7/9/2004

05:42 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

[The Barn, as usual.]

The barn door slides open to admit one Shadow Lord cub, and looking a little on the annoyed side, only because it's the half moon, and he's quite frustrated. Frustrated because of boredom. A hint of impatience radiates off him like steam, but aside from that, he's quite coolheaded.

Now that's the moon's edging on the smaller side of things, the Ahroun is a bit more lethergic than normal. But that's no reason to let your guard down. He's at the punching bag, throwing out punches. He's not doing it for the practice of force, but accuracy, aiming the center of his fists at a small point on the bag in rapid succession as he's scooting around.

Kenneth doesn't say anything at first, observing the ahroun cub's form and positioning, as well as the actual accuracy of his shots. Truth be told, he had intended on coming in to throw a few punches against the pseudo-stationary target as well. "Yo," he greets finally, moving over to one haybale nearby and still looking on.

The cub's fairly good, but the strength of his blows are better than his accuracy. As he spies the halfmoon, Lucas stills the bag and drops his hands, cracking reddened knuckles. "Hey." He says, stepping back to better see the other. "What's up?"

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder. "Nothin'," is his reply. "Don't let me stop you." He indicates as such with a tilt of his head towards the bag. "But I'm just bored to all hell."

Lucas shrugs his shoulder, "Eh, about time for a break anyway, been up to this most of the afternoon." He snags a towel off of the nearby hay and swipes it across his forehead, taking off the line of sweat, before tossing it back down beside his shirt.

Kenneth puffs out a withheld breath, looking off towards the edges of the barn's upper levels. "What'd you think about Cutter's spiel? Given it any thought?"

Lucas snags his shirt and drags it back on his body, plunking down on the hay with a exhale of breath. "Yeah, I have. I've given thought to everyone that's offered."

"Not a bad setup, y'think?" Kenneth continues, still not looking back to the other cub yet, but obviously he has at least some attention on the ahroun. "What're you gonna do over the weekend?"

Lucas shakes his head and says, "Well, I'll be deciding soon, so I'll be sure to inform you." He leans back on the hay and swabs his forehead again with his towel. "As far as this weekend, I don't have a single plan. Why, got an idea for something?"

Kenneth shrugs again, shaking his head. "Jarred's comin' tomorrow morning, since I don't stay here on the weekends. But, maybe I can ask him if you want to come with. Other than that, s'probably more training this weekend."

Lucas hmms lowly and presses his lips together as he thinks, "Maybe, though I think he'd need Megan's permission to do it. From what I gather, it's up to her if I can leave the farm or not."

The door to outside rattles as it moves and permits the entrance of a very heavy set man, oddly clad for this summer in thick grey fur attire. He grumbles irritatedly as he attempts using his maimed right hand, clearly his dominant one, to operate the door and fails. Finally he uses a combination of both hands and an unnecessary kick.

"Puh. If it's up to her, then she probably wouldn't say yes," Kenneth grumbles, shaking his head, pulling up a piece of hay to stick on the side of his mouth and chew absently. "If what Cutter said 'bout the Lords not being trusted, then..." Then, Reggie enters the barn, and the Slord cub's eyes go there immediately, mostly assessing the man by first appearances.

[look Reggie]
Three hundred pounds of muscle, fat, and gristle pour unevenly down a frame over six feet, puddling in an overflowing belly barely restrained by jeans desperately calling upon extra-strong reinforced seams and solid brass hardware. Army-short hair outlines the dome of the skull, newly decorated by a circular slice cutting bone-deep evenly around its circumference. A monobrow shelters sunken, piggish eyes. An unevenly flattened nose and cauliflowered ears have evidently received many a fist in the past. A patchwork of grey wolf fur hangs over his shoulders, arms, and chest, covering distorted, hairfree skin. The hands demonstrate a history rich in manual labor, with stumpy, thick fingers and fingernails broken to the quick. His usual scent of gasoline fumes, nicotine, and alcohol is subdued, fainter, less offensive to delicate noses. His native heritage is difficult to detect beneath all the damage.

