It seems Yuri is nothing if not predictable. He at least has the advantage of not being particularly surprised to find himself four-legged and shaggy, as it's not exactly a new experience for him. On the other paw, it's not just the physical form that frightens him...and it's not just the physical form he has taken. The bear that lurks inside him is groggy and confused, dragged out of hibernation when the moon isn't right for him, but he's able to shove aside that niggling human worry over the fact that he's loose and might hurt people, and focus on the good news: that he's loose and might hurt people.

He snuffles his way through the corridors, stale scents filling his nose and teasing him with impressions of people and other bits of food long since departed. Eventually, he comes up against a hallway shaped like a tall, skinny barrel turned on one side and stands with his head poked inside its end, watching it spin. Beyond it, another stretch of the hallway spins the opposite way, and beyond that is solid ground and branching corridors. Huffing to himself, unsure about his prospects, he reaches out one paw and lets the claws scrape against the moving floor.