Twitch of Claws

Heat. Pulsing, blinding heat. A low rattle scrapes up my throat. My knuckles ache, then—snap! My fingers flex. The talons scrape hard against the bright surface beneath me, biting into it with a sharp click. I am not locked. I am not still. I tense my arms, spreading my claws wide against the glare, feeling every sinew pull tight. A rough snarl bursts past my fangs—I can move.