"She can't ban me from looking at potential tribes, can she?" Lucas says, then cuts short from what he was about to say to lifts up a single eyebrow and settles his gaze on Reggie as he plows through the door, and blinks once.

Reggie steps away from the door and blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the brighter outdoors to the dimmer interior.

Finding his voice again, Kenneth tilts his chin up once to 'greet' the big man. "Sup, man?" he adds, checking out the maimed hand briefly with squinted eyes to counter the bright silouhette caused by the sunlight from outside.

Lucas nods his head to Reggie after a brief looking over, but lets his halfmoon companion do the talking for now.

Squinting now in Kenneth's direction, Reggie frowns slightly, but raises his left hand as he says "Yo." He turns back to the door, considers closing it properly, and instead moves further in the barn. "Hiding from chores in here?"

Kenneth looks from Reggie to Lucas, then back to Reggie. "Chores?" The halfmoon was, apparently, unawares of the chores requirement beyond washing his own dishes and making his own bed.

Lucas shrugs his shoulders, "Don't have anyone to give me 'em." The lost cub replies honestly, then adds. "Who're you? Haven't seen you before."

"Tisk", Reggie clucks. "That's not smart of anyone to admit such a thing. It's just begging for busybodies to come along and give you chores just to keep you busy."

Kenneth eyes the man, and hitches a shoulder. At this point he might not even mind a chore or two, depending on the nature of it. "And you're one of 'em?" he asks, eyes as flat as his expression.

Lucas doesn't apparently mind at all. "Hell, it'd give me something to do." Says the cub as he plucks up a strand of straw and goes about chewing on the end.

Displaying yellowed and crooked teeth as he grins, Reggie grins. "What, me? I was poster boy for getting out of chores. Oh", he extends a beefy hand. "I'm Rags-Torn-to-Rags, Metis of the Mohawk, Ahroun of the Uktena, but call me Reggie. And you people with nothing to do are?"

Kenneth blinks again. "Kenneth, philodox cub of the Shadow Lords," he says by way of intro. No deednames for him.

Lucas takes the hand, mostly polite despite his gruffness. "Lucas, tribeless Ahroun cub. Megan gave me the cub name of Black-Cub, but if anyone has a better idea, I'm all for listening."

"I'm sorry", Reggie gives to Kenneth. Focusing on Lucas, he delivers a crushing grip short of mangling, as he stares the cub down. "Heard of you on the grapevine."

Kenneth remains somewhat neutral at the apology, reading more into it than he should, perhaps. He observes the interaction between Lucas and the Uktena though.

Lucas inwardly winces, but sets his teeth as he feels the bones in his hand press together in a way they shouldn't. "In a good way or bad?" The fullmoon cub asks with a quirk to his brow and a vague smirk on his face.

Slowly releasing Lucas' hand to its owner, Reggie pats Lucas on the hand patronizing. "Why, new cub! It's just like the fable. The one that was lost and is found is all the more precious."

Lucas gives his hand a quick glance then returns it beside his lap on the hay. "I wouldn't call myself special." He says with a snort of a laugh at the Uktena's words, "Just misplaced."

"And now found!", Reggie exclaims. "Just think of the mess that occurs when a lost cub isn't found, when they have their First and subsequent changes among unwary people. Just messy, all these limbs. You've had yours?"

Kenneth simply continues eyeing the man and his exclaimations, clearly a bit put off by his oh so wholesome 'excitement'. "Yeah," he adds in finally. "We have."

Lucas nods his head, "Yeah, the Glass Walkers found me. That was about a month ago." He doesn't sound happy, though in regards to the Walkers of a length time without a tribe is hard to tell.

Considering, Reggie nods. "City. First changes there can get messy. Some of the people here've got tales that're thigh slappers. Such as the football hero who changed during a game." He grimaces. "Now that was a hard thing, trying to repair the Veil. The Walkers do have their uses--I think we'd still be looking for all the film and cameras otherwise."

Kenneth looks on, head inclining slightly. "So what're the Uktena like then?" he asks, for both cubs' benefit really.

Lucas turns an interested gaze to Reggie when Kenneth asks about his tribe, looking like he's prepared to pay close attention.

