Caleb found his pants in the bushes near his post, where he’d shucked them off after his transformation. Once again, the seam down the back had split to allow room for his tail when it grew. Looked like the rest of his day would be spent mending his uniform. He pulled on the pants and tucked the torn seat between his buttocks. If he clenched his ass cheeks and walked carefully, he might be able to make it to his tent without mooning the rest of the camp.
The blanket, he left in the forest, folded neatly into the crook of a tree. The color alone gave away its origins; he’d find it hard to explain how a Union blanket had suddenly come into his possession when there were no dead or dying Yanks around from whom to swipe it. He ran a hand down his backside one last time to make sure the pants
