The snowy wind howled as Cluckles the Wise stood tall—well, two feet tall—between a terrified group of teenagers and a monster that had just snacked on one of their friends like a mid-morning muffin.
The massive wolf growled, lips curling into a snarl. "Move, chicken. This meal belongs to me."
Cluckles raised his twig-staff high. "Cluckles the Wise does not move for bullies… nor carnivorous canines with bad breath issues."
The wolf blinked.
"…Did the chicken just insult my breath?"
Behind Cluckles, Tevin whispered, "Should we run?"
Lyra smacked him. "And go where? Through the murder fog?!"
But Aira stared, wide-eyed—not in fear now, but disbelief.
Because Cluckles was… changing.
With a dramatic whoosh of snow and puffed feathers, Cluckles grew—his body stretching, fluff expanding.
His stubby legs elongated slightly (still comically stubby), his wings broadened, and his fur cloak transformed into a majestic, flowing scarf.