Jun-Jo the Empty Fang, your time has come. Your body is weak enough, your soul is strong enough, your mind clear enough.
Now you must climb, Jun-Jo the Empty Fang, as the gods called to the forebearers before you and will call to those that follow. Go to the mountaintop. Let the wind weave through your fur, let the sun fall on your face. Let the trees be your only succor Ð their needles, their seeds, their resin. To wander the ethereal, one must reject the corporeal. Your form will diminish, but your mind and soul will grow.
You will thirst for water. Drink. And each day, drink less. Your fur, what is left of it, you will shed. Your heart, what remains of it, will slow. Your breaths will be as the dying wind. And with your body prepared, the heavens will await your ethereal soul to fascinate in its mysteries. And your body will wait for your soul to return to it, stewarded by the Moons and the majesty of the Lattice.
