Everything

The Well of Life cures any abnormality — and the birth wounds of the metis are no exception. A sip of the Well’s water makes gnarled limbs fit, soothes troubled thoughts, even grants a metis the appendages she was born without. Bathing in the Well itself revokes even the sterility that makes the breed anathema to its people.

However, the curse of the metis isn’t an accident. She isn’t meant to be whole. When she leaves Summer Country, the metis loses this new-found gift of integrity. New limbs fade or wither, bad thoughts return, and so too does the stigma of their birth. Only the wounds and derangements unrelated to her burden as metis remain healed. Often, the deformities will return in new ways, though they never stray too far from the original adversity. A werewolf born without sight may return to reality without hearing, a metis with one arm may return with a useless, withered limb instead. In any case, the effect is jarring. The fuzzy, misremembered memories of being hale are unlikely to make up for having to adapt to new challenges.

Of specific note, the pregnancies conceived by a temporarily fertile metis trap the mother in Summer Country for the duration. She cannot leave the Realm, either willingly or by force, until she bears the fruit of her union. The child comes to term alarmingly fast, born in just under a lunar month, and the birth itself is the easiest in nature. What’s born is a being of pure ephemera: a wolf-spirit with eerie, human eyes. That spirit is bound to Summer Country forever, making for a bittersweet birthday at best. As a small mercy granted to the parents, the name they give him is not taken from them by the fugue of memory inherent in leaving the Realm.

Cloudtop High, another island in the lagoon’s inner ocean, floats high above the mirror-calm waters. Its suspension far above the sea leaves a tangle of thick, healthy roots hanging rope-like from its underside. And from that underside hangs every possible species of bat. On the surface of the isle, countless other beasts of the sky make their home in great flocks. Insects, birds, and eons-extinct dimorphodons exist side-by-side, eager to ferry visitors between the shores of the mainland and the massive, spired castle of living vines at Cloudtop High’s peak. Unlike the shrine on the Isle of Self and its curative properties, the entire purpose of the nameless keep is the pilgrimage itself. Summer Country’s visitors seek it for the sole intention of communing with Gaia.

Perhaps oddest of all Summer Country’s locations is the Garden of Delight. This colorful, swampy nursery creates new life in a kind of spiritual parthenogenesis. That life is born spontaneously, and its mettle is immediately tested by the competition-rich environment. Creatures of all sizes and tempers are tried here, the fittest of which incarnate on the other side of the Gauntlet as a new part of Earth’s ecosystem. Those creatures whose short existence does not lead to the origin of a new, Earthly species find permanent homes in Summer Country as spirits.

Not all life in the Realm owes its existence to the Garden of Delight. The traveler who makes it here is more than likely at the end of an arduous journey, and likely to stay. As a result, spirits, shapeshifters, and human emanations share Summer Country’s endless bounty with its homegrown denizens. They do so peaceably, though the lion still eats the lamb and the wolf still hunts the hare.

When a creature perishes in Summer Country, either to feed a predator or by accident, it will wake with the next dawn, whole and hale. In this way, the Realm’s tranquility does not subvert the roles nature is driven to take. Which is not to say the relationships before the varied cast of flora and fauna play out entirely like they would in the physical world. The leopard who has eaten the fox spends a chilly night curled around the vixen’s mewling kits. The spider releases the fly it is too full to devour. The doe who knows the bear is hungry wills herself not to run from his roar.

These mild subversions of the natural order are not terribly widespread in Summer Country. Instinct is too powerful a drive and the Realm is a wild place. When they do occur, there is no distain for the participants. Summer Country has no room for the small-minded.

It’s a difficult journey to Summer Country, and difficult to remain. At best, any shapeshifter hunting for the halcyon Near Realm has a long, fruitless chase ahead of her. At worst, the singular obsession sends her hurtling toward grief, frustration, and Harano. It’s a risk just to consider Summer Country a real place; no weight on the heart is as unbearable as the fleeting hope the Realm inspires.

Summer Country is real, but it’s almost as much a mindset as an actual Realm. No path leads there, no guardians defend it, and no amount of travel will find its shores. To divine its location requires a strength of being few Garou posses, and a willingness to love thy enemy that few Garou could suffer.

Foremost in finding Summer Country is having wealth of respect for all things. The questing Garou must understand that everything has a place — even if she cannot fathom what that place is, or why it should be. More than simply seeking peace with the things she believes are good and right, she has to embrace the notion that everything is worthy of its existence. Everything, including the things that have hurt and humiliated her. Everything, including the Wyrm and its minions. Everything, including herself and her weaknesses. She cannot have reservations or caveats about the love she gives. She must open herself to the idea that her prejudices, her hates, and her sorrows are all too out of sync with the place she’s pursuing, and expunge them. If she cannot, she won’t find the Realm.