Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (97% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northwest at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.89 and falling, and the relative humidity is 97 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.
Contents:
Thunder's-Forge
Obvious exits:
Rock Slab Windy Spot WaterFall Steam Vents

The moot is winding to a close, the last bits of informating being given and most fallen to talking eagerly amongst themselves about all of the high-issue news. Thunder's Forge, who's mood has steadily plummited since just before the moot and involving the whole White Bear staredown thing, has slowly slunk away from the masses - not like they were close to begin with. One big shoulder is leaned up against a tree, the Lord looking out and away from the the rest of the sept and into the woods.

Edge pads up after the pack alpha. His mood, much like his alpha's has not been on the brighter side of the scale, but the philodox looks much more balanced. His golden eyes stare upwards to the sky first, then back down to his tribemate. A furtive glance back to the milling Garou is sent, before he growls out, ~They don't understand much, do they...~

The slight ruffle in his hackles isn't due to the wind. That's blowing in the opposite direction. ~They understand nothing.~ Forge growls out with his ears flat to his skull. ~We all have scars, a powerful totem, but they looked at us like we were just a joke... and White Bear...~ It's about as much as he can force out before he looks on the verge of snapping again, pupils shrunk to enraged pinpricks in the vast blue of his eyes.

Edge flattens his ears back, his pack alpha's mood slowly oozing onto his. ~Don't even tread on that piece of shit,~ the philodox growls with a tight turn in his back and forth pacing.

Thunder's-Forge doesn't just ooze Rage, he radiates it with the force of a small nuclear plant with a crack in it. The hispo seems to swell slightly just for a moment before he lets it out in a sharp exhale of breath and a growl of supreme frustration. ~A Ronin. /Ronin/.~ He shoves his shoulder hard into the tree, just because he needs to expend /some/ energy before he cracks in two.

Severs rousts himself up to pad over to somewhere near his two tribemates.

Edge peels back his lips in a snarled grimace. ~The Garou who came up with the old Ways must be turning in their graves by now,~ the halfmoon growls.

Severs yaps. Follow me. He turns then and heads toward the trail out of the caern.

By the Waterfall
The walls of the canyon surrounding the caern reach upwards to 30 feet here, their highest point. At 20 feet up, a small underground spring exits the rock face. The water spills playfully down the rock face, carressing the cliff's face. The chilled flow, upon eentering the placid, shallow, chilled pool of water at the bottom, creates tiny ripples in the puddle's surface. A light, mist rises up from the ground, chilling to the bone.
The forest surrounding the caern's border is far less dense than the rest of the nearby forest. Scattered, centuries-old oaks stand majesticly over their fallen, decaying, moss-covered commrades. This peculiarity seems to surround only the area just outside the caern. To the west, cool mist kicked up by the falls mingles with warmer steam from geothermal sources; these mists swirl around the caern to the north. The caern's center lies northwest of here. You can pick out what seems to be a hazardous trail over rock and up the wall, to the side of the waterfall.
Contents:
Thunder's-Forge
Severs
Obvious exits:
Steam Vents Center Windy Spot Up the Trail

Thunder's-Forge grudgingly follows the Fostern, carefully skirting the rest of the sept as buisness winds down and some begin to leave and yet others prepare to Revel. The Ahroun Lord regards Severs closely, but refrains from asking what's going on.

Severs twitches his head toward the center of the caern. I watched that. Even the tribeless reject spurned your pack.

Edge digs his claws into the ground with each step, trying his best to appear unagitated, and not doing very well at it. ~That he is even allowed here... must be a sign of the End Times.~

And he was just trying to come down off of that rant too, damn it all! ~This sept is growing pathetic.~ Thunder's Forge growls, but thankfully keeps his voice low. ~We let Ronin guards our sacred places and suffer mutilated and worthless cubs to live and join us. No wonder this caern was lost once.~

At the center, Howls-For-Glory is spending the brief moments of calm before the revel lounging on the grass in lupus form, nearly twitching with nervous energy.

Severs growls softly. You need to contain yourselves. And if you plan to stay with this sept, you will need to change their minds about you.

At the center, Endures-Pain is too busy staring into space like a good little theurge for the moment. She snaps her jaws as she shakes her head, turning to stare at those who are gathered. She shifts down to lupus and pads over to her packmate-to-be. I am restless.

Edge clacks his jaws together loudly, a snarl finally ripping through the philodox. ~How?!~ he demands of the fostern. ~Why should we even bother? They see no worth in us.~ He stamps a forepaw angrily. ~We are scarred forever for this damned piece of dirt, and not even a short dip of a head from any of them.~

At the center, Howls-For-Glory looks up, lifting his muzzle. I can see, he responds, lifting himself to his feet. Do you know what we will be hunting tonight? The red wolf shakes himself eagerly.

At the center, Holds-the-Line paces around the edge of the clearing, then shifts down to lupus. She continues to circle, panting slightly and tail carried lower than her usual confident hoist. Near Endures-Pain and the others of that pack she slows, ears swiveling over to them.

Thunder's-Forge is in no mood to entertain much of anyone, especially when Severs suggests that. He twists his muzzle and shows teeth, growling and his eyes blazing with hatred. ~I am done caring. I will do what I must do for our tribe, my pack, and myself. If they would rather die than acknowlege our scars than so be it. I'll kick dirt on them when they are dead.~

Severs looks from one tribemate to the other. Very well then. Perhaps we will discuss this further when the moon is smaller. Perhaps not. He turns and pads toward the pool.

