Nora Roberts' Circle Trilogy: Dance of the Gods, Chapter 1
He was a tall, lanky man with a thick waving mane of tawny hair. His eyes, nearly the same color, were long like his cousin's, and nearly as keen. He had a long and mobile mouth that was quick to smile, quick hands and an easy nature.
Those who knew him would have said he was generous with his time and his coin, and a good man to have at your back at the pub, or in a brawl.
He'd been blessed with strong, even features, a strong back, a willing hand. And the power to change his shape into any living thing.
He took a healthy bite of cake where he stood, but there was too much quiet in the house to suit him. He wanted, needed, activity, sound, motion. Since he couldn't sleep, he decided he'd take Cian's stallion out for a morning run.
Cian could hardly do it himself, being a vampire.
He stepped out of the back door of the big stone house. There was a chill in the air, but he had the sweater and jeans Glenna had purchased in the village. He wore his own boots -- and the silver cross Glenna and Hoyt had forged with magic.
He saw where the earth was scorched, where it was trampled. He saw his own hoofprints left in the sodden earth when he'd galloped through the battle in the form of a horse.
And he saw the woman who'd ridden him, slashing destruction with a flaming sword.
She moved through the mists, slow and graceful, in what he would have taken for a dance if he hadn't known the movements, the complete control in them, were another preparation for battle.
Long arms and long legs swept through the air so smoothly they barely disturbed the mists. He could see her muscles tremble when she held a pose, endlessly held it, for her arms were bared in a snug white garment no woman of Geall would have worn outside the bedchamber.