CHAPTER 31
Corniad held George’s eyes at the request, and then slowly pulled off his human clothing, the boots and jeans, the wet shirt—all of it. George was used to the fae indifference in matters of nudity, but as his father dropped each garment, he seemed to become ever more feral until, freed of the encumbrance of his clothing, he transformed into a large red deer and raised his head high, majestic and proud, a stag before these hounds, bayed and awaiting his death with dignity.
The broken tines were still prominent, as if they would never heal, never be replaced by new antlers in velvet. He is not a man, George reminded himself. This is what he is. And I looked like that, myself, when I escaped from Gwythyr and Creiddylad in Gaul with Rhian. For three days I traveled in this form—I’
