Wind gusted through up-swept boughs, taking with them a flurry of leaves in amber, orange and crimson hues. One tree in particular looked unusual, and steadily more so as it softened and began to sprout fur over its smoothing bark. thistle was slowly regaining his consciousness, his body still feeling stiff even as it softened and escaped from the tree-form it was locked in. As soon as his paws came free from the roots he had, he stumbled and leaned against another tree, confused and disoriented; the poor wolf's atrophied but recovering mind confused as to when it was, or even what he was. Finally he started to regain his wits, Cayoosh shivering in the chill Autumn air as he staggered towards his home.

A few snowflakes began to flutter to the ground as he finally saw his dark house in the distance. Soggy, half-decomposed newspapers were piled on the front porch, the front lawn had gone to seed and dried out, and the siding was covered with a thin green layer of algae. Racing down the street, Cayoosh pushed through the gate to the back yard. With a yelp, he snags a loose nail and gashes the side of his leg painfully.

He sighs, inspecting the wound once he's inside. It's deep, but the thought of going to the hospital distresses him, he still had suspicious traces of tree fading from his body. After digging through the craft drawers for a needle and thread, he carefully begins to stitch together the torn skin. As he pulls through the last section of thread, he notices a small bit of white fluff or lint caught beneath it. Giving it a quick pinch and tug, he watches with alarm as more of the cotton-like material seems to emerge from underneath the suture.