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Paws. Prescott had pine marten paws where his hands should have been. Long white fingers, subtle claws, blue-grey fur down to his wrists. Small, fuzz-covered pads on his fingertips and palms.

The sight of them was starting to settle in Prescott's mind. He'd willed them to change every morning for a week or so, just to see how it felt, just to tease at what he'd do next. No, he'd said for each of those times, not just yet; letting the change slip back inside him, getting on with the day. A conscious choice, while he really came to understand the decision he was making.

His new paws were slim, and a good indicator of just how slender he'd be when he decided to take his transformation all the way. Taller, longer, with a muzzle and a tail, and fur everywhere. Today felt different, in that he was less hesitant and more certain this was what he wanted. Was he sure? Yes, he was. Once he'd changed so much, was he okay with the fact he couldn't go back? Yes, that was fine. Prescott very much wanted to be a pine marten.

Fur continued down his arms, blue fluff overtaking pale skin, tuftier at the elbows. Feet gently clicked as they stretched and pulled at his socks, and Prescott realised he ought to be entirely naked for this. An easy thing to do with the casual speed of his change, slipping off his underwear and each sock, one then the other. Toes were already becoming more plump, much more feral and marten-like than his hands were, with dark pointed claws and light blue pawpads that made his feet feel firm and steady. Legs were getting longer. Body too, with a shiver as though careful paws were wandering his spine, kneading and relaxing, stretching and encouraging. Pale fur started to pill up on his thighs, belly and chest, becoming thicker and warmer as he watched, curious and happy.

The change never quite finished in one part of his body before it popped up somewhere else, trickling down Prescott's back and teasing at familiar feelings that his mind couldn't remember, but his instincts could. Humans hadn't been without tails for that long, evolutionarily speaking, and it didn't take much convincing for the marten's body to find one; bones shuffling, new sensations reaching out from his back and all the way down the fluffy tube, darker blue against his body and white towards the tip. Soon, it was as bouncy and natural as if it had always been there. It kept growing as the marten did, stretched out long and slim.

Sprawled out on his bed, Prescott could follow the progress of his fur, watching as pink skin was enclosed, surrounded, engulfed. The thick fluff pushed up his neck and shoulders, before changes began to work at his head. These were the most disorienting, with many of his senses confused by their experience. He could hear his ears change, ringing and stretching; he could feel them pull up his head, and smell his own scent change as his whole face seemed to swell out into a short muzzle. Not painful, or even uncomfortable, just distracting. His tongue rasped against sharpening teeth, his face produced whiskers that grew rapidly, his breathing grew quicker as so much sensation invaded him. Features changing, no part of him left unclaimed and untouched, just a wholly fluffy pine marten.

The ringing subsided, and Prescott started to acclimatise to his new self; sharper sense of smell, more awareness of movement, the gentle brush of tail against legs. It didn't feel like he was becoming different -- it was like being human was the disguise he was shedding, while being a pine marten had been real all along. The blue-grey of his fur seemed to come in waves and patches, lighter on his belly and thighs, and darker around his limbs and back.

The new pine marten stood up, taking care not to catch his claws on the bed sheets. Being a mustelid was more than just skin-deep, but the various changes continuing inside his body were more abstract and harder to follow. His balance remained much the same, so walking over to the bathroom was not an ordeal. There was a mirror there. He had to see who he was now.

Preparing for his transition was one thing, feeling it was another, but there was still a moment of shock when Prescott actually saw his marten face in the mirror. Pale eye patches, blue nose, light ears and lighter spots on his forehead. Ears moving, mouth opening, teeth on show, tongue out, tail flicking. There was a certain importance to seeing himself, connecting the sight with the sensation, proving beyond a doubt what had taken place. Pine marten. For how impossible it was meant to be, Prescott's change had been casual, simple, even fun. It was hard keeping the grin off his face, his anthropomorphic furry marten face, recognisably human and undeniably animal.

He had to show his boyfriend, the sooner the better. Oh, but Guy wouldn't be back until later! That gave him some time to think, to prepare, should it be a surprise, should he take a photo and leave a message? "Hey hon, I'm a pine marten now. What do you think?"

"I think you're even better in person," said Guy. "Definitely harder to photoshop."

"I thought you'd be more surprised," added Prescott. He was up and excited to see Guy, judging by the bouncing of his tail. "Not every day your boyfriend turns into a furry."

"Sure, but you sent me a picture. Now, surprise, if you'd have left torn clothing everywhere, doors open, furniture on its side-"

"That's fair," grinned the marten, cuddling in close with his tail lapping at the human's legs and feet. The kiss was instinctive, but it felt different, and Prescott found their noses bumping and brushing together.

