If there was one area of life where a bobcat shifter had mad skills, it was tree climbing. Shifting would destroy her clothes, of course, but it couldn’t be helped. Within an instant, faster than she’d ever shifted before, she was in bobcat form, racing towards the tree. Her claws shot out, and with a mighty leap, she sank them into the bark and then shot straight up the trunk, branches whacking her in the face, adrenaline jolting through her. She ran along a sturdy branch that was below the one the little wolf-shifter cub was clinging to, and leaped up, catching his shirt in her jaws just as the branch gave way underneath him with a crack. Her leap carried her down to another branch, where she landed with a thud, clinging to him for dear life, claws sinking into the wood. Then she leaped from branch to branch until they’d safely reached the ground, where she deposited him in the grass. Her clothing lay in shreds on the ground.
