Shapeshifter's Poem and Chant.

What good is a witch that can't take off her skin, How will she gallop, or fly, or swim?
What sights can she see, that cannot be doubled, with Cougar or Owl or Toad's warty stubble?
How may she come to the Sabbat's Hill, if hobbled on flatfeet, and lacking the skill?
Where will she go when foes dare attack, if not as a Raven or uncanny Bat?
How will she find the Root of the hollow, if she has only her nose to follow?
What good is a witch that can't take off her skin, or mimic the words of unkindly kin,
or lose herself in a bustling crowd, or change her face when her own ain't allowed,
or speak in a voice that twists men to her ways, or vanish, traceless, for a long count of days,
or hide so that no one may see, or run, flee, fast as can be!

WITCH, WITCH, take off your skin! Put on another of your most favored kin.
WITCH, WITCH, hurry apace! Leap from the land and flee from this place.
WITCH, WITCH, go to the hill! Bend the whole world with your cunning and skill.
WITCH, WITCH, fast as you may! But be back yourself, 'fore the coming of day.

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