Rose couldn't draw to save her life. But maybe that was why she gravitated towards art that was interesting, challenging, daring her to find understanding. And she'd already been here long enough to understand why someone would need an outlet for their nightmares.

That would be wonderful. I'd love to see them.

She was. She was lucid enough to be terrified of what she'd become, how fast it all had been, but she was trying to keep that terror stomped down until she could deal with it later. A clear head. A clear head was what she needed to keep now that her thoughts were hers again. And her front legs started to look more like arms, to shed hair.

Oh, thank goodness. I'd cheerfully take a burlap bag if that was all that was available.