[ Geralt doesn't need to push her again. Ice lances down her throat, spiking through her heart's center and hollowing out her belly. Even after the worst of it passes, she still feels it bleeding there and out between each rib. Like hot tar, flashing hot, going cold, then hot.
She thinks need to get out and botches the shift into bat shape, tossing and keening under the weight of these massive human clothes, a shawl and a blouse and a skirt and shoes that are far too big anymore. A fuzzy brown fox-thing crawls out of what was her shirt, squeaking in difficulty or else pain or both, and takes off. Paloma can fly, at least. ]
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She thinks need to get out and botches the shift into bat shape, tossing and keening under the weight of these massive human clothes, a shawl and a blouse and a skirt and shoes that are far too big anymore. A fuzzy brown fox-thing crawls out of what was her shirt, squeaking in difficulty or else pain or both, and takes off. Paloma can fly, at least. ]