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You are running, dodging through the trees, heart in your mouth, branches catching your hair.
There is no path. You make your own path through the forest, dodging through the undergrowth, through the trees, no idea of where you’re heading, only that you’re pursued.
The dark green leaves surround you, catching at your hair, thorns claw at your skin, tearing, droplets of blood well up and mark your skin with threads of red, a pattern that reveal the shapes of your soul.
Even as you run, even as you dodge the branches overhanging your path, the path you make, that you forge in your fear from the forest, even then you realise that you are unsure of your destination.
You begin to remember that this, this is a test, that the patterns on your skin forming shapes and symbols in your blood will reveal to the priestess where your duty lies.
You hear the howling in the distance, the wolfsong calls your name and you remember, you know your heart of hearts, you know how to call the wind, to use words to reform the world. You know how the fire in your belly gives you strength, how to use this fire, how to flow like water and transform the earth of your body by changing your mind.
And you choose.
You stop and turn to face the hunters.
You feel the fire rise within you and you rewrite the language of the world, claim a new shape.
You too can walk as a wolf, you know how to wield the magic, and you do.

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