Moving On

[Tristan]

While Sierra spoke through the door, Tristan was peering into the mirror nervous of what he may see. His eyes burned gold, but his teeth were normal blunt squares. No sharp canines. No tusks. He ran his hands along his arms, then down his chest. The flesh was pink, if flushed. The inked images remained, as if they were imprinted in the soul. Six shapes made a circle from one long ribbon of black. Over his heart was a separate shape, that of the curved troll cross.

When he opened the door, Sierra could see exactly what he did. 
“Something happened in the wolf dream,” he explained.