He is on his feet. Everything is so clear around him, the sounds of the night painful to his sharp hearing. His eyes flicker to the side, catch the scurry of a small rodent through the underbrush, vivid, crystal sharp in more color than he has ever experienced.
He takes a moment to breathe, to feel his lungs expand, far past the capacity he is used to, the final twinge of healing tissue almost pleasant in its pain. He looks down at his right hand, claws compact and horribly sharp while his left remains human. He doesn't find this odd or strange. Never for a moment wonders why he is different from his brothers and sisters, that his skin tone is pink and healthy, not the washed out white of the others.
He feels the strength of his body and the pure and utter joy of being alive and embraces