Reggie breaks off his clearly uninteresting story-telling attempt, grimacing as he does so. Folding his mangled right arm across his chest, smoothing down the grey fur of his attire underneath it, he returns his query. "What have you been told about them? So far?"

Kenneth shrugs there. "That you're one of the Native American tribes, look for wisdom, and keep secrets," he replies succinctly. "That, and your tribe totem is a big ass winged serpent."

"That is named Uktena, from which you take your name." Lucas adds, then says. "I've met Jacinta, of the Wendigo already. What is the difference between your tribes?"

The Uktena uses his index finger to draw a five-pointed star in the air. "There, a star for you", he identifies his hand gestures. "And another for who can name the third tribe. The middle brother."

Kenneth looks to Lucas. No one's told him anything more about the native tribes, it seems.

Lucas, who is lacking much in Garou history, is also clueless. He shrugs, silently voicing he doesn't know.

Reggie drops his hand as if he was shot, scattering the star downwards. "There originally were three brothers. The middle, Croatan, was lost when--", he hestitates, eying Kenneth in an unfriendly fashion. "--when the Wyrm was brought here."

Kenneth returns the look as it's given, since although he's not sure about the details of Garou history, he certainly isn't taking to Reggie's attitude towards him. "What'd the tribes here do before the Wyrm came to the US, then?"

Lucas also adds his own question, "And were there only the three?"

"The grass was green and the waters flowed", replies Reggie, miming the motion of either grass waving in the wind or the flowing of waters with a hand. "Pure, uncontaminated." In a lower tone, he appends, "Or so you'd hear from the Wendigo." In his normal tone, he continues, "Yes. three. Left now are Little Brother and Big Brother."

Lucas nods his head slowly as he stocks it all away in his brain, then asks of the older Ahroun. "Hear from the Wendigo? Do the Uktena know something the Wendigo don't?"

Reggie wavers his hand in an ambivalent gesture, as he says "Eh. Just got a different focus." He waves his hand at Lucas. "You been in the Umbra yet? Talked to a spirit? Most Uktena, you can't tear them away from there."

Lucas shakes his head, "No, I haven't... just heard about it." There's no shame in his voice, but perhaps some regret. Without a tribe to pester, a lost cub finds locating teachers who aren't busy a daunting task.

Reggie jaba a finger at Lucas. "You're in for a treat, but you're going to have to wait for that, as the moon's waning. Watch the moon--when it's getting like this", the Uktena smirks as a black shroud envelops Lucas. "All dark, a new moon, it isn't safe for anyone in there. No, got to wait for the moon to renew and light things up again." He awaits Lucas' reaction.

Kenneth nods at Lucas. "I keep tellin' you, we'll go soon enough."

Blink! Lucas stares at the shroud that engulfs him, poking at the unusual thing with an un-Ahroun like curiosity, even fascination. Ooooh. Not exactly sure if anyone can hear him, or see him, through the black, he says in a voice that's a smidge louder than it needs to be. "Right. What's this?"

Reggie glances sidewayas at Kenneth, then adopts a posture of concern that's unseen by Lucas, and he adapts his voice to his posture. "What's what?". Sotte voce, he addresses an unseen audience. "That can happen to new cubs. So sad. When they have nothing to do, and sit around, not even practicing their new forms, they lose things. Such as their vision. Next, hearing."

Kenneth eyes Reggie again, straightening as if he were stung on his back. "What're you tryin' to say?"
Lucas begins to grow a bit annoyed that he can't see what's going on. He scoots a bit one way on the hay, then the other. Still, no luck.

Reggie's voice lowers gradually in volume, as he continues talking. "Trying to say? Why, are you having trouble hearing now?"

Kenneth growls out, with no mood for games. He looks at the shroud, then back to Reggie. "What the hell is that?" he says with a jerk to the inky blackness. "Lucas?" There's a slight hint of concerned inquiry in his voice. Then without real care, he dares to plunge a hand into the shroud, testing and searching for the other cub.

The lost cub has gone quiet, but somewhere in Ken's fumbling in the dark, his fingers find an area of thick hair. It might be fur. At the touch, whatever it is shifts quickly and erupts out. The black wolf that is Lucas ends up colliding with Kenneth in his process of escaping the Uktena's shroud.

