The first thing Clay sensed was the sound.
The gurgling of water and the rustling of leaves penetrated his conscience, and somehow he knew it was night.
His sense of smell returned next. Rotten vegetation, prey, and an unknown smell wafted on the slight breeze.
Groaning, he forced his eyes open against his pounding headache. He was lying face-down, his view consisting of dirt and ants. He lifted his head. He was lying in a clearing, the leaves of the trees around him blocking out the full moon. The other moon was not in sight. A stream ran past and he glimpsed the eyes of an animal before it scuttled away.
Gingerly he tried to stand. Immediately he knew something was wrong. He looked down at his feet and had to stifle a scream.
His scales had gone, replaced with peach-colored skin. Sharp, lethal talons were morphed into small, dull extensions. He moved them and they wiggled back at him like pale worms. He moved his new arms up to touch his face. He felt his now-shrunken nose, the ears pressed flat to his head, the weird stuff on the top of his head and above his eyes. He looked down at the rest of his body. Tail, wings, and powerful haunches were no more. Legs that looked like muscular sticks with shrunken talons greeted his eyes. A weird thing stuck out from below his stomach, like his tail had been miniaturized and placed onto his front.
He looked around more closely. For the first time he noticed that he was alone, so absorbed was he with his new body. He fought back a rising panic.
"Guys?" he yelled, a deep voice vibrating in his vocal cords. No answer. He yelled again and waited. Nothing.
He tried to calm himself down. Panicking wouldn't help them. He needed to find his friends.
And he would have to find them himself.
He reached out his arms and pushed himself to his feet. He managed to stay on his feet for a few seconds before the world tilted and he landed on the ground.
Wincing at the new bruises on his legs, he tried again. This time he managed to stay up longer before falling and adding more bruises on his body.
The next time he tried he was able to remain standing, still slightly wobbly. He took a deep breath and picked up his left foot to step forward. The world lent to the right and he fell down again.
The next ten minutes involved Clay standing, Clay falling, Clay lifting his foot, Clay falling, Clay trying again, and Clay falling again.
Finally Clay was able to stand and lift his foot without falling over. Hesitantly he lifted his foot and tried to start walking.
The world spun but Clay held himself firm and was able to remain standing.
He stumbled over to the stream, not knowing that he looked like a drunkard trying to walk home. He gasped at the reflection that he knew was his own.
A handsome face stared back at him, fear in his eyes. A messy of brown hair covered the top of his head.
Clay immediately knew what he was.
A scavenger. He, somehow, had turned into the lesser of intelligent beings that live in the dragon kingdoms. And Clay had a good feeling that if he was a scavenger now, so were the others.
He glanced at the circle of dark trees around him. He didn't know which way to go, so he picked a random direction.
It felt different, walking upright and without his heightened senses. His eyes could see with less clarity, his ears strained to discern sound, his sense of smell was almost non-existent, and whenever he stepped on a particular sharp rock or stick his feet bleed profusely. He even tried to breath fire, but only got a burning in his throat and a gurgling sound.
He stumbled through the woods a long time without success. All he could find was plants and the occasional furry animal.
He was just beginning to wonder if he would ever find them when something hit him from behind.