I slog into a dense part of forest and remove my sopping clothes. I tie them into a small wet package that I can carry in my beak. My shifting powers are different than conventional shifters because I need words to start the process. I whisper the sacred words in my head that my mother taught me and her mother taught her. The world goes from blurry to crystal clear. In human form, without my glasses, I can see for miles if the view is unobstructed. Close up is another matter; all ...