The rain pours down over my shoulders. I crouch next to the tree we used to climb, sobbing.
“It’s the circle of life, Maya.” I startle as Mama comes up behind me. “You have to let him go.”
I rest my palm against the wet grass. “Why?”
“The way of life,” Mama repeats.
“Shape-shifter!”
The words echo in my ears, but this time, they’re not aimed at me.
I’m not a shifter, merely an illusionist. It’s people’s eyes who change, not me. We can take on a few characteristics of the animal, like super-speed, flight, or deep-sea swimming. And even if it weakens my other senses,
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