"Heh. Fuzzy," smiled Guy. "Let's practice more. I'd better get used to that."

As tempting as it was to spend the whole day in each other's arms, the apartment had a few days of mess to it, and the kitchen was empty. Life didn't stop because he was a pine marten, nor did Prescott really want it to; he wanted to show off his new self, see the eyes of passers-by, hear any whispers both good and bad. There were other furries out there, but it wasn't exactly common; no doubt he'd be turning heads.

First, there was the apartment. Walking around on paws was like wearing soft shoes, and every movement felt so light and springy. Prescott's body wanted to bounce, and so it did: clearing off the chairs, piling together papers and loose knick-knacks. Guy kept an eye on him for a moment, before heading into the kitchen to do dishes, filling the air with a soapy scent. Sure, they were only chores, but with a marteny twist. Thoughts drifted, wondering how fast he could go at a run, how easy it might be to get up a large enough tree - and reality came back to greet him, as he picked a bill envelope off one of his claws, where he'd accidentally pushed through it. Oops! Not the end of the world.

"Oh? All okay in there?" said Guy, looking back behind at the sound of tearing paper.

"Yeah, nothing important," he said.

"Could you get the laundry in? I'm nearly done here."

Prescott moved into their bedroom and started adding clothes to the laundry basket that hadn't quite made it. When it was about full, the marten picked it up, and squeaked at what felt like extra weight. No, digging through it, there wasn't anything unusual in there; it seemed like the trade-off for being a bouncy mustelid with springs for paws was just not being as strong.

It was a learning experience, and Prescott got more used to his claws and tail and how it was to be a marten, so a trip outside seemed very possible. Together they picked through clothes to find the loosest T-shirt and shorts, and the marten carefully made a hole in the latter to leave space for his tail. With his fur, Prescott didn't need clothes, but furries tended to wear them as a courtesy to others. Time might tell with that one, he suspected, but today was only his first day, and there was shopping to be done.

The smell of the store had been quite the experience, but it was nothing compared to the scent of their kitchen as Guy and Prescott made their dinner. The mood was cheerful, as the evening celebrated the marten's first full day as his more furry self. Claws were not as useful here as Prescott had hoped, and it proved tricky keeping his fur away from the food. At least the light blue and white sheddings did show up easily, but it would be the start of an ongoing battle.

"I can take it from here," said Guy. "Can see you scratching. Maybe grab a shower?"

It was a delightful idea, and Prescott went away to do that. Already getting used to having fewer clothes while around the house, it was a simple case of letting the water run nice and hot, and then stepping inside and closing the curtain behind him, tucking tail into the narrow space. Warmth, steam, relaxation, the marten unwinding with his back to the wall and his tail fidgeting around his legs, rubbing through fur and letting go of the worries of the day.

Turning heads had been one of the aims of going out, but Prescott had become ever more aware of just how often the staring had come his way. Enthralled, or appalled; nobody had said anything, but a confrontation felt inevitable, and the marten wasn't sure how he felt about that. Guy was there, which helped a lot, and nothing much had happened at the store after all. There was one incident, where he'd bumped into someone and they'd given him quite the look of surprise; but, in the warm safety of the shower, he could reason that he was a surprising creature. Furry, tall and lithe, soft and colourful. Regardless of others, it still felt like the right choice.

Even if cleaning took forever, and drying longer still. Prescott was wet through dinner, grinning sheepishly while wrapped in towels. He'd learned something else new. As a surprise, Guy eventually started vigorously towelling the marten, kneading through to make him squirm about in place.

"Don't want to get wet if I'm gonna cuddle you all evening," was his rationale, chasing Prescott over to the couch. The blue marten was light and easily handled, in spite of his height; and, when the two of them were out of breath, something ended up on the TV, fading into the background as they settled in for hugs.

"Mmm. You think I've done enough to really mark my first day?" wondered Prescott.

"Wouldn't get wound up over it," said Guy. "So long as you're happy. And if you're not happy you're still a pine marten tomorrow, and the day after that. Worry less, cuddle more."

Prescott woke up before dawn, with the echo of a dream still in his mind, stretching paws out of bed and combing claws through his tail. His side of the bed had blankets balled up under him, around which he would sleep, with his tail off to one side. Guy was learning to sleep through the occasional sweeping and tickling, for the sleeping marten tail tended to go wherever it liked. Gently did it, as Prescott untangled himself from his bedding and tried his best not to wake his boyfriend.

How long had it been since he made the change, perhaps seven or eight months? The blue pine marten had encountered all of the interesting changes to his body, from his taste in food to the greater presence his new senses allowed him in pretty much all endeavours. Baths were better, cuddles were amazing, and being petted was just as relaxing for him as it seemed to be for Guy.

