Teleporting. Tarrin snorted in mild amusement when he realized that his idea wouldn't work. A Sorcerer could only Teleport to a place he knew intimately. Not a place he had seen, not even a place he had visited, but a place where he had spent time and had come to know the area. He knew that he could Teleport easily to Aldreth, his home, and to the Tower. He could Teleport to Dala Yar Arak, or Shoran's Fork, places where he had spent much time and had come to know specific places very well. He could Teleport back to the deck of the Star of Jerod or the Dancer, two ships where he had spent much time, even if the ships weren't where he last remembered them to be. He thought he could Teleport back to Amyr Dimeon, for though he hadn't spent very long there, he had certainly made sure to know the place. And he knew he could Teleport to Keritanima's palace in Wikuna, or Iselde's house back on Sha'Kari. It wasn't the power to jump all over the world, but he could certainly go from one side to the other in a big hurry if he needed to do so.

Strange to wake up with such an expanded memory. It was almost confusing, but the memories didn't seem jumbled or hard to comprehend. They were just there, just like all his other memories, and they only stood out when he skimmed through them looking for something specific. Both the ones that were his and the ones that were not, the ones that were normal and the ones that had been resurrected by the magical potion, which had faded from his memory. Or at least he'd thought that they had. He knew, even though he wasn't sure how, that the effect was over. He wouldn't remember absolutely everything for the rest of his life, because the potion's power wouldn't be there forever. It was already almost gone, and though its magic wouldn't give him a perfect eidectic memory, he wasn't sure if the memories he regained from its magical power would remain as they were, or slowly fade over time. Only time would answer that question, he was sure of it.

But this was not the time to be pondering such trivial matters. He didn't have much time, and he had alot to do. He walked over to the mirror, feeling his tail act to counter-balance him, and he felt oddly whole once more, rather relieved to be free of the debilitating constraints of the human form, to be himself once more. He had enjoyed the time as a human, but now that his mind was once again whole, it would never have been content to remain in that confining body. He leaned down and looked into it and found the reflection staring back at him exactly as he remembered it to be, the maturity that had been put into his features by Shiika's aging kiss, the height, the fetlocks. He wondered why he had regained his height, when even the Goddess said he wouldn't have it if he was turned again. She said it was a measure of age, and that age was stripped when the Were magic was torn from him. But he was his tall self once more, the age taken from him replaced when the Were nature was imparted to him again. He touched his cheek, then his jaw, then reached up and delicately pinched the tip of his cat ear, feeling it both in his fingers and in the ear, which flicked irritably from the pressure. Yes, everything seemed the way it was supposed to be.

He was whole.

Conjuring a new vest-he was rather fond of vests now-he put it on over the shirt, and then realized what he'd just done. Obviously, his Druidic powers hadn't been damaged by the trauma of losing and then regaining his Were nature. Then again, he didn't remember thinking about Conjuring it either. It had just happened. He remembered Jenna's gifts, and went over to the night table and picked up the Cat's Claws. They were too small for his wrists now, but that was no problem. Picking through the weaving of their magic, he worked out how to enlarge the bracers without disrupting the impressively complicated spells that Jenna had woven into them. He tended to that little task, and after taking on human hands to let him get them on without making the bracers grotesquely large, he slid them into place.

That was an idea. It had been a month or more since he'd talked to the Goddess, and he felt that she may tell him some of the things he wanted to know. Besides, a month in human form meant a month without talking to him-though why she stayed away was beyond him-meant that there were things going on out there that she may need him to know.

"Mother," he called in a grim tone.

And then she was there. It was not the voice, it was not an image or projection of her, it was her. His new memory told him that this was her material form, and using it brought along very real danger. It was her icon, the very one that usually stood out in the hedge maze, animated and breathed into life. It was still stone, but it was living stone, and a stone made to feel and act as flesh. Infused with the power of the Goddess, it acted as her direct agent in the material world while the rest of her power remained out wherever it was gods were. Even his newfound knowledge didn't contain that information. She looked exactly as he remembered from the two times he'd seen this before, the tall, stately, breathtakingly beautiful woman with glowing white eyes and hair striped in the seven colors of the rainbow, the seven colors that represented the Spheres of Sorcery. She wore that same dress that looked to be made out of captured starlight, shimmering with her every movement, and now he understood why the Sha'Kar wore those shimmering fabric gowns. Not to be ostentatious, but to honor the Godess by wearing clothes similar to those she preferred to give to her icon. Many of the things the Sha'Kar did were honors to the Goddess, even the smallest trivial customs. He had never realized how devout they were.

"Mother," he said with calm devotion, reaching out his paws to her. She stepped up and took them, looking fondly up into his eyes, then she took one of his paws between her hands and stroked the black fur gently.

"My sweet kitten," she said in her choral voice, as if so much power lay within it that no one voice could contain it. He had to fight the urge to kneel before her; he knew she hated that.

"Who did it?"

"I'm not going to tell you," she said bluntly. "If you want to find out, then you're on your own."

That was a disappointment, but he bit back a waspish retort. She wanted him to treat her like a friend but he still knew there was a line that he would not cross.

"Why did I get back my height?"

"Because the person used your own blood," she answered. "That changed things considerably. When you changed back, you changed into what you wanted to be, not what the transformation would force upon you. Probably for the first time ever, a Were-kin had total control over his own transformation. Had it been another female's blood, even Jesmind's blood, your turning would have been as if it happened the first time. Your physical abilities may have been different, your Druidic aptitude would certainly have been different, and you may even have had different color fur. That's not set, you know. It depends on the one that turns you."

"I didn't know that."

"Since it only happens once, it's not the kind of thing even the Were-cats ever managed to find out," she said with an impish smile.

Tarrin realized what she'd said. "They used my blood?" he asked in surprise. "How could they get that?"

"From the stores of it the Tower still holds," she answered simply.

"Then it could have been anyone!" he said with a groan.

"That's right. It could have been anyone," she said calmly. "So you don't have to be nasty to the females. I'm not saying one of them didn't do it, but you shouldn't blame them all before finding out for yourself."

"I guess, but Jesmind is really going to hear it from me," he warned. "I'm still mad about how she treated me when I was human. It's not all just going to be alright now that I'm Were again."