# Chapter 13: The Long Ride

John slid into the driver's seat and let out a long exhale. He gripped the steering wheel with his human hands, flexed his human feet against the pedals, and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

"This is insane," he said. "I can actually... I can drive."

Amelia watched from the back seat, sprawled on her belly across the upholstery. She had taken the pillows from the cabin and arranged them in a nest-like pile, her avian legs stretched behind her, her human head propped on one folded arm. Her tail feathers fanned out over her lower back, and her bare cloaca pressed against the fabric beneath her.

She was still naked.

The shame hadn't fully hit her until now, sitting in the back of their car like a piece of livestock. Her black feathers caught the morning light through the windows, shimmering iridescent. Her talons scraped against the seat fabric. The musky, animal smell of her chicken body filled the enclosed space.

John's nose twitched. He didn't say anything, but Amelia saw him crack his window.

She wanted to cry.

I look like an animal. I smell like an animal. I am an animal.

John pulled up the GPS on his phone, tapping the screen. "Okay, I'm looking for nearby farms. There's got to be one within an hour or two."

Amelia said nothing. She reached for the pillow she'd brought from the cabin—the one from her nest—and placed it in front of her, adjusting her position. She folded her arms beneath her head and let her body settle. Her sharp yellow talons curled against the seat, inches from her own face.

They were dirty. Caked with dried mud and forest debris from her wanderings last night. She stared at them, at the thick scales covering her avian legs, at the feathers that cascaded down her thighs.

This is normal now, she thought. This is my body.

"Found one," John said, his voice bright. "About four hours north. But..." He frowned at the screen. "That's a lot of driving. We won't make it before dark. We'll need to stop somewhere along the way."

Amelia felt her stomach drop. Another day. Another day of this.

But something else stirred beneath that disappointment. A small, quiet voice that whispered: Do you really want to stop being what you are?

She pushed the thought …