Joanna’s eyes run over the wan faces that start out of the dark towards her, each more horrifically strange. She hadn’t know there could possibly be this many people in Shaman. She’d considered it an almost deserted land, with just enough people that one was never without company if it was needed, but few enough to be left well alone. And now the seas had reared their beautiful heads and gaped and grasped and choked the land. Her land. She shakes her head, trying to clear away the images of stranded animals, broken trees, mud caked rocks. Where Kafka was now, she couldn’t tell. Would she ever get her great bear familiar back? How cruel to strip them of their comfort before implementing nature’s rage upon them.

She turns another corridor and scans for faces. There’s fewer people here, and she steps delicately forward into the echoing curve of stone before noticing the breathing mass of wolf which is wrapped around something small and pink and…

She sidles towards the animal and the tiny sleeping infant, eyes wide with interest. That’s Prophet. Right there, all wrapped up in the fur of the wolf. She shudders slightly as she slides to the floor beside them. If the wolf was dangerous it would have eaten Prophet. She pats it gently on the head, wondering. Can’t be a familiar, unless times are changing. Can’t be a pet, because who domesticates wolves? Is this Blake? The thought is not surprising – Joanna herself can turn others into bears, so why not Blake turn himself into a wolf, which at times she’d thought he seemed so similar to anyway. The coat beside the pair is Blakes, but ruined. She sighs and smooths it out and fishes Prophet out from the wolf’s warm embrace.