2

You haven't really lived until you've pushed through the swinging doors of a roadhouse saloon and heard the music stop as everyone looks up at your shadowed figure. That Carly Rae Jepsen cover band will never forget what happened that night, as you strode into the back room and forced a dealer you knew—a guy you knew from junior high with blond dreadlocks and a fondness for mysticism—to give up the location of the "horseman" or give up two fingers. He chose the former. Lucky him.

You made a lot of enemies that night, but this is a war—and your side is losing. And your gamble paid off: as the ice wind dies down and the snowflakes drift to the cold ground, you see your prey clearly for the first time.

It's a man in white arctic camouflage, face hidden by goggles and a fur-lined balaclava. Despite his modern assault rifle and the ruggedized tablet computer on his hip, he's mounted on a tall black horse. He's thrust what appears to be a steel lance into the snow. It whips back and forth in the cold wind. Yet, somehow, flies swarm around him in thick black clouds, droning so loudly you can hear them.

You know you should focus on the moment, but your thoughts turn to everything you have learned since your First Change. About the enemy. About Gaia, the living earth. You were not always what you are now…

And growing up, I had no idea. I was an SCA nerd! I swung a plastic sword and read books on "meditating the Celtic way." The First Change was a horrible surprise.

And I thought I was a demon or worse. When my parents threw me out, I ended up on the streets, but there I learned how to buy and sell, and stay one step ahead of the police.

But I knew about the war. As a kid, I focused on becoming a leader, hoping I could be something more than a pawn.

But I secretly knew I would Change one day, and I learned how to survive in the wilds. Those ordeals sheared away weakness and sentiment, preparing me for the war.

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