Old memories were unfaithful things that bound the strongest will. For all it had been years the man-wolf could hardly recall who he had been. It hardly seemed important when the hunt and the passing of days were so idyllic and there was only the now. The current time and needs and dangers that existed in the norther forest and through the high peaks of the mountains. The ears that Arn petted were flicking forward and backwards. Though despite their bristled appearance, Arn would feel the give of real ears at first but it would pass soon the feel of giving ears replaced by stiff ears. Wood covered with fur. The entire outfit though seeming alive slowly yielded its nature to Arn. It was not living fur, but the furs of dead wolves on the body of a man. One who possessed some powerful connection to the Green to meld so with the beasts who skins he wore. 

Rasping, the man-wolf whined and rasped. "Nrrrr! Nrrrrrgghh!" His growls something torn between a 'no' and the growl of the wolf. His eyes showing white all around his iris as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. His body going limp as the creature fell unconscious due to the lack of blood. The wound was only growing worse and whatever power possessed him drained him further. The furs in Arn's arms seemed to shift as if they had given up their anchoring to the man's skin. Gwydolyn would see the shift of the man's face, as though he was wearing a partial mask that had dislodged slightly and if they tried to peal it back they would see it for a giant wooden replica of a wolf's skull. Covered with fur and fitted too the man's head. Blood and sweat caking to otherwise relatively clean fur. Or as clean as a wolf could be.