Reggie loses his audience to the shroud. He drops silent, and steps back a pace, the better to watch what comes out of it.

Kenneth oofs heavily as a wolf just literally leaps out at him from nowhere. He catches, but it's not enough as he and Lucas tumble off the hay onto the floor. His own shift is like instant, as surprise is taken over by instinct, and the Slord's form swings itself into its black-furred lupus. Untangling himself, he gets back up to his paws and backs away, fur bristling reflexively.

Cubs are such silly beasts. The black fullmoon cub scrambles for his feet, and once he stands, gives his fur a quick shake to resettle himself. Eyes widened and his ears laid back, he stares up at Reggie, looking bewildered. What was that?

Grimly amused at the cubs' reaction, Reggie has to grit his teeth to avoid a burst of mocking laughter. Hence he keeps silent, regarding the antics of the cubs. The shroud hangs heavy in the barn, looming from floor to ceiling.

The black furred Slord regards the shroud with evident distaste, but only because it is way beyond 'normal'. Ears flipping forward, he wills himself a few steps closer, sniffing intently. Only, he gets a good whiff of Reggie's body odors, and the cub lifts his lips in a classic 'blegh' reaction.

Without an answer, the lupine Lucas strides back up to the darkness and boldly jabs his nose back into it to investigate. Hey, it didn't hurt him before.

Scowling at the sniffing cub, Reggie stands his ground and points the cub firmly away from himself towarsd the shroud. "Looking for me to protect you from that?", he queries. He glances over towards Lucas and looks happier at that cub's reactions.

Kenneth snorts at Reggie. Bad smell from you, the halfmoon cub growls before shaking off his initial disgust and instead trotting over towards the shroud as well. Seeing the ahroun's bold jab, the philocub tail swishes once, and walks right into the shroud. His form disappears easily within the 10' cube of darkness.

Black-Cub twitches an ear and looks after the Shadow Lord with a lopsided look, one that might be translated to 'showoff'. He follows right on his tail back into the darkness, black into black. What is this? Again he asks, though there is a fascination lighting the cub's eyes.

Reggie folds both his arms and waits, as he watches the cubs. The Slord's cub earns another scowl from him, and he checks his pants pockets, then checks in a pocket within his grey fur and finds a small folded packet. After both cubs enter the shroud, he opens the package and tips out a set of sparklers and blasting caps. Dropping one on the floor and putting away the rest in the package, he stamps firmly on it, setting off a loud bang.

Kenneth immediately swivels towards the sound, his own paws heard scuffing the ground as he twists. He remains, however, pointedly in the black square, staring into the nothingness, lips peeled back.

Black-Cub wheels around, and if a wolf's paws could squeel like peeled out tires, his would be. His fur is puffed out like a terrified cat, and the Ahroun focuses on the direction of the sound with a fierce alertness. Arching his tail up high, he stalks forward to leave the darkness, his ears still ringing and anger trickling through his veins.

Reggie tucks the package in a back pants pocket, ignoring the remote danger to his buttocks from the sparklers, as he awaits further reaction from the cubs.

Kenneth shakes his head again, clearing off that faint ringing in his ears as he listens more and more intently for the ahroun's pawsteps. It is those he follows, back out of the darkness, his investigating expression a lot subtler from when he had entered. Ears still tipped forward, the philo hangs his tail at a neutrally high slant. Nose sniffing again, he discerns that smell of smoke and golden eyes travel back to Reggie, as if following that scent of fireworks and chemicals.

Black-Cub steps out of the shroud and sniffs the air, the potent scent of smoke, chemicals, and the faint electrical tinge much stronger and clearer than he's used to, but identifiable. The blue-eyed wolf shakes himself out again and snorts, as though expelling his bristling Rage through the action.

"Afraid of the dark?", Reggie looks up after putting away the package. The inky blackness dissolves into nothingness. "I thought I'd put out some nightlights."

Kenneth looks to the ahroun, an ear tipping towards him with an askance to if he has injuries or not. The slight mask of silver on his features accents his curious, but still cold feeling eyes. Yet, the cub says and does little else, instead letting his senses and instincts tell him what he wants to know.

No, but I do not want to be unprepared. The lost cub folds his haunches under him, looking far more relaxed now that there's no apparent danger. He looks fine, uninjured, and borderline curious again.

Quirking an eyebrow at the phrasing, Reggie comments. "Ah, boy scout. Doubtless you've several badges."

The Shadow Lord doesn't sit, but his gaze turns upwards to the Uktena with interest. A spirit taught you this gift of making dark? It is what Storm-Singer and Severs have said about the Mother's power.
A gift? Black-Cub attempts to clarify, turning his head back over his shoulder to sniff towards where the darkness was.

Waving a hand langiously towards where the darkness was, Reggie grants. "A gift from Gaia. Haven't your teachers shown you theirs?", he regards the Shadow cub.

Only a few, the Shadow cub replies, looking to the fullmoon. More than just changing and healing, Black-Cub. Elders called them gifts, from the Mother, and spirits.

Black-Cub knows where they are from, but he has not seen one used. The fullmoon cub flattens his ears back, looking a bit irked again, and for the moment doesn't look at either one of the other Garou.

"Gifts", Reggie repeats, and regards the lost cub's reaction with puzzlement. "What's wrong with you?"

The Slord cub looks from the Uktena to the fullmoon, the back to the elder. He has no tribe yet. His teachings are slow, because there are no elders. Even the philodox looks disturbed at this, and he rumbles out his displeasure. Shadow Lord or not, a cub is a cub. But, the Alpha told him to choose his family. He has not chosen.

Rolling his eyes, Reggie heaves a sigh. "Oh. He's upset because you--", he jabs at the Shadow lord cub, "--have a tribe. And teachers. And elders. Well gosh darn of you!"

Black-Cub resists the urge to bare his fangs, but the tension in his muzzle is evident. He has not chosen, because it is not an easy choice. The Ahroun keeps his ears flattened to his skull.

Kenneth never said it was an easy choice. At least you have cut some away, right? Turning back to the Uktena, he regards the ahroun coldly, reading the accusation within the statement. The lupe cub's ears flatten back.

Regarding Kenneth coolly, Reggie turns from him to regard the other cub. "Huh. You get to pick? That's...quite progressive. Never heard of that before--usually, the tribes pick, and it can escalate up into outright unpleasantness, but rarely outright war."

Black-Cub doesn't answer Kenneth and turns his eyes back on Reggie. Firewatcher says a tribe cannot claim me. One of his ears twitch free, followed soon by the other in a relaxed position atop his skull. I am to choose.

Kenneth makes no plug for his own tribe. Instead, he trots away from the two ahroun, moving away to pace around the edges of the barn on his own. His agitation shows with the lay of his fur, ruffled, to say the least.

Reggie expresses his surprise with a roll of his shoulders. "Woo. Free to pick your destiny and you can't decide which road is best."

And the ears droop. No. The lost cub gets back up onto four paws, slowly beginning a back and forth pacing. There are many choices.

The Shadow Lord cub stops in the shadows, looking out at the open country beyond the invisible border of the barn. His interest, it seems, has gone elsewhere.

Testy with the lost cub, Reggie's tone is clipped. "Ah, get over it. You're in a better boat than cubs who get kicked out of their tribes and no other tribes will take them." He looks particularly sore on the topic. "You know what happens to these cubs, if no one does take them? No sane Sept's going to allow Ronin cubs, so it's off to the cull for them."

Black-Cub knows he has freedom, but wants to choose right. He does not want to be shamed later, if he picks wrong. The lost cub begins to prickle again, but his scent betrays it's more out of nervousness and anxiety than anger.

The Slord cub sits down by the door, masked in the growing shadow and gazing out. An ear tilts back briefly towards the two ahroun, before he does in fact look over his shoulder.

Reggie throws up his hands. "Then you make an effort to fit in. Look at Joshua of the Walkers. Or even--change tribes again."

Black-Cub gives a rather loud snort at mention of Joshua and says nothing. He has already lost his tribe once! The young Ahroun snarls low in his throat. He will not jump from tribe to tribe. He will choose and he will be!

