A few minutes pass, galumphing through the woods. Your palm itches, sweat is making your shirt cling unpleasantly, and you have a rabbit's foot instead of your own. Sighing deeply, you mop your brow across your arm. Incidentally, the same arm with the itchy hand. Incidentally, the same arm you rubbed your new ankles with. Incidentally, a hand that is now covered in fur.
You yell and throw it away from you. Unfortunately, it remains attached to you, thanks to that inconvenience we call an arm. You watch, in frustration as much as horror, as your fingers swell, pink pads puffing out underneath, and the same stiff cramp as the bones and tendons realign. Your fingernails seem to fold inward, pushing along to the tips of your digits. The change seems to be faster this time- of course, trace amounts of the...venom, whatever it was, had to be seeping into your system by now- in hindsight, the vigourous walk might have gotten your blood pumping faster than you might have wanted. The flesh along your arms seems to...loosen, as fur begins to slowly flood down your wrists.
Which is all very well (or very unwell), but you're more concerned about the hair piling up on your forehead, tufting out on your cheeks...