the hollow of her outstretched hand she inches forward across the floor, fingers curling into the fur at the nape of Fenrir's neck. Like this he's smaller than he ought to be and that makes Polly both anxious and angry in turns. She makes a small whining noise in the back of her throat and hope it's enough for him to understand.
Polly's here. You're wolf-girl's here. Tell me what to do, who to fight, where to run. I'll do it, Big Bad, I will. ]
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When the wolf pushes his nuzzle against the hollow of her outstretched hand she inches forward across the floor, fingers curling into the fur at the nape of Fenrir's neck. Like this he's smaller than he ought to be and that makes Polly both anxious and angry in turns. She makes a small whining noise in the back of her throat and hope it's enough for him to understand.
Polly's here. You're wolf-girl's here. Tell me what to do, who to fight, where to run. I'll do it, Big Bad, I will. ]