At the center, No. The Silver Fang relays that in a serene tone that doesn't match the twitchiness of her body. But I am sure it will be an admirable revel nonetheless. It will be good to hunt and run.

Edge snorts once, yet doesn't quite join on Thunder's-Forge's sentiment. Rather, the philodox watches the various Garou gathered from afar, planting his tail and haunch onto the dirt. ~The thing is, Forge... when it comes to our tribe and our pack... if we are going to help, we /do/ need to cooperate. Sooner or later. It is that, or we leave and fish in better waters.~

At the center, Howls-For-Glory looks over as the Glass Walker elder moves over. A twitch of his tail and a slight lowering of his gaze in deference. Holds-The-Line-rhya. A chuff from the Fianna. It will be. Maybe we will do some good.

~It is tempting.~ Thunder's Forge snorts out and turns from Severs as the Fostern leaves, shifting his gaze over the various other Garou and growls low in his throat. ~I doubt anything we do will raise our standings, saving throw ourselves into death to save them, and then they will just be glad to be rid of us and forget we existed.~

At the center, Holds-the-Line was, perhaps, waiting to be recognized - when Howls-for-Glory acknowledges her she pads over. Did you find the story to the fur I showed you? she asks of the other Galliard.

At the center, Tobin has shifted to his homid form and is kneeling on the ground near Jana. He is casting sticks on the ground before him and frowning at the results. Occassionally he knicks his hand with a small dagger and squeezes a drop of blood onto the ground, but whatever he's seeing must not be improving, because he doesn't look any happier.

At the center, Howls-For-Glory snorts a breath. No. No one I asked seems to be able to tell me anything. The wolf seems frustrated by this. I am sorry. Have you had any luck with it?

At the center, So, the Silver Fang elder asks casually, as if this is -normal- for Tobin. What's the news? The lupus looks down at the sticks as well, chuffing faintly.

Edge's ears remain flat against his head. ~I don't expect to die for any of them,~ he snorts. ~If I die, it will be from my choosing.~ The halfmoon too, looks out towards the gathered. ~But I will not stand back and seethe in the shadows either.~ The halfmoon rises, pads off a couple of paces closer to the crowd, and turns to look back over his shoulder at his tribemate.

At the center, The Glass Walker beta admits that she has not asked. Other things have come first. She wonders who he has spoken to. A glance over at Tobin's... Tobinness and her butt plops down in a surprised sit.

At the center, Reggie restlessly roams through the crowd, impatient as any Ahroun for the Revel, and he stops a few feet from Tobin, staring with frank curiosity at the sticks and spots of blood.

At the center, Olga sits by Layne, gabbing absently with the Philodox, still tugging at a piece of jerky that sticks in her mouth, wrapped in blankets to keep the chill off her Homid skin.

At the center, "The usual," Tobin grunts. "Fire and blood, death and dismemberment. It's almost not worth it to attempt any kind of divination with the the great war looming on us." He sighs in frustration. "I can feel a splinter of hope, but it's the proverbial needle in the proverbial haystack."

Thunder's-Forge puffs up his fur in a gesture of general surlyness and grudingly follows after Edge, his nose wrinkling with a dour snort. ~We had better be killing something good.~

At the center, I still think you read your own pesimissism into it. Endures-Pain declares this, lowering her muzzle to examine the sticks. Regardless, there is no news so. Another chuff before she raises her head to look at the others.

~Define 'good',~ Edge rumbles, turning to pace back towards the center of the caern and take up his spot. A lash of the tail later, the halfmoon settles to await whatever is coming next.

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.
Contents:
Yi, Jacinta, Olga, Tobin, Isaac, Holds-the-Line, Endures, Howls-For-Glory, White Bear, Reggie
Obvious exits:
Rock Slab Windy Spot WaterFall Steam Vents

It's been barely a hand full of minutes since people stopped yapping and started waiting on the Revel, and the pace of the moot knows no mercy for those impatient. Clouds mute the full moon above, but it's easy to make out those in the know looking to the Wyrmfoe, Jacinta, expectantly.

Tobin grunts wordlessly at Jana, then shrugs. "Doom is all I see in my dreams of late, so perhaps I am reading the signs wrong. Who knows, they could be telling me what the Spring fashions in Paris will be this year and I just can't see it."

Howls-For-Glory grumbles as he watches everything start up. He looks apologetically toward Holds, before looking over to the Wyrmfoe for the evening.

Holds-the-Line, amused, informs Tobin that the Spring skins were decided months ago.

Endures snorts at Holds-the-Line and adds, Now is summer. Men.

White Bear stands, the blue painted ahroun glaring death at a few people who've done something to offend him and generally growling at the rocks for existing. Usual 'ahroun under full moon' stuff, really.

Reggie bends slightly, regarding the sticks with blinking eyes, then, in a stage whisper to the Fangs, states, "Blood-red is the new black. For the spring fashions."

Howls-For-Glory looks back and forth between the Fangs and the Glass Walker. Then at Reggie. He looks by turns bemused and confused.

Three-Blades stoops patiently by herself, now that her packmates have taken their cub to safer grounds. The Gnawer keeