The Long Fang cannibals were arguing. Most of the representatives were wendigos, which made the arguing loud and hard to follow, but it seemed that they all wanted to go. The shaman, a small withered man, sat quietly as the half-dozen snarling monsters shouted at each other over his head. He looked annoyed. The argument stopped when he belted one of them in the mouth with his staff.

"Kordun, you are an idiot. Brave, but an idiot. Resken, you've a whelp, and would likely get yourself killed in some humiliating manner. Hirkusk, you haven't even ascended yet. Nartal, this is a task for warriors, not shamans. Makoma, you go. And the first one who argues with me gets skinned." His eyes told them that it was not an idle threat.

The wendigo that broke off from the group was not the largest, but was close. As he left for the gate, be shrank in on himself. Fur was yanked backwards into the skin, tusks and fangs retreated into the gums, and muscles shrank down to a level that was merely impressive rather than massive. The man remaining looked a bit brutish, and the fur garment he threw over himself did not help.

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."