While Tarn jogged on the pine needle carpet of the old-growth forest, Barath loped easily beside him. Where the forest canopy thinned and the sun's rays reached the ground, Tarn slowed to a walk, forced to push through or to go around choked tangles of young trees. Prickly bushes, dark berry vines, coniferous spruce carpeted the ground like green wigs. Many-fingered long ferns burst skyward wherever other lesser weeds could not compete. Before they had travelled more than a league, had run for more than thirty minutes, Barath stopped dead in his tracks, saying, "Night comes."
Barath's body took on an ethereal glow. An Aurora borealis of colours encased him; they danced and cavorted around him like drunken fireflies. His dark hair and buckskin clothes shimmered, surrounded by an aura of vacillating lights that undulated in and out of focus. In less time needed to draw a deep breath, Barath changed shape, warping into a large black wolf. The hackles on the nape of Tarn's neck bristled. His hair stood on end. Suppressing his unwarranted fear, fresh anger at those who would inflict such a curse rekindled the fire that smouldered within his breast. It mattered naught that he and Barath were but two against a cult of unknown size and strength. It mattered only that two would oppose many and a glorious death worthy of a song awaited him.
In the pre-dawn of the coming day, the pair stopped to consume a meal and to sleep. The sun sat directly overhead when Tarn woke, muscles tight. He yawned, examining his surroundings unhurriedly, taking pleasure in stretching. Barath rested under a tree, laying in the shade, tongue lolling out of his mouth, watching him. A partially eaten boar lay beside Barath. Barath barked once and pointed at the fresh carcass with his nose. Tarn nodded his head and built a small, smokeless fire, and cut off the haunch. When the coals grew hot, he roasted it rare. Barath shook his head when Tarn held up a lightly roasted meat strip. After Tarn appeased his appetite, he put out the fire and shouldered his pack. Barath loped silently beside him until evening, when, in the twilight hour between day and night, he reverted into his natural state.
Once the transformation completed itself, Tarn asked, "Do ye understand language when ye be in wolf form?"
"Aye. But the mouth and throat of the wolf is not suited for speech. I can't make my utterances understood."
"Kordava lays a day and a half hither. As a wolf ye should be able to hear conversations not privy to me," Tarn mused, rubbing his chin. "I'm thinking thy ears and shape will serve our needs."
"'Tis true, I possess all the attributes of the wolf. My sense of smell and hearing are far superior to my natural form, and I see almost as well at night as in the day. In shadows I might be mistaken for a large dog, and able to eavesdrop even whispered words."
"Though Mahnaz never intended to, they created a formidable foe. We shall develop a language of our own," proposed Tarn, considering how to utilize Barath's curse to their advantage. "Since ye understand me, we must fathom a way for me to interpret thy growls, barks, yips, howls, and body signals. Have ye suggestions?"
For the remainder of the time left to Barath in his natural form, they discussed the matter. The next night when Barath changed, they worked out additional sets of signals, practising their signal speech until they performed it flawlessly. For Tarn's part, he had but to whisper to be heard by Barath from astonishing distances. They could not, of course, hold a conversation, but they worked out the essentials.
In wolf form, Barath weighed the same as in his natural state. He weighed a good four stone heavier than a normal wolf. They decided to explain Barath's size and appearance as a crossbred dog of northern descent. Few people could gainsay a canine from the mountains of Asgard, even one that resembled a wolf in every detail except his exceptional size.
Two days later Kordava came into view from a high vantage point.