Reggie turns and jabs a finger at the lost cub. "Then you fit in." He considers, finger idly scratching a ropy scar on his head. "How many tribes have you met? So far?"

Ears flattening again, the Philodox growls quietly, a tension running through him in the wolf's form, causing his fur to rise in a moving wave.

Black-Cub continues to quietly fume as he replies to the Uktena. The Walkers on Glass found him. He has met the children of Rat and Stag, the tribes of Unicorn and Grandfather Thunder, and the metis of Chimera's tribe. And Wendigo.

Counting off the tribes on the thick fingers of his good left hand, Reggie comes to a total of 6. Thinking a moment, he adds 2 more. "Sometimes--sometimes, I just don't appreciate just how--cosmopolitican this place is. I came from a one-tribe place, and they didn't accept me. So my grandfather quested and politicked and arranged for me to be Rited into another tribe." He shakes his head in wonder as he counts up to 8 again. "So you're missing only a couple around here. Children of Gaia, Striders--you should meet the Warder, he's a Strider."

Kenneth notes with a brief grunt, that Black-Cub has no need to think about joining the Red Talons. The Shadow Lord cub doesn't correct the elder though, on the slight mistake.

Reggie counts again on his fingers. "Hm. Another one. Get of Fenris. The Gatekeeper's a Get." Annoyed at Kenneth, he jabs a finger at the cub and lists, "Or Black Furies. Or Silver Fangs."

Definatly not the Black Furies. Remarks the lost cub with a lopsided splay to his ears. He tilts his head at Reggie, sniffing in his direction, asking with a touch of eager curiosity. What tribe were you?

Kenneth's own annoyance flares at the finger jab, but aside from a twitch of his ears, the cub sits and smoulders.

Reggie's lips compress into a thin line. "That's ancient history.", and he turns pedantic. "I wasn't. Cubs aren't any tribe until they get Rited."

Black-Cub bites back on his dissapointment and grows pensive, hunching back on his haunches and going quiet.

And in rare form, the Shadow Lord gets up and shakes his fur out, returning to the pair of ahrouns. He sits down heavily before the Uktena, a length or so away, and simply stares at the fullmoon.

Reggie scratches insect bites along his arm. "Moon's growing dim. When it gets brighter, you already know you'll get to see the Umbra--but you know what happens when it's at its fullest?" He waits to see which of the cubs will volunteer answers.

Black-Cub licks his jaws, baring his teeth only briefly while doing so. He gets very angry. The cub says as he looks up to the Uktena.

The Slord cub's fur smoothes down, but he remains unwavering at his stare towards the Uktena ahroun. He doesn't answer the question, mainly because the Uktena's query is vague.

After acknowledging the lost cub's answer with an 'eh', Reggie continues. "The Sept will gather together in one place, in the Caern, under the full moon, and--well, get very angry, but not kill each other. Just the Wyrm, in a revel, after first holding a moot. You'll get to see about every tribe in the Sept there. There's also a show-and-tell session in which you'll get to show yourself and tell about your dilemna."

Black-Cub doesn't look particularly delighted at this news of self-presentation, but at least he can fill out the rest of his tribal bingo card. Mostly. He concludes then, aloud, that perhaps he should wait until after this meeting to decide.

Kenneth looks back to the ahroun cub. But if Severs said that the rule that cubs are not allowed in without an elder apply, then you too will need to ask an elder to take you. At this the Shadow Lord looks back to Reggie.

"Everyone who's anyone will be there", replies Reggie. "Except the ones patrolling the bawn and the territories. There'll be more than enough people with apronstrings to bring you along."

Black-Cub glances briefly aside to Kenneth. Firewatcher or Holds-the-Line might bring me. Neither of which, he sounds truely enthusiastic about, but beggers can't be choosers.

Kenneth wrinkles his muzzle. If Storm-Singer and Severs are going too, you can ask them. The philodox returns his gaze to the Uktena ahroun, leaving the policies and etiquette stuff to the elder to explain.

Reggie's scarred brow creases as he scowls at the two cubs. "It is an honor and a privilege to attend the moot. Anyone that takes you to the moot is taking it on his honor that you'll not shame him."

Black-Cub does not intend to shame anyone. He turns his eyes away from his fellow cub and onto the Uktena. How long will it be until the moon is full again?

Reggie's reaction to the question is one of action, and he marches over to the door, forcing it open, and points up towards the now-dark sky. "What do you see up there?"

Kenneth scuffs a paw on the ground as he rises, shoulders rolling nearly cat-like. It is half moon now. I feel it.

Although the Shadow Lord cub has answered, Reggie continues holding his pose, looking impatiently towards the lost cub.

Black-Cub actually gets up and goes to look, poking his nose up at the sky. Half. He answers, and moves back into the barn and sits beside Ken.

Reggie stares at the cub as the cub retreats from the door. "What, afraid of the dark? Maybe all these stars are threatening?" He shakes his head, as he mutters to himself, then exhales. "Okay. Waxing or waning? That means increasing, or decreasing. If you can't sense that, least you can do is try to recall if you're feeling more angry than you did a week ago, or less."

The Lord glances beside him as the ahroun comes up, and doesn't seem to mind the presence of his fellow cub. There is one full moon every turn. If it is half now, then all we wait for is half that turn. The philodox turns back to Reggie. Something of what the Uktena says causes him to bristle, and he growls out. He is a strong fighter, the cub rumbles in reference to the ahroun cub beside him. He is one who fears no darkness.

Black-Cub goes to retort with flattens ears, his pride prickling, but the Shadow Lord is the first to speak. He sits up a little straighter at that, and remarks. I am not afraid. I did not want to be seen. Wolves do not live on farms. And the moon is growing smaller.

Something the Lord says causes Reggie to move smartly away from the door, and he holds out, with some difficulty, his right arm, which appears to be a massive length of scar tissue from shoulder to hand, and is, muscle-wise, alike to the arm of a paraplegic unable to exercise. "I got this trying to punch out a bag of darkness. It ate my arm before I could pull it back out." He seems to ignore the Lord's inability to add up halves.

Kenneth stiffens in tension as the Uktena approaches, but it is seeing the arm fully revealed that causes the Shadow Lord to involuntarily bristle on the edges of his furred ruff. A bad Wyrm spirit?
Long distance to the room: Kenneth yays, is the bad cub.

Black-Cub hunches up his shoulders and bares the tips of his fangs, eyes fixed on the Uktena's arm as he bristles in silence.

Reggie folds his weakened arm back across his chest, and nods towards the lost cub. "Waning. That it is. Then a new moon will come, and a waxing half moon, then finally the full moon."

Kenneth ear flattens not just at the lack of answer to his question, but at the realization of his miscalculation. He never was really good with numbers anyway. The halfmoon rumbles incoherently and snorts.

So awhile. The younger Ahroun concludes and lets out a long, whuffed sigh. Too long. And then, his stomach rumbles loudly, immediatly drawing his attention.

Reggie steps back to the door. "Yes, I got this fighting the Wyrm. It's quite the war story--but for another time." The Uktena exits the barn.

Kenneth looks back to the ahroun cub when the Uktena exits the barn, and rumbles aloud. I still think Fears-No-Darkness is a better name than Black-Cub.

Black-Cub agrees, he'll change it. He puffs up his fur, but in a way of pride. Thank you, Name-Giver. The Ahroun lolls out his tongue in a lupine grin, mostly joking with the name. Mostly.

Kenneth snorts in reply, licking the end of his muzzle. Not 'cool' enough. The Slord lupe lolls his tongue - about as close to a decent smirk as he can get. It is fine, though. You earned your name, and I should earn mine.

Again, the lost cub's stomach growls, and he lets out a faint whine. I'm hungry. He states in an obvious manner, then glances at his fellow cub. Should we try to hunt?

Kenneth considers the suggestion with a tilt of his ear. Better now than never, he replies, rising to his paws again and shaking off bits of hay and fur clinging, before shifting up to his breed form once more. "Not going to walk out there like that, are you?"

The remaining lupus gives the Shadow Lord a snort. No. He follows suit and rolls up into that of the homid and rolls his shoulders to crack them. "Let's go." He says and moves for the door, heading outside.