Time passes.

The wolf does not move.

The trees do not cease their rustling.

From the appearance of things, nothing is changing. Nothing save --

Somewhere in the sheaf of worlds that spreads from the heart of Fionavar, something shifts.

Galadan lifts his head, one ear cocked in the useless remnants of body-memory.

Then, gently moving away from River's side, he shifts, body blurring into shadow and re-emerging as a man, whole and entire.

"Now that," he says, very quietly, winter-grey gaze fixed on a nameless middle distance, "is interesting, indeed."

And incredibly unexpected.

Hmm.