Antelope Anticipation

His First Transformation

It would not be the last but I knew it in my bones when it became, the moment that I’d been waiting for out in the golden wilderness of the African savannah. I’d only been sitting before the fire, contemplating the dark of the night in the crackling, leaping and snapping flames, when it begun, a tingle straining through my body like a cord being pulled tighter and tighter. It wasn’t meant to be there and yet it was, inexplicably, at the same moment, my lips parting and eyebrows shooting up, shaved head gleaming surely in the light of the fire.

I was alone but that was fine. I was on my own there to experience all for the very first time, although I knew even then that it would not be permanent. I would want it to be permanent as my chest stirred, heart pounding so vehemently that I was incited instantly to shift onto all fours, feeling as if my ears were twitching already. They pulled up and out from my head like two petals, drawn sweetly into points, and I groaned in the back of my throat, only sparing a brief moment to shed my simple clothing, which was always just enough to keep the shame away from the elements that would have otherwise harmed my flesh and skin.

It was just as well I had the foresight to get rid of my clothing (what little here was) while I could as the changed progressed rapidly – too rapidly. My lips worked without either sound or breath as my face stretched out quickly to a narrow point, a twitching, wet little nose that I just wanted to lick. My legs thinned out and I tottered, even on all fours, struggling and fighting with the shift of my body centre of gravity for such a simple need as balance. Something pushed from the top of my skull, its position shifting, and I grunted thickly, head spinning as I crashed down onto my side.

But I was not fearful even as I leaned into the transformation, laughing at my own clumsiness in toppling over, dreaming it all as if I was set back from the scene at hand, as much as I longed to be in it, living and breathing luxuriously through each and every moment. It was a by-product of learning how to transform and that could not be helped as I tried to stagger upright, the joints and bones fusing together in a different form, one bone longer as it teased down into an elegant canon bone.

What would I become? Oh, there was only one way to tell and I stretched my body out into the transformation with relish, finding my feet even as both my hands and feet shrivelled up, skin greying out and hardening into little cloven hooves. Smaller than I had been as a human feeling lither, lighter and already more agile than I ever had been before, I found my stance and braced my new hind legs, hindquarters rounding out with just the right amount of muscle. Too much would have weighed me down while too little wouldn’t have made me the beauty of a creature that I was to become.

My maleness drew up, tucked away safely, as fur covered my body: an orange-brown shade like the dust after it had been dampened down by a quick rainstorm, the kind that did not truly soak the ground but gave the illusion of such. My tent formed a barrier behind me but I would not have any need of it for a time as my neck lengthened, pulling out into the elegance that should have always, truly, been mine. The nubs on my head soon made themselves known as beautiful, twisted horns and I stumbled eagerly to the pot boiling on the fire, dangling from a stick placed as if to be a spit. It was not something that did all that well at making a reflection but the shimmering, broken form of my head came into view as the horns pushed up and up into points.

I was perfect. Or I would be shortly, white fur spanning my stomach and the underside of my neck, coating the underside of a short bob of a tail even as it formed. It would serve as a warning signal to others on the savannah and it was with the formation of that short, signalling tail that I jolted into the realisation of just what I was becoming.

An impala. One of the antelope that I’d joyously watched leaping and bounding, grazing and trailing through the span of their natural lives while predators of the plains stalked and lay in wait. They didn’t have very long lives when the older and sicker animals were swiftly picked off – they were even easy prey for crocodiles or birds of prey – but I was different and I inhaled slowly and deeply, my coat wet as if by the span of the morning dew, damp and fresh and ready for my rebirth.

Tilting my head up to the stars, I pranced and danced, feeling the strength and lightness in my new form, spine settling into place in the light round of an ungulate. My coat would lighten as it dried but that was no matter to me as my hooves toughened up, small, nimble feet best suited to bouncing and darting about with agility that a larger animal would have been envious of.

I was as I was and I longed to test out my form, leaning into the speed as my legs carried me away before my mind had even caught up with what I was doing. But that was fine – just what and where I wanted to be – and I bleated out my joy, devolving into a low chuff as my lungs worked furiously to keep up with my pace.

As an impala, I could run. I could be free, shedding the mortal coils of humanity, lacking in its heaviness. And that alone was enough to bring me the greatest heights of joy.

In transformation, I could do anything.

Finally, I was me.