You were patient as you shook down this monster's mortal servants for information, but the time for planning and subtlety is long past. Still, even now, you hesitate to adopt the dreadful crinos form. For the past hour, you've stalked this Bane in the form of a huge and monstrous wolf, but now you Change. Mindless fury threatens to overwhelm you as your flesh rips and tears, reshaping itself into the dreadful war-form of the Garou: a nine-foot-tall walking wolf, jaws huge and slavering, claws longer than a prehistoric cave bear's, a godlike incarnation of Rage.
You're still yourself, but how long can you survive the hurricane of murder-lust within? You stay low and creep toward the trees, fighting this form's near-overwhelming desire to rend and kill without thought.
The Bane knows you're here. The rider hesitates between the steel lance, once again held in his hand, and the assault rifle slung across his chest. The gusting snow hides your approach. The Bane sticks the lance into the snow, pops off the rifle's safety, raises the weapon in a smooth motion, convinced you're maybe twenty or thirty yards out.
He's wrong. You leap.
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