You're no expert on Garou rites, but you know how power can linger. You also know what enchantment feels like, having spent so much time around Black Tarn and working in her garden. You re-lace your waterproof boots and hitchhike up to the Veterans Hospital. From there, you head into the woods.
Civilization disappears in less than five minutes. You can't even smell car exhaust. Squirrels leap from branch to branch. Crows and hawks cry overhead. The land is hilly and rough, the trees crooked. You strip, feeling the ice wind slash across your shoulders, pack all your gear into a tight bundle that you can carry in wolf form, then will yourself to change. Flesh bends and rips, and when you open your wolf eyes, steam wreathes your transformed body. You close your eyes.
Old death. Something terrible happened here. Wounded spirits linger in this place. You follow your intuition, pushing through snow and sliding down hills on all fours, trying to remain open and sensitive.
You hesitate for a moment in front of a horizontal ice sheet. The frozen waterfall sparkles in your lupine vision, but it's just sunlight, nothing supernatural. But you take a moment to examine yourself in the ice. Your lupus form is starting to feel as natural as your human skin. You can't tell if the icy reflection is blurry or if your wolf vision is limited, but you can only barely perceive the color of your fur:
Inky black.
Gray.
Dappled gray-brown.
Silver.
White.
Brown.
Red.
Golden.
Blue-gray.
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