As the man pushes your platform outside into the sun, the dancers representing the coyote spirit circle around you, their music far more ritual and
much less festive now. The ground of the "stage", which you've been pushed onto the left of, has been shewn with a coolly smoking mixture of herbs
and ashes. There are two other circles of dancers besides those around you: one center stage around the gold statue of an eagle and one to stage
right around the polished ebony sculpture of a bear. Both of which, you realize, are probably in your position: guests tricked into wearing what was
hardly a costume.
The dancers begin scattering the smoldering herbs and ash onto your platforms and there's a tingling sensation in your feet (well, your hind paws)
as if they were waking up from merely being asleep. It's now that your realize you should have been listening for some explanation in their chants,
which do have some English for the benefit of the audience. One of the older dancers - in fact, the one that helped to trick you into this position
- is saying "and the spirit that proves weak shall remain bound to the stone until the life-giving fires can burn again."
As the tingling moves up through your body the circle of dancers gathers behind you and blow on the embers. You fill with warmth and suddenly you
can move again, and your fir stirs in the gentlest movement of air, and you finish the howl you started back in the "changing room." The bear also
finishes a sad roar and the eagle releases the end of an angry "Caaaa!" as it takes to the sky immediately. You turn and race to your left on all
fours, intent on finding that man and forcing him to change you back. The moment you leap off the stage you turn instantly hard and cold again and
clang to the ground as a bronze sculpture.
The canine-spirit dancers rush to your aid, lifting you from underneath and carrying you back onto the stage. As the smoke from the embers reach
you, the gift of movement returns to your brazen body and your helpers back away to avoid your struggling limbs. The sun still reflects off of your
every hair as off of polished bronze, but you are again free to move as long as you're on the stage. There's another loud clank and you turn toward
the sound. The eagle-spirit dancers lift their golden statue back onto the stage where it can again beat its wings. Apparently neither of you had
been listening.
But the bear had.
The massive, glistening black form is suddenly charging at you, and before you quite have time to react the strong right paw has knocked you to
front and center stage. "Stage"... That's the wrong word, apparently. This is an arena. Loser stays a statue to fight again another day. You didn't
hear the prize for winning, but you sure hope it's freedom.