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For Seth Drake, who made me rise to the challenge

I looked up at the moon, my human skin itching and crawling, wanting to subsume itself into my true form. I forced it aside. I have had to wait for this night, this particular moon, to do what I have to do. I have only to do three impossible things, and then the night will be done, and perhaps I will be done with it. That doesn't matter now. Preparations have to be made.

I walked carefully through the clearing behind Buck Spotted Pony's ranch. The pintos that gave his family its name were safely inside the stable; it wouldn't do too have them get in harm's way. I moved toward the grove of trees beyond the edges of his land and pressed myself into the small forest. There is a place I know, a place where this can begin, and end, and it will be far enough away that none need never know what I'm up to. It is a peaceful place, where I need to be calm and clear-headed. I use the travel time to vent my rage so that it will not burden me later.

I blame the whites.

I let my heart feel the anger of so many generations past, recalling the cruelties that they suffered, from the Trail of Tears to the way that the whites spread small pox to our people through the gifts of blankets riddled with the disease. When the whites came here from Europe, they brought alcohol, syphilis, and religion, each deadlier than the other.

People from all of the Five Hundred Nations tried first for peace, then for uneasy truce, then they defended their lives and land, and the whites called it War, and they killed as many of us as they could. And throughout the Five Hundred Nations, there was a small pocket of People bound by a blood even deeper than that of their original clans. Some called us the Children of the Moon, misunderstanding what made our blood stir so violently at that time. Some called us lycanthropes, or werewolves, or Bigfoot, or Sasquatch, or figments of the imagination. None knew the truth. It's not something easily shared.

I could see the clearing a dozen yards or so ahead. I paused there in the forest, letting the last of the anger fall away from me. I put a hand to the Standing Person next to me, a fine tall pine tree, and asked for his help in shedding those memories and pains. He was good to me, drained my anger into Mother Earth, and I thanked him with a pinch of tobacco from my pouch. The last word of my anger, and my despair, lingered behind me as if riding the wind: Alzheimer's.

I breathed, cleansed my lungs, my mind, my heart, and stepped into the clearing. Again, I could see Grandmother Moon shining full and brightly into the center. I would need no fire here; I could see all things clearly. The itching returned. I pushed it down. Preparations.

In a smooth place in clean grass, I visualized what I needed. I took off my clothes and set them neatly to one side. The breeze around me was chill; it helped me to cool my emotions. From one pouch, I poured corn meal into a secure circle around me. From another pouch, I offered a pinch of tobacco to each of the Seven Directions. I invoked my Totems, my Guides, my Ancestors, and the help of Great Spirit. I sat upon the ground, legs folded properly, took a deep breath.

I relaxed my hold.

The change began almost immediately. No one is ever truly prepared for the sensations involved in shifting. No one has ever performed a scientific study of the phenomenon; the reports are all anecdotal. For some, it's agonizing; for me, it's more like forcing clenched, overstressed muscles to relax into their normal shape - it hurts, but it feels so good when it's over. The wolf form is my natural state; being human causes far more and far more constant pain.

I am Wolf. I am whole. I am my Self, and my power is mine to wield.

From outside the circle, I heard an artificial chirrup from my cell phone. Midnight. I began the invocation and the meditation that I had memorized and could not put into practice until this moment. One does not call the Goddess for amusement.

The light from Grandmother Moon shifted, wavered slightly, opalesced, congealed, until a long cascade of silvery-white light wove through the sky and filled the circle around me. My eyes slitted against the brightness, but I did not blink. As the light thickened around me, seeming to press against my full white fur, I raised my head and waited.

"I am called," the soft voice said. "Who has called?"

"I am Jason Winter Wolf," I said gently. "I draw down the moon to beg a boon."

"You are my child, but you are not of the Sisterhood," the voice observed. "I cannot bestow a boon to those upon whom I cannot call."

"Goddess, I am berdache. I am a twin soul, with male and female in me. Gaze upon my spirit and know this."

A long silence. "This is how you have called upon me. Yet I do not know if I can grant this boon."

"Goddess, I must perform a duty this night. You know that I have been called by another of your children. You know that I must answer. He too has called, and we are to meet upon the bridge of your sacred light."

"All has been prepared."

"Should I survive, I ask that my heart be healed."

In the stillness around me, I remained unmoving, muzzle turned upward, ears forward to catch any sound, a tableau of white within white.

"You are called," said the voice. "Rise."

I unfolded myself and stood within the circle.

"Prepare."

"Goddess, I am ready."

The whiteness thickened further, and I traveled without moving. My hind paws felt something solid under them, soft grass and firm ground, and the whiteness thinned slowly, pulling back to reveal a small clearing not unlike the one where I had begun. Here, I was not alone.