Yet, the changes to his mind were more subtle, and those had taken time to bubble up. For all the excitement of his detailed hearing and scent, the bustle of town could tire him very quickly. Little itches of instinct put the marten in the mood for getting up high, from buildings to trees. His creative work wandered between the outdoors and the urban jungle, and it was easy to let his thoughts wander.

Prescott had discovered something else while out and about, focusing on his paws. In much the same extension of will that had changed him away from human, he could bring out his pine marten side even further, thickening up the digits on his paws and feeling his arms shrink and widen. Once he'd even teased at the edge of changing his whole head, with a larger nose and taller ears and a muzzle that struggled with words -- but, he'd felt the urge pull at him strongly and he'd resisted it, intently. The marten knew a good few others like him, but he hadn't met anyone who'd gone fully feral. Regardless, the idea had a growing appeal, and it had started to slip into his dreams as well.

Becoming feral would be a significant change, and one Guy would need to be on board with. Other than his colours, Prescott would be indistinguishable from a wild pine marten, and he'd rely on Guy for any sort of civilised lifestyle. Would it be okay to suddenly go without the creature comforts he'd enjoyed for so long?

"Yeah, I'd be okay with it," said Guy, who had said he'd consider the question over the week, and his easy-going reply had the marten blushing. "It's really your business to be as happy as you can. Live here, or live wild. Maybe I'll get a flap put in on a high window."

The pet comparison was inevitable, and it did make Prescott blush even more. He didn't think he'd really end up in the pampered pet lifestyle, but if he was feral and Guy plucked him up and got to brushing? The marten couldn't imagine he'd object.

"But this time," said Guy. "If you do go the whole way, I'd like to see it. I mean, if you're good with that. Just isn't something I'd see every day."

"Well," wondered Prescott, cuddling in close with a cheeky smile. "How about right now?"

In truth, the marten was rather ecstatic that Guy was OK with it. Just changing without any sort of preparation, it seemed very spontaneous for something that he wouldn't be able to undo. Yet, having said it, the idea was now there, and the more they teased at it together, the more enticing it seemed. Why not?

Guy lifted both of Prescott's hands, and the marten closed his eyes and allowed them to change. Big, feral, animal paws. Human fingers traced over blue fur, firm ridges, and sleek claws. The air was warm, the pair of them were cutely cuddled together on the couch. It wasn't as though Prescott hadn't considered what it would mean to be feral. It was a perfect moment to be impulsive. So, rather than pulling back at the wild sensations in his fur, he let them spread.

This was different from the casual ease of turning furry. Arms and legs shrunk and turned stubby, as his already long body stretched out further. Feet grew longer, claws wider, and a shuddery click by his tail made Prescott slip onto four feet, straddling across Guy's lap and looking up at him. Four paws felt right, and the changing marten nuzzled and nipped at hands, with a squeak and a throaty rumble that made his tongue shiver; rrrr! The physical changes were only part of the picture, in that Prescott was mostly a pine marten to start with, but the experience felt so much keener and less restrained. His head was next, becoming longer and larger, more in proportion with his slinky feral body. Ears perked, nose sniffed, tail flicked.

"Feeling okay?" wondered Guy.

"Oooh, I'm glad you're here," murmured the marten, giving a relaxed, rumbly chirr and burying his nose against the human. Hips, tail, back and front; it was hard to see where Prescott had been human at all. The big blue marten perked his ears and felt a rush that made him squeak, as his whole body started to squeeze and shrink. Legs and tail tingled, as the feral marten felt himself full of energy; wide awake, ready to pounce and bounce and scamper. The feeling grew stronger and deeper the smaller he became, with Guy's strokes becoming bigger and surrounding him more and more. Prescott would fit in a lap, then in two arms, his body slim and small enough that both hands could wrap around him. The marten kept looking around at sounds, and sights, and scents; round feral eyes looking up at Guy, grinning as best his muzzle could.

"Outside?" wondered Prescott, knowing the word but having to teach his muzzle how to make the right sounds. Guy stood up, holding the marten in his arms before the critter quickly shuffled up and perched between shoulders.

"You seem pretty jumpy. Excited?"

"Ahh, yeah, very. Already had springs for legs but this is something else."

Outside, the wind was brisk and Guy was about to say something else, but Prescott leapt for a pipe and was then halfway up the building. The human could feel how wound up he'd been, and the marten let himself go; exploring and testing out his new self. Impulsive was right, and it'd be a few hours before he got it out of his system and crept back to where Guy was waiting.

"Do sometimes miss having a hand around the house," said Guy, as he tidied up a few days later. "Not drastically. Just pops to mind now and then."

