Menkar changed into his Star-centaur form easily, without fear – more than could be said for her.  Her skin hardened, turned black and shiny as an insect’s carapace.  She brought her hands up in front of her and stared at them.  They were not flesh but something segmented and chitinous.  She stumbled back a few steps, the obsidian chest that was not her chest heaving.  Then it stopped as she stopped needing to breathe, at least in the normal way.  Something behind her brushed the wall.

Wings.

Feathered wings, black as a raven’s, folded against her back.  The wind plucked at them, rattling the feathers against each other like dry leaves.  Now that she was thinking about them they jerked.  But there wasn’t enough room for them to unfold inside the tent.  The edges crashed against the walls, the roof, and the shattered glass whirled out into the vortex.