easier. The change included his clothes as a part of his wish, so he would not be naked when he changed back into a man. His skin prickled as fur covered it in a thick, warm pelt, and he experienced vague shrinking and stretching sensations as his shape shifted. The procedure took only a moment. He adjusted to his new form's strange balance, and his paws sank into the snow, its icy crispness making his pads tingle.
A million scents floated on the still air, tickled his nose with their mysterious temptation and filled his mind with knowledge. Crayash warmed him again as he set off across the snow. Settling into a steady lope, he followed the scent paths that led to the pack. The sinuous grace of his wolf form delighted him, as it always did, with the effortless joy of the four-footed. The scent tracks of snow hares, weasels, mice and ground squirrels flashed past as he loped across patches of snow and ice. The musty scent of tree bark mingled with the faint redolence of soil, wherein he sensed the slow movements of moles, worms and a sleeping vixen curled around her warm cubs.
A fat snow hare leapt from his path and bounded away across the frost-hardened snow, then paused, panting as its fear leaked away. Chanter padded up to it and touched its timid mind with gentle greetings as the hare sniffed noses with him. Like all his brothers, the hare knew he was Mujar and did not fear him, even when he took the form of its greatest enemy. Leaving his small brother, he continued at a fast lope, his tail a rudder as he twisted and turned amongst the trees, claws gripping frozen ground and snow alike.
The wolves ran to meet him, tongues lolling in happy greeting. They fawned, tails down, ears laid back in adoration. The leader crawled on his belly, his mate beside him, to lick Chanter's frosted muzzle. The Mujar gambolled amongst them, put them at their ease and invited them to play. They followed him in a frisky dance of wolf kinship and joy. Lesser animals rolled on their backs in ritual surrender, inviting him to bite their throats. Wolf lore required him to snarl and bristle, which sent the youngsters into frenzies of delight at his attention.
The greetings over, he sprang away through the forest, the pack leader at his shoulder. Over moonlit snow they ran, as free as the wind, as wild as the mountains they called home. They raced down icy valleys in showers of powder snow and along rocky ridges to taste the frigid wind that fingered their thick fur. Under a cold black sky a- glimmer with a million stars, they loped through the pale moonlight that bathed a frozen land. The song of earth, wind and sky mingled with the soft panting of steaming breath to form a rhapsody of joyful freedom. Ice crystals tinkled and shushed beneath running feet, frost rimed whiskers and fur. The pack breasted a ridge and looked down upon a sweeping valley where a herd of deer huddled in a copse.
Chanter sat down, his breath steaming. The lead wolf approached, fawned and licked Chanter's muzzle in a loving farewell before he led the pack down the steep slope towards the sleeping deer. The Mujar turned and padded away. The moonlight's magic held him in its spell. He frolicked in a deep snowdrift and gambolled down a slide of soft powder, leaping and shaking the snow from his coat. Icicles sparkled and virgin snow glittered like a bed of diamonds. A shy fox ran to greet him and played with him for a while, then slipped away to hunt mice and hares. A lone stag huffed and shook his antlers at the black wolf before realising what he was, then stepped closer to snuffle him, a world of gentle innocence in his liquid eyes. Chanter padded on, heading westwards, deeper into the mountains.
Cresting a low hill, he sensed a strange emanation of power in the distance that called to him like a siren's song. The emanation was unvarying and powerful, tugging at his senses. He trotted towards it, opened himself to its strange tingle and sniffed the wind for clues. His footprints meandered through pristine snow, and he paused often, one paw raised, to gauge the possible danger ahead. Moving around a hill, he stopped to gaze in delight at the power's source.
A Lake hung before him, the invisible veil of its portal cutting through a rocky slope. It stretched away in both directions, fading into the distance until it vanished, leaving the reality of this world. As luck would have it, he had found its centre quite by chance, a rare happening. Lakes were hard to find, since they moved slowly around the world. No one knew where they were exactly, although the creatures that used them knew their approximate location. Chanter had never encountered one before, and the prospect of a new experience excited him. Joyfully he bounded down the hill, panting steam as he loped towards the Lake's beckoning presence.
The rippling veil of its juncture blazed with rainbow colours, made up of the four elements whose powers were only visible to the creatures of this world. The swirling curtain of shimmering hues was light split by water, glittering with motes of Dolana that hung in the air. Chanter changed his form in a moment of icy hush, becoming a man again in order to enter the Lake. As he neared it, the god word that was the key to unlock the portal sprang into his mind, and he spoke it. Without the word he would have merely passed through the shining curtain and remained in this world. At his command, the bright veil parted, and he stepped into a warm, balmy day on another world.
The transition from bleak midnight snowy landscape to tropical midday lushness stunned Chanter. As he paused to soak up the Lake's ambience, he noted its strong, pure Powers. The soil glowed with Dolana that was almost too powerful, chilling his feet. The plants shimmered with Shissar, testament to this world's purity. He sensed an imbalance, however, which discomfited him a little after his world's perfectly balanced Powers.
Dolana and Shissar dominated, and the sun's Crayash made his skin tingle pleasantly, but Ashmar was weak. The thin, lifeless air was calm almost to the point of being stagnant, and he missed the cold wind he had left behind. For the creatures of Shamarese it posed no problem, but he wondered if a Lowman would be comfortable in this world. Even as he pondered that, he wondered why he did. Lowmen were no concern of his, and were not allowed in the Lakes. Dismissing his unease, he gazed around at the strange landscape.
From its bright, warm sun and profusion of life, he guessed it was one of the Lakes of regeneration, like the Lake of Birth or Renewal. A vista of burgeoning growth stretched away in all directions, plants and trees so alien they defied description. Bulbous growths supported disk-shaped leaves of brilliant magenta, turquoise and indigo. Tall spindly trees draped the air with long streamers of vermilion, maroon and saffron. A soft haze of pollen filled the sky; countless airborne seeds drifting like gilded dust motes in the sun. A velvet bed of bright aquamarine grass clothed the soil in a rich fur of sweet-scented succulence.
Plants like massive teardrops towered over neighbouring trees, their smooth skins mottled with patches of vivid azure bordered by lines of the purest ochre. A distant forest crept across the land, its dark crimson trees swimming through the soil as if it was a brown sea. Pale quasi-mushrooms gave respite to this riot of rich colour, their simple grey hoods, standing shoulder height, filled with canary-yellow frills. A fierce white sun glowed rich pink behind streaks of baby-blue cloud. Chanter looked away with watering eyes and shook his head, smiling. This was one of the weirder Lakes, it seemed. Although he had not been in one before, he could not imagine anything stranger.
Glancing around, he spotted a native of his world. The rainbow beast stood contentedly, its stilt-like legs pushed deep into the moist earth, drawing on its goodness. The beast turned its long, tubular head and regarded Chanter with glowing facetted eyes. Its delicate wings were spread to catch the young sun's bright rays, and its multi-hued skin shimmered like a butterfly's wing. It hooted a soft greeting through its snout, which lacked any form of teeth, but was used solely to suck up water and mud.
This was one of the lowest forms of beast on Chanter's world, which gleaned its nutrition from soil, water and sun, just like a true plant. It ranked low in intelligence, yet it regarded him with calm curiosity. Along its back, a dense mat of fronds overlapped like feathers. As the Mujar approached, it raised them, inviting him to pluck one and eat. Chanter was not really hungry, but did not wish to be impolite, and picked one. The creature's delicious scent made his mouth water, and it cooed with satisfaction as he munched the delectable frond.
Chanter noticed that the creature was in bud. A youngster hung beneath its belly, still connected to its parent, but soon to drop. The baby curled within a transparent bag of fluid, its long, delicate legs bent around its body, still soft and rubbery. When it was time, the bag would split, dumping the youngster onto the ground and severing its umbilical. Then it would take several hours for it to dry and its legs to harden so it could walk. It was easy to understand why the creatures of Shamarese chose to give birth in the Lakes. He could not imagine such a fragile youngster surviving in the harsh winter he had left behind.
The Mujar wandered on, nibbling the frond as he gazed around in wonder at the strange world. He passed a group of flat, saucer-like lime-green plants covered with crimson cups, and paused to glance in one. Most contained only sticky yellow nectar, but a few had trapped some crab-like animals with delicate wings made from strips of thin horn. The tiny beasts struggled, but were doomed, and Chanter shuddered a little as he walked by.
Here, it seemed, plants ate animals. He wondered if the animals ate plants, or something else, but intuition told him that on this world plants were the dominant species. He also reminded himself that he was no longer in his own world, and its laws did not apply. Here he might find himself on the menu, and, although the thought did not make him feel particularly threatened, it was prudent to be wary.