"Yeah," said Prescott, the feral blue marten perched up on the back of the couch where he could only watch. "I'd like to be more helpful. But! We don't have any mice, they won't come anywhere near, and I can get into those spaces you can't. It's something."

"You've been a little distant, so I was also wondering if you were okay," said the human, putting down the laundry basket to wander his fingers through Prescott's fur. It was a question the marten had been anticipating for a few days, and he was ready for it.

"Mmm. I think so. Yes, but it's very different," was his response, with a little purr behind it as he leaned into Guy's hand. "I'm feeling good, just that it's a big change I'm still getting used to. But you're here and that's important. Really very much so."

Prescott tended to catch some sleep in the day, and spend time with Guy in the mornings and evenings. Through the night, he tended to roam outside, with the highest small window left open for him. The flap was still an occasional idea, but this served just as well. The neighbourhood looked very different by starlight, and even when things seemed like they might have been quiet to a human, there was plenty going on for a pine marten. Soon, the night was Prescott's private playground, and a welcome reminder of the life he'd chosen.

"Fancy going out?" said Guy. "We can go through the park, and I need to stop by the store. We'll get something you like and I can also make a meal of."

A little bit of prepared food was okay, but the marten had quite the appetite for raw things, even more so than as a furry. Meat, fish, eggs, berries and fruits, and not much interest in roots or vegetables. Shopping was easy, but being in the shop wasn't, as ferals weren't so common and didn't have the wider presence of furries; and the pair of them found it easier to keep it quiet. The staff knew, but it was other customers they didn't want to try and explain things to. Otherwise, it might have just seemed like Guy had brought an animal, though Prescott didn't really act so wild around people. In truth, he was just a bit too unusual for most, but hopefully that would get better over time.

The scents were still lovely, though. A whole range just at the tip of his nose, as Prescott looked around the shelves, eyes darting and ears twitching; being mindful of those nearby as well. He was quick, much quicker than most people, and could be gone instantly if he needed to be. It happened a couple of times, but it was just part of the process. Back outside, when it was quieter, it was fine to clamber up and ride on Guy for a while.

With an assortment of food for a few days, Guy took the scenic route back through the park, lugging the bags back while Prescott hopped from tree to tree.

"I could try and make something like, I dunno. Porridge. Toast. Eggs. Maybe I'll make you breakfast in bed. That is to say, you'll be in bed when I make it, and then you'll have to come and get it."

"You don't need to try and make your paws do things they aren't meant to."

"Sure, but I'd like to. I had to learn how to speak again," said Prescott, dangling upside-down from a branch over Guy's head. "Using a door, a phone, opening windows, using a computer. It'll be effort, but it'll be handy. Pawsy. Whatever."

"Well," smiled the human. "Then it'll be nice. But don't get too frustrated by it."

"Mmm. No promises," said the marten, wryly.

Back home, a few shavings of meat found their way to a plate before cooking began, and that was about half of Prescott's dinner; the rest would come at the same time, and Guy made food as the two chatted. It hadn't been long since the marten's change, but it certainly scratched that itch he'd been feeling. Things felt good.

"But are you okay?" wondered Prescott. "I hope I'm not too different now."

Guy wondered for a moment, and then stopped to pick up the marten and nuzzle gently into his fur. A shiver crept down the feral's back, his eyes closed, and he made soft chittery noises until the attention stopped, and even for a little while afterwards.

"Yeah," grinned the human, fondly. "I'm great. You're fine. I hope I'll grow to be as content as you. Maybe a few feathers would spruce me up, hmm?"

"Wouldn't say no," said Prescott, eyes still closed, paws stretched and sprawled out on the counter as Guy set him back down. "Needs planning, that one."

"Not yet, I think. Maybe some time later. We'll see."

The warmth of food did fill the air with deep, tasty scents for the marten to enjoy. He stood on the table eating from a wide bowl, as Guy watched and the two chatted around whatever was on at the time. Prescott finished first, and promptly hopped over to the sofa to nestle himself in Guy's lap, minding the food while still being so very snuggly. Cosy, warm, and comfortable. Pettings came later, once the human had finished and set his plate aside, and then they could both sprawl, with hands continuing to learn all the best places to scritch to get a marten nicely relaxed.

"Love ya, fuzzy."

"You too, big Guy."

"Huh. I dunno if I like that or not."

"Mmm. Well, you're much bigger than me-"

"I get it," he grinned.

The evening was happily long, but soon Guy would need to retire for the night; and, then, Prescott's world of twilight was right outside the window. He could explore, and slowly dance on a keyboard to write his journal, and otherwise continue to explore his new life as a feral blue pine marten.

-fin