She hungers for the power just barely within her grasp. First had been the hawk, then the fox, then the squirrel, now the wolf. She practices every day, spending more time as beast than horse, exploring the vast reaches of Taiga and using her new lupine features to hunt down the many small creatures that call the forest home.

Circy’s words have lit a fire within her - a desperate need to know more, to be more. She only hunts when she’s hungry, but when she takes a kill she makes sure to dissect it first, teaching herself the placement of bone, muscle, fat and sinew. And, when she dares, she tries the form on her own. 

Above it all a name lingers in her mind, a glowing brand - a goal. Wyrm. Shifter above all shifters. 

She will seek him out, but not yet. She is too new at this, too uneducated. From what little Circy has said, Terra knows that Wyrm is powerful, incredibly powerful. It would be foolish for her to approach him as she is now. Like a lamb leading itself to the slaughter.

And so she practices. Practices and hunts, and practices some more. She has perfected the wolf now, well, at least the grey wolf, but she has many more half shapes beginning to fill her arsenal. 

She will practice and she will learn. And when she is ready, when she is worthy, she will seek out Wyrm.

But for today she is a wolverine, small and powerful, running after the scent of a fat little marmot. The form is not perfect, not by a long shot. While she’s seen a few rare wolverines in Taiga’s vast woods, she has yet to catch one. So while she knows the outer shape - the short, blunt head, the powerful limbs, the thick claws, and the dense brown coat, the muscles and bones within are wrong. But it is good enough for the hunt, so on she runs, open jaws beginning to slaver at the meal ahead of her. Fresh marmont will taste so good.