Everything

When humans or wolves learn a new skill, they remember having earned it. It feels natural for a human to sail a boat when he recalls weeks of frustrating sailing lessons and little

moments of incremental understanding. He looks back on the times when he screwed up tying that knot, and knows

now how to tie it correctly. It feels natural for a young wolf to

hunt and kill, after watching his packmates do it for months and playing with other wolves to sharpen his reflexes. He recognizes that when the bison got away, it was because his

sister went for a different bison on her own, and learns that

teamwork leads to food. Cause and effect lead to greater skill.

From this perspective, it's anything but natural to look into the Umbra an ignorant cub, suddenly able to under­

stand everything spirits say to each other. The Theurge

doesn't know any catchy mnemonics for remembering

the various verb tenses of the spirit language, and

he doesn't need them. He just opens his mouth

and spirit words fall out in the right order for the

Wyldling guarding the gate to understand.

Learning a new Gift opens doors that didn't even exist yesterday. Humans who become aware of something they've never heard of before think they understand this notion, but in reality, they've

been soaking up the cultures and information of their world for their entire lives, preparing themselves for new experiences with relatively

similar ones. The closest most humans come

to the sensation of gaining a new Gift is in

learning that there really are monsters lurking in the darkness: A fundamental, lurching shift of worldview they can never unlearn once it's done. Nothing is ever the same again. Not the world, and not the way one sees oneself in it. This is how a werewolf feels each and every time she learns a Gift.

Some Gifts are more of a shift than others, of course. Leaping higher and farther than before is certainly a new experience, but it's built on something the werewolf already knew how to do: leap. Even shifting into animals who aren't wolves, while novel and rife with opportunities to explore separate ways of life, is still just shapeshifting, and that's second nature for the Garou. On the other hand, mind-to-mind speech or walking in someone else's dreams is so far removed from most werewolves' previous experience that it can be jarring or even overwhelming at first to suddenly have the ability and know how to use it. Combat Gifts, especially more powerful or brutal ones, can frighten a werewolf with her own deadly force.

When werewolves describe these changes to each other, their stories can sound very different even if they learned the same Gift. Like the actual experience of receiving it, the feeling of possessing it varies wildly from one Garou to another. One says that she feels the same as she always did, while another says that he feels impossibly refreshed, as though he's woken from a deep, lifelong dream. One exults in her swell of newfound self-confidence, while an­ other wrestles with uncertainty, unable to reconcile who he was yesterday with who he is today.

More often than not, having a new Gift is an extraordi­ nary rush. Who wouldn't celebrate suddenly knowing how to grow wings and fly, or cow her enemies into fleeing her indomitable prowess? Many Garou, especially young ones, take to flaunting new Gifts at every opportunity. Some even turn learning Gifts into a contest, one-upping rivals by seeking out Gifts that trump theirs. This is particularly common among Shadow Lords and Get of Fenris. Galliards are well-known for organizing opportunities for septmates to get together and show off their newfound talents, not only to sound their own horns but also to keep a running record of any new Gifts brought to the sept by those who have traveled far or found rare spirits to teach them. Those who have impressive enough Gifts to boast can earn Renown this way. (And those who think they do can earn the heckling of Ragabash eager for their own brand of Renown.)

On the other hand, more than one Philodox has taken on the responsibility of helping others deal with the less-rosy aftermath of obtaining new Gifts, especially when doing so was a necessity born of need, rather than an adventure. The Silver Fang cliath who grew up in human cities learns to sense the presence of Wyrm taint at his pack's insistence, and despairs to see with his own eyes just how much of the human world chokes with corruption. A Red Talon Theurge is forced to learn to traverse the Pattern Web so she can lead her pack home, and later can't shake furious disgust with herself, feeling as though she's defiled herself in Gaia's eyes by touching her paws to those noxious strands. Since one cannot unlearn a Gift, Garou who find themselves suffering crises of conscience, identity, or faith after learning one must find some way to adjust.