"Were you scratched or bitten?" she demanded. I grimaced as the truck hit a pothole, jarring my shoulder. "Does it matter?" "Of course it does," she said impatiently. "If it just scratched you, you won't turn. If it bit you....we can't risk waiting for you to lose control." I swallowed. "Then it's a good thing it didn't bite me. It just dug its claws in." She looked so relieved I almost felt guilty for lying to her.