The breeze blew softly . . . wherever it was that it was blowing. Eric didn't know how long he'd been walking - he only knew what great Wendigo had said to him in a dream. Needless to say, that was precious little. He had been walking for a long time. He never knew where he was, or why he was there. He only knew that he had finally been told to abandon his quest.

It had been fifty years since his quest had started. He was still regarded as a claith, most beleiving his mission to be dishonourable. He had no choice in the matter. His was just to listen to the great Wendigo, and the mother Gaia. He had not understood his mission at first. He was born a lupus, yet was told that he must learn the ways of the Weaver - and live in the city. The city of New York had been cruel, and Wyrm tainted. yet, he found good in it. He found humans who had helped him. He found magicians who where loyal friends. now, he was leaving it all. and he knew why. he had learned the truth. The Wyrm is powerful, but messy. Never does it destroy everything - and never can it destroy hope. his life quest was done, and he had created a song for its lesson. He had taught the song to his elders and they had granted him ranking - after fifty years- as a fostern. He tried not to think about it. He should be happy with any increase in rank at all.

Watcher-The-Weaver, was this mans name. He was known as Eric to those of the city. He could now see somthing in the distance. . . but what? A house of some sort - a cabin maybe. He grinned.

"So this is where you would will me, father?" he said. Seventy years had worn at his bones. He needed rest. He shaped his body into his human guise then knocked on the door. He could sense the power. this place was a caern of some sort. .. or there was something magical going on inside. the sensation comforted him as he opened the door. . .

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