Nasatya began to transform.

His legs became tall, muscular haunches, and his arms a pair of strong forelegs that any destrier would envy. His long hair turned into a silvery mane. Where there once was a tight mouth and a sharp, angular jaw, now it was a long snout of a stallion.

But there was one more piece left, one so rare that Nasatya had to breathe before allowing it. He felt the stir at first. Then two wings sprouted from his equine trunk, lush with feathers and white as snow. It had been years since he had used them last to save a falling youth from a palace window; he worried they might be slow, rusty. When the wings reached their full size, Nasatya took a leap, sinking down the hull of the trembling ship, a torrent of water and wind splashing all over him, until he reached the very bottom.