"I didn't think you'd have the balls, Winter Wolf."

Some thirty yards away stood a small-appearing werewolf, the true form of a Medicine Man named Clay Dove. Cheyenne, like myself, his dark grizzled fur always made him seem coarse, rough, even brutal, but it was nothing compared to the reality. He had defeated many others before me, others larger, stronger, more cunning than I am. As a human, he was frail, a twisted foot, small and wiry; as a wolf, he was packed solidly, fast, vicious. No one picked a fight with Clay Dove and expected to win.

"You left me no choice. You have to be stopped."

"You have no right to take my place, boy."

"I don't want your place."

"You've wanted control of the pack for years," he sneered, baring his teeth. "You've tried to fight me before, little albino wolf, and you've failed each time."

"I have never fought you, Clay Dove. I left the clan rather than fight you."

His forepaws clenched into thick fists, a low growl coming from his throat. "You dare to call me a liar?"

"Only when you do not tell the truth."

"Tell it to them."

The white mist pushed back further, revealing what I had already sensed: The entirety of the clan was here, all true, circling what was to become our battlefield. I could smell them near when I arrived; the scent was stronger now, pungent, a mixture of genders, of ages, of hatred, of fear, of anticipation. They would not interfere, but they would witness. Some few were hoping for a good show. Some might even have pitied me.

"The gang's all here," I said, "save for one."

"The clan is fully assembled," the shaman spat harshly. "You have the right to make your claim."

"I make no claim. I state only facts. You are impaired, Clay Dove. The healing powers of our true forms fight everything that the body might withstand, repair flesh and bone, fight disease and decay; the brain is the exception. Your mind is affected. Your actions put the clan, and all our kind, at risk. You have made errors in judgment that endanger us. You have harmed members of the clan. And you have murdered."

"Defended."

_"Murdered."_I raised my voice to the clan. "Not one of you would stop him. Not one of you raised a paw to protect that young wolf. Had I the power, I would fight all of you, all who are complicit. Instead, I take up this challenge, this summons from a murderer, to redress his crime."

_"ENOUGH!"_The dark wolf's howl split the white night. "If you want vengeance, you will not succeed. Are you ready to die, Winter Wolf?"

"I am ready to do my duty."

"Then do it quickly, so that the children may feast on the blood of a traitor. Nónomêhe'še."

He walked slowly toward me on his hind paws, his forepaws still clenching, unclenching, in building fury. I knew that his mind, however damaged, would be sharpened somewhat by adrenaline, but focused only on his own blind rage. There would be no mercy, and no reasoning with him. We were beyond all that now. I would have to kill him.

About twenty feet away, he dropped to all fours, pelting the ground hard with his paws, leaping up and aiming his muzzle directly for my throat. It was how he had taught me, all those years ago, to attack a stranger who had seen too much. I dodged him all too easily, using my fist to punch him in the side as he flew by. I heard him bark with some surprise. It couldn't be this easy. I almost prayed that it wouldn't be this easy.

He rolled and came up on all fours almost instantly. I went down to meet him, feeling my leg muscles tense, my fur bristle. His low growl told me that I'd hurt him. I stayed quiet, stayed focused. Wolf blood did battle; human minds waged war. I wondered if he had forgotten that along with everything else.

Once again, he charged, close to the ground, aiming low to tackle me and throw, a human's move on a wolf's body. I leapt up, forepaws poised to grab him, and he suddenly pulled to the right, pivoted instantly, rose as I was coming down, slammed into my side with three of my paws off the ground. His body, perhaps two-thirds the size of mine, had the punch of a cannonball. My breath exploded, refusing at first to return; I hit the ground hard enough to rattle every bone.

That was more like it.

He threw himself upon me, my longer arms only a slight advantage as he tried to maneuver his muzzle close enough to tear at my arms. He gashed my left arm, a fang ripping a line from above the elbow nearly to the shoulder. Bright pain, steaming blood matting my fur.

"Make it easy, boy," he hissed. "Just give me your throat."

"I'll give you what you have prepared me for."

The werewolf version of a Dublin handshake is to try getting your opponent's muzzle into your own and biting hard; if you miss, you're still in range to have your teeth do something damaging to the face in general. Clay Dove was wary, but just a little slow; I came away with his left ear in my maw.

Howling in real pain, my former Medicine Man reeled backward, holding his head with both paws. His blood was bitter on my tongue, copper pennies squeezed in some miser's sweaty hand, for hour upon hour. I spat out the ear and the blood. He was disabled, vulnerable. There were no rules in this fight, no referee to keep things fair. Perhaps it was honor that stayed my paw; perhaps it was just a misplaced memory of how much I had loved him. My teacher, my spiritual sire, my friend. I did not want this.

His eyes glowed bright, his growling guttural, his face utterly feral. He was forgetting; the blood fever was taking over. I felt something run down my muzzle, unsure if it was blood or tears. I begged Great Spirit to make it clean.

Clay Dove came after me on his hind legs, arms raised high, maw gaping, howling, spitting blood. I took his assault full force as he knocked me to the ground again. He pivoted, his maw attacking my right thigh, his jaws clamping down as if to bite it off entirely. I screamed out, ground my jaws together. Bunching my paws into fists, I hammered at the sides of his head, wiggling his teeth further into my flesh but rattling him enough that he finally had to release me just to get away from my pummeling.

To get up on that leg would be excruciating; to stay where I was would make me too vulnerable. I rolled over, kneeling, putting weight on the left leg, the right leg bright red and almost worthless, trailing behind me. He'd barely missed my femoral artery; if he'd hit it, I'd have bled out. I flexed my arms, reopening the wound on my left arm, grunting with the ripping of skin, explosions of light within my eyes. Clay Dove continued howling, his face and chest covered in our blood; he had tasted me and wanted more. He wanted the blood feast.

I turned myself slightly to the left as he came running at me again. I grabbed him, used the momentum to pivot on the left knee, throw him to the ground. I fell on top of him, my weight helping to pin him down. I bit hard into the back of his neck, not drawing blood but gripping enough to shock him into stopping his struggling. I pinned his arms behind himself, lay down atop them and used my paw to turn his good ear toward me. "Focus on me," I said.

He growled viciously, his eyes still glowing wild.

"I want you aware. You are going to hear me."

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed. "HE'KOTOO'ÊSTSE!"

"Tshwawik."

He froze at the sound that I whispered close into his ear. No longer his body, his brain, or his mind, only his spirit could hear me now.

"You know the truth."

The tension in his body, the fire in his blood, some feral part of him resisted, but the spirit knew. "...héehe'e."

"I came to honor you... my father."

I felt his body relax completely under me. He rolled slightly onto his left side, his clear, golden eyes looking up at me, a final request there. "Hena'háahehe."

I nodded and kissed him softly on his bloodied muzzle. "Nátsêhéstahe."

He last, soft breath. "Nátsêhéstahe."

Without hesitation, I tore out his throat in a single purposeful wrenching bite. I did not swallow the meat of him, but as is required, I drank of his blood. None of this gave any joy or satisfaction.

I stood carefully, favoring the throbbing right leg and looked upon the clan. "The shaman is dead. Will one of you take his Name?"

Hesitantly, a young dark-furred bitch took a few steps from her place in the circle, looked back as if for approval and, receiving no sign whatsoever, came forward to me.

"Tell me who you are," I said softly.

"Sarah. Sarah Tottenam, in the world."

"And in the Light?"

"I am Sarah Blue Rose."

"Sarah Blue Rose, will you take this shaman's Name, to keep sacred to your heart, as long as you shall live?"

Trembling slightly, her eyes too large, she whispered, "Yes."

I leaned close to her and whispered the soul's Name into her ear. In ritual, she knelt near the dead shaman and drank of his blood. She remained as stoic as she could, although I can see that she had little stomach for it. She turned back to me. "Whisper to me his Name," I said.

I bent down to hear her, the blooded lips almost touching my ear. She said it well. She would keep it well. I kissed her muzzle gently, and she went back to her place in the circle.

"Who shall lead?" I called to them.

"It is your right," a voice called.

"I left you two years ago. I took myself away. He was afraid that I wanted to usurp him; I did not, and I do not. This is an honorable clan. I would keep peace with you, but I cannot lead."

A long silence held the circle. I looked around, unsure if I would have to take up the reins after all, when a voice I recognized spoke up.

"If the clan will have me, I will hold the space until they can choose properly."

Slowly, a gruff old wolf, a little larger than me and gray as a cold campfire, walked toward me. My muzzle twisted upward into a smirk. "Trust you to follow on, Buck."

Buck Spotted Pony smiled. "Someone had to keep an eye on you, sorcerer," he said softly. "Drawing down the moon, that's a pretty good trick. You'll have to show me how to do that one day."

"Easier to show your wife; she's got the prerequisites." I looked to the circle. "I pledge Buck Spotted Pony's honor with my life. Will you accept him?"

From one side of the circle, a small howl came up. I looked to find Sarah Blue Rose calling out her small vote. A friend near her agreed, and then someone from across the circle, and then from the four directions, until the circle resounded with the unified howl of the clan for their new leader. Buck turned to me and bared his throat. I lowered my muzzle and nipped him carefully, enough to draw a single drop of blood. I took his bowed head in my paws and kissed his forehead, whispering, "Peace with you, brother."

"Peace to us all."

He looked at me. "Healing is one thing, feeling better is something else. You need some help?"

"I think I'm okay." Already, I felt that I could bear some weight on the right leg. "I'll go back to my circle in the clearing. I've a blanket to keep me warm till dawn."

"You sure?"

"Well, for one thing, my clothes are still there."

"Good point. I'll take Saucy and Frieda for a walk in the morning; you can ride Saucy back to the house."

He clapped me on the shoulder - the uninjured one - and moved off toward the periphery. The white boundaries had begun to get closer to me; I watched as the rest of the clan slowly faded away, some walking into the mist, some standing to watch me, as if to give tribute, before the whiteness gently obscured them from my view.

I lowered myself back down to the ground with a grunt and sat, trusting the soft, glowing white mist to bring me back as it had brought me here. The sensation of exhaustion settled into my muscles and bones; the blood drying on my fur was of no concern to me now, I could find a place to wash myself off...

"Granted."

I looked up sharply. The whiteness had vanished completely. I was seated on the grass, but it was the grass of the clearing where I had begun. I had felt no motion, no movement. I sat inside the corn meal circle that still held strong in the slant of moonlight coming through the trees. Time had passed in this world. Grandmother Moon was back in the sky, no longer drawn to this place.

"Jason?"

My heart slammed in my chest. I could barely speak. "Neil?"

The slender young wolf knelt near me, his brick red fur and cream colored markings as perfect as I remembered them, his face so very sweet despite the eyes that stared at me in horror. "Oh, Jason, what has happened to you? Are you...?"

I pulled him into my arms, ignoring anything that might have hurt. He gripped me tightly, kissing me, whining and snuffling through tears of confusion and gratitude, my own tears pouring down my muzzle. It took many minutes of this greeting before we finally could talk, and I told him what happened at the circle.

"This had been coming for several years." I held Neil close to my chest as he held me about my middle. "The things that he talked about, the stories that just didn't add up, the facts that were no facts at all, the accusations, the changes in mood. No one really knows how it happens; it just seems like one more deadly gift the whites have given to us."

"I don't understand how you could have used his Name."

I sighed deeply. "It's a tradition for a wolf shaman to pass his Name to his successor. I wasn't to be his successor, though; he knew that once, and when he first started fearing that he could not remember clearly, he gave me his Name for safekeeping. We both hoped that it wouldn't get worse, or that we were wrong. And then came the time when I could no longer deny what was happening, and I could no longer get through to him. I left the clan then, still hoping he would get help, or simply would get better. It just..."

Neil shifted in my embrace. "You didn't tell me why you left."

"I couldn't, my love. I'm sorry. I was afraid that the rest of the clan might think that I was trying to instill doubt, to wrest power from him." I bowed my head. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

"I would have gone with you."

"You belonged with the clan, at least a little longer." I felt the bitterness in me again. "White man's law. On the rez, we'd have been fine; elsewhere, you were just below their damned age laws. They wouldn't understand. And then when you did meet the white man's rules, the clan had cut you off from me."

"I thought you had abandoned me," he said softy, "yet I knew that couldn't be true. You wouldn't have done that."

I held him closely, this handsome young wolf who had been my mate since the year that our laws had said that he was old enough to choose me if he wished. He honored me with that choice, and we lived well and happily together within our clan.

"Jason?"

"Yes, beloved."

"I want you to know that I don't blame you." We gripped each other tighter as he continued. "I didn't know it was coming. I don't know what they told you. I tell you that I didn't suffer, not from any physical pain. My thoughts were only of how much I would miss you."

My muzzle close to his ear, I whispered, "Owl came to me, and Crow. She told me what had happened. It was how I knew that the time had come. A messenger from the clan was sent to me, told me what I already knew, gave me the final challenge. Why did he have to...?"

Neil kissed my muzzle a dozen times, kissing away tears. "Don't cry, love. I'm with you here, and I can be with you always now in your heart. You freed me. I will never be far from you again. And when Grandmother's heart is full, when you sing to her, I will sing with you. I swore my love to you then, and I swear it now." He put his paws to my head an looked me in the eyes. "I know my Name now."

My brows furrowed. "Only shamans..."

He leaned forward, his lips touching the tufts of fur in my ear, and his lips moved, and the tiniest puff of air pushed a few syllables into my ear, and I felt my spirit leap out of my body and merge with him, combining, whole, and never-ending. We held each other in the darkening clearing. I pulled the blanket around us and felt the joy of his touch one last time.

In the dawn, I would leave this place. I, a male, will have drawn down the moon. I will have defeated the undefeatable. I will have had my heart mended. And then I will have breakfast.