The wind blew harshly against Kevin, sending his hair flailing in its currents. The wind carried his scent along with it, carrying it away from peering noses. As Kevin crept forward, hand on the hilt of the knife in his belt, he thought about what Eva taught him about Oregon's history. It was called ouragan, or "windstorm", from the Native tales of the powerful Chinook windws of the lower Columbia River, back when they thought the River of the West rose in western Minnesota and flowed west through the Great Plains.

This wind was no Chinook wind, it was an artificial wind constructed and blown thanks to the spirits. Kevin's kind were always convincing, able to walk the Shadow as much as they could the everyday world, seeing the connections between the two and how one can feed off the other. He could do this because he was Uratha, a werewolf. More than his connection between wolf and man, were the connection between spirit and material, for he was part spirit. The wind spirit was a powerful one, buffeting a tiny wolf about in the Shadow. But Kevin was persistant and cunning, being an Irraka, born under the New Moon, when Luna hid her face – and so did he, in different ways.

The wind even concealed the sound of metal against leather, the knife held up. It was something personally crafted by Kevin, the blade inserted into a small length of wood shaped into a handle, duct taped to help keep it together, and imbued with a coyote spirit. Even now, the wind carried the sounds of the coyote's laughter...

The wind had hidden him from his prey. Kevin studied the figure as he approached; he seemed like a normal hunter from behind, dressed in a thick all-weather jacket, camo pants, and a cap that covered his head completely. Kevin could smell that the book did not match its cover. While the figure was hunched over the back of his pick-up truck, as if ready to pick something up, he had been in that position for the past ten or so minutes. As the distance closed, that smell turned into a reek, like moist dirt and decaying bark magnified a hundred times.

Kevin's form shifted, his body growing out, making him a foot taller, hair growing where it wasn't before, muscles appearing even beneath his leather jacket. In spite of the increase in his size, his clothes did not tear, protected as they were by the same spiritual energy that attuned them to his spirit. His muscles also grew under his loose leather jacket.
The strength of his dalu form gave energy to his strike as his blade thrust up. That reek become stronger, and he felt dirt and bugs spill out onto his hand before he even looked down. The thing seemed to groan, but it was more a sound of dry wood groaning, something no human could make. The figure turned faster than any tree-spirit had a right to, his elbow slamming into Kevin's side and pushing even his larger frame back. Kevin only caught a glimpse of the shotgun, but that was all he needed. Throwing himself to the ground, leaving the knife stuck in the creature's back, he winced as gunshot sounded through the forest, a few birds taking to the skies with the racket.

Even as Kevin rolled away, he sensed that his prey was already effected by the power of the knife. What were the whispers of coyote's laughter now ran through the creature, becoming deeper than any sound, even if only the creature could hear it. Kevin looked up at the thing's face – what could be called a face, that is. It was more a hollowed wooden mask that had holes for eyes and the bare structure of a mouth. Its looked like branches, its hands like twigs.

There was a name for this creature. It was Duguthim, the Spirit-Claimed. What once had been a human and a spirit representing trees, were now one fused whole. This was a death for both, and the creation of a single abomination; an abomination it was the role of the Uratha to destroy. The Gauntlet between Shadow and the material world was not easy to breach, and a breach like this could only be destroyed before he spread to other humans, making them like him.

The thing needed to focus to use a tool, even such as a gun, on a good day; now with coyote's laughter, he was more than distracted enough to keep from sliding the pump back and loading a new shell. Kevin rolled to his feet, knowing he couldn't get at that knife. He only had so much time before the Spirit-Claimed would be able to focus enough to use that gun. He had to give himself over to the darker side of the werewolf, the war form, the Gauru. This resembled the product of many horror films, a furred creature of great size, claws, and teeth. If he had attacked with this form to begin with, he would probably have had quite a few oversized splinters used as weapons against him, or have taken that shotgun to the face. Now the thing made for distracted prey – which was the best prey. As his form changed, so did his ability to think and calculate; now he could only think of feeding.

Wood didn't bother him. Neither did that strange spirit taste. Moist dirt and rotten bark made a sweet taste when he was like this, and were easier to bite through than any canine's bone. Soon the Spirit-Claimed moved no more, and the world was normal once more. At least right here, right now. Kevin looked up at the night sky; he did not howl, for that was not what the Irraka did. He would clean up, and then he would slink back into the wind. An Uratha's job was never done... until they stopped moving.