Outside Leopoldville -- Savannah
Encompassing the small colonial outpost stands a ring of thorn bushes which limits the approaches to the town. Beyond this makeshift fence flourishes a mixture of vegetation, blending the biomes of the traditional African grasslands with those of the rain forest. Shorter brush are punctured by taller emergent evergreens. Stanley Pool remains the dominant geological feature of this region, while the barrier hills of the basin are bisected by the tremendous rush of the Congo over the series of cataracts towards the ocean. Scores of smaller ravines and tributaries pour into the big river and convert this region into a dynamic series of bluffs, cutbanks and rocky plains.
Obvious exits:
Road to Matadi Kintamo Leopoldville Eastern Barrier Mont Leopold

Naeem walks out past the fence that marks the outskits of leopoldville towards the approximate spot as every other evening for his evening prayers. A small rise in elevation marks the spot, and shortly further labled by the unfurling of the prayer mat.

The marks of wood shavings upon the ground leave a trail behind the native. Azi has settled into a comfortable spot also elevated by a rolling hill, easily seeing the thorny barrier of the town. Movement pins his gaze on the Islamic cleric, and the Swara's carving stops in observation.

Naeem doesn't react to Azi, if he even sees him the distance away. For teh next few minutes, his attention is focuses on the ritual. It goes much the same as the other times the cheeta observed. He faces northeast, bowing his head and speaking some words softly in Arabic, followed by the kneeling and bowing process.

The ceremony's formality is not lost upon the Swara. Silence is the Arabic's echo. When the ritual finishes, the cheetah-man finishes his carving. With deliberate rustle, he stands and proceeds towards Naeem.

After a moment of reflection, Naeem stands and gances over his shoulder to the approaching man. He takes a seat on the mat, keeping the sun behind him so the light illumincates the words of his book. Once Azi is near he offers words of greeting, "Good evening."

Azi dips down into a squat, the motion very natural to the man with a graceful bending. As if joining him by a lighted fire, the Swara politely keeps his distance from the mat's edge. A hand comes out with a gift. Carved from a single piece of greyish wood and somehow seared and smoked with fire to turn it black - it is a small cat. A very, very crudely made statue, but nonetheless it is noticeably feline. "For you. My apologies."

Naeem recieves the gift, surpise andcuriosity evident on his face. "Apologies? You have no reason to apologise. I do, however. I said some things I should not have." He sighs, turning the statue over in his hand. "Beautiful. I have been doing a lot of reading. Seeking answers."

Azi doesn't exactly smile; the unnatural gesture passes over quickly. "Answers to what?" His dark eyes flick down to the book, though it is quite evident he is not really interested in reading it.

Naeem shrugs slightly, non-commital immediatly until he can think of specifics to respond with. "What happened. The issues at hand are grand, and feared I might have broken a tie in haste. That is not to say I appreciate, or approve of what happened. Only that the blame goes both ways." He holds up the book he holds, the text is in fliud arabic, the swirls and line rather like the Bubasti glyphs, though more angular. "The Islamic faith holds much wisdom. The reality of spirits may not be the same that men understand, but it is not imcompatible, nor does it invalidate the wisdom." HE pauses turning a few pages, his finger tracing right to left. "I read about family.."

Azi's eyes run over the arabic as one would see simply a picture in it's crudest interpretations. "I have thought about your story for the lions. You speak of spirits, and believing in the unseen. There are ones who say they have seen. Others who say they do not see. More who say they do not want to see. And those that say they have seen, but are truly blind. But not once did you say, what they have or have not seen." The Swara's thoughts and words go slowly, as if he relates the notes back to himself just as carefully.

Naeem nods with the summary of his words, "I did not, no. The unseen is knowledge, but that knowledge can be many things. The question asked was appropiate, that night. It is not always easy to know in which group one stand. Not knowing, begets evil and ruin. Lieing, a catastrophy. This is true in all things. Understanding the secret of the story is an ongoing endevor, even for me."

"Then, the spirits speak their knowledge in dreams?" asks the Swara, a little hesitantly. Something in his tone is unsure, and moreso, fearful.

Naeem peers at the man curiously, "Dreams? Yes, that is how I first learned of my true nature. I think they told me in that way. Islam teachs of two types of dreams. The first are the true dreams. These are the dreams of the Prophets and of the righteous people who follow them. They may also happen to other people, but this is very rare, such as the dream of the kaafir king which was interpreted for him by Yoosuf -- peace be upon him. True dreams are those which come true in real life as they were seen in the dream." He pauses a moment to see how Azi reacts after the curious question before offering what the second type is.

Azi doesn't care about the kings, or the names for them. But how the Bubasti mentions that dreams can become true, bothers the native. This evidenced by a narrowed browline, and a certain tilt in his posture. The feline in the human cannot hide as much within. The Swara simply nods and looks back up for the Islamic man to continue with the second type.

Naeem watches the man and continues, "The second are mixed up false dreams, which warn of something. Some of these are when a person sees some of the angels telling him to do something forbidden, or other things that cannot possibly make sense. Others are when he sees something that happens to him in real life, or he wishes it would happen, and he sees it very realistically in his dream; or he see what usually happens to him when he is awake or what reflects his mood. These dreams usually speak of the future or the present, rarely of the past. The last are the games of the Shaytaan and evil spirits to make a person distressed, such as when he sees his head cut off and he is following it, or he sees himself falling into a crisis and cannot find anyone to save him from it." He pauses and adds, "Only the first is true and those are sent to Prophets."

Azi turns his gaze away to the savannah a little further out from the town. Dark eyes echo the emptiness of the grasses beyond, and possibly to come. "I have not had many dreams. But I have them. A few, about running over the savannah as I do always. Swifter than the 'impala', and stronger than the waterhorse's jaws." He closes his eyes for a minute, listening, feeling the gentle wind. "But there were more dreams. Maybe the 'Shaytaan'...the Unmaker and evil spirits try to place their madness in dreams. To terrify the protector, and confuse him from his goal." The Swara looks back at Naeem. "It can be true, or it can be a lie, the dreams... But how can one tell if they will be truth, and the other just a dream?"

"You do not want this dream to come true." Naeem states in observation of the man demeanor. He sits on a prayermat, having recently compleated his evening prayers, the sun setting at his back. "If the dream did not come from within, then it must have been sent by one or the other. Dreams sent by the creator come true, but if the events are evil, then there is a purpose -- something to be learned so that those who hear the prophet might become better, even if the events cannot be avoided. If it were sent by the Unmaker, then it's purpose is to decieve and terrorise the dreamer. There is no warning, only lies."

Azi blinks a few times, and nods silently for a while. His thoughts gather themselves as his gaze roams from man to grassland and back. "I do not want the dream to be true. Because if it does, then I will have failed my duties to the Mother." The Swara turns back to watch the environment, taking in its simple, colorful beauty as twilight and evening mix together, coupled by the dots of firelight coming from the town.

And off in the aforementioned environment a lithe, off-black figure moves across the grasses in the distiance with a strange six-legged gait.

[Sand's Daughter's lupus desc]
Let's forget about the extra pair of fore legs for a second, and concentrate on the rest of this strange, strange animal. Clearly this is the result of a mating between a golden jackal and some kind of wolf. Her muzzle isn't quite as triangular as a jackals, and her ears are larger than a wolf's, giving her an almost fox-like appearance. Her body is wiry and lithe, like something you'd find on a greyhound, save for the busy black fur. The eyes are an unassuming shade of brown, and bely more than simple canine intelligence. Okay. You can go back to staring at her extra legs, now.

Naeem nods slightly, "Not a good dream, then. I am afraid I cannot offer more specific advice iwthout knowing the dream itself. It is on you to consider the dream, and if you have something to say, share it. If there is nothing but terror and dismay left, put it behind you."

Azi narrows his gaze at the moving figure in the distance, keeping his eyes locked on the figure. His change of mood isn't exactly instant, but there is definitely a feeling of wariness as he tracks the movement like a well practiced predator. The gait particularly sets him on alert.

Sand's Daughter either hasn't seen or is ignoring the pair of Bastet, as she continues to slink her way across the Veldt, towards the Eastern Barrier.

Naeem follows Azi's eyes to the distance, but in this light and this form, it's difficult to make out much detail. The gait is definatly peculiar, though. Dispite his verbose nature when he has something to say, his silence is equal to it when he doesn't.

Azi gradually unfolds from his crouch in the grasses, standing well above and tall over the blades. And finally breaking the silence, he raises a hand to his lips and whistles. A trick taught by his kuasha, easily learned but hard to master.

Naeem flinches slightly at the loud whistle, not expecting it. His eyes go back to teh man in teh action, but eventually find their way back to the creature in thr disatance, curious how it will react.

Sand's Daughter stops in her tracks once the wind brings the whistle to her large ears. They stand at attention as she scans behind her for the origin of the sound, a forepaw that was stuck in midair slowly lowers to rest on the ground.

Now that the odd looking jackal has stopped, Azi has a nice, long look. And that look turns to a confused gaze for fleeting seconds before he simply starts to walk closer to the being. Like a cat stalking an odd subject of interest, he approaches low and bent just barely above the grasses.

The distance between Ammut's body and the ground decreases in parrallell with the space between her and Azi, her body tensing up, ready to spring into action, weather to fight or flee is still yet to be seen.

Naeem lets Azi move to encounter the creature on the horizon without him; he couldn't keep up if it turned into a chase anyway. Curious, though he stands to keep an eye on the events if possible.

As the Swara nears closer and closer, the dimming twilight making it hard to see, his footsteps get louder to the jackal, but the scent of the man is lost. Then, even the footfalls disappear as Azi stops, and regains a straightened posture. Like a sapling bending up into the sky he gazes straight at the six-legged jackal from a much closer distance. The troubled look that was on his brow, turned curious, now regains a touch of confusion as he simply stares at the oddity of the six-legged creature.

With a speed and suddenness that's frightening, Sand's daughter suddenly closes the remaining twenty feet or so by leaping at Azi. Her body gains mass mid-air, transforming into the Garou's war-form. Her four arms spread to grapple Azi, the attack is as silent as her previous passage through the grass.

Naeem watches, the events not nearly as interesting as he had expected. That is, until the figure leaps and changes. That motion draws him in, and he begins to make his way across the land towards them.

Foomph! Down the Swara goes with an obviously surprised look on his human face. That lasts only seconds before he too shifts to match the metis' form. Provided his throat is unharmed, the crinos cheetah lays back his ears as a feral scream of defiance pierces the air. His shoulders pinned, the Swara manages to twist his legs inward and kick out at the Strider's gut in hopes of loosening his opponent from the grapple.

You shift and contort into Crinos.

The sound reaches Naeem's ears, pulling his walk into a run. He may not be sure what's going on, but that complaint was clear enough.

Sand's Daughter's grip is solid on the cat, nails digging into the flesh. Whatever she had planned is cut short by the shift-and-kick which knocks her off the prone form. Ears splayed and crouching, she studies the Bastet closely and sniffs at the air between them. There is no second strike coming.

Fireborn backrolls, his lithe form curling once his form is freed. Almost in retreat it seems, but when he's back up on his feet, the Swara is crouched with golden eyes glaring balefully at the metis. *Stupid Dog!* he spits the curse out with a hiss. Teeth bared, ears back and tail lashing its hatred into the grasses, the Swara growls again. Still, there is not a second strike coming from him either. Instead, his head turns as Naeem comes running. *Don't come closer!* he barks out warningly before turning his stare back to the 4-armed crinos.

Sand's Daughter satisfied that this is no mere human, but rather one of the Bastet, she rises out of her crouch, shifting to human. Absently she hooks her veil to hide her face, once fully changed, and bows apologetically to the cat. 'Apologies,' she says in Arabic,

If the sudden lull in the action didn't slow him, the command from the Swara does. Naeem pulls up some distance from the pair, though within ear shot. He doesn't say a word, just watching for the time being.

Once he's sure that there isn't a second attack, the Swara slowly shifts down to a wary, exposed homid. He doesn't understand the apologies, but the bow means something to him at least as he simply glares for a long, unnerving minute. 'Stupid action, jackal,' he snorts in Swahili, before turning his gaze again to see where Naeem is.

You shift and contort into Homid.

Ammut remains bowed until the gaze of the angry Bastet leaves her. She wraps her black gowns close to her, and steps backward, heading towards the darkness.

[Ammut's homid desc]
Ammut is unusual in two ways. First and foremost she has an extra set of arms set comfortably several inches below where everybody else's arms are. The second thing that's rather unusual is her gauntness. It's not the same kind of thinness that comes with starvation. Instead it's more like God stuck a straw in her navel and sucked really hard. the aftereffect makes her look rather insect-like. Her skin is rather dark from prolonged exposure to the sun, yet still has a smooth texture to it. Long, black, curly hair frames an obviously Arabic face, with the prominent cheek bones and hawk nose. If she looked more human, she could have been considered almost attractive, in that exotic, arabic way, actually. Usually she wears traditional Bedouin gowns, covering her head to toe with flowing black fabric, and a veil covers her face, making it so that only her eyes are seen. This manages to effectively hide her deformity from the casual observer.

Naeem is about thirty feet off, a long distance if someone wanted to pounce on him but not that far off. At the creatures apology, he comments in Arabic, 'I know your voice, strange one.'

Azi watches Naeem pause to speak to the other, and as she begins to move off he makes a trot to cut her off. He's not done yet. 'Your name, jackal-changer,' the Swara again demands in the native language he knows fluently. There's still a threatening tone to his voice, but he makes no open moves of violent retaliation.

Ammut stops in her tracks, looking at Azi uncomprehendingly.

Naeem has no idea what Azi is saying, but the body language is communicative. This has been asked of him in the same way before with different words. He says in Arabic, 'I do not know for certain, but I believe he wishes to know who you are. As would I. Our previous introductions were brief.'

Azi glances at the two of them, and makes a couple of quick gestures. Pointing to himself, he states, "Tremaine." To the Islamic cleric he points. "Naeem." Then, in an opened palm to the woman he motions. Glancing back at the Bubasti he comments in French. "I want her name."

Ammut squints at Naeem, finally recognizing him. She bows slightly to him, 'I am Ammut... a Garou. I run with Hawarra and Tempts-Fate, and a....' she things for amoment finding the best word to encapsulate a garou concept '... soldier of God.' Not perfect, but it will do. 'I humbly apologize to you for this misunderstanding.'

Naeem relates her comments to Azi in French before asking her a question, 'I am Ulama Naeem ibn Husani, known as the Scribe-of-Tahuti by my people. Forgive me if I speak without needing to. Do you not speak French? I can translate, if need be.'

Ammut hesitantly asks, 'What is French?'

Azi looks fairly satisfied with the names and apology at that, sniffing at the air. At the repetition and following querying tone, he looks to Naeem silently. A hand comes up to rub at a seemingly sore shoulder.

Naeem offers a short explination, 'The language of Napoleon and his people that came to Egypt. And the language most people speak at the near by town.'

Ammut blinks in confusion, the first part going way over her head, 'Nepole.... oh! That language, no. I do not know it. I do not venture into town often.'

Azi doesn't understand the language that passes between the other two at the moment, but in a sensable way stands somewhat proud that he knows 'French' well. Then, the Swara turns to Naeem and states simply, "I will be going, now. Evening comes." To Ammut he coughs roughly, an all purpose self-dismissal vocalization the native man uses.

Ammut manages to apologize once again before sliding into the darkness.

Azi also disappears through the brush after a last goodbye is said to the Islamic man. The three shifters thus part their ways to meet again some other time, and hopefully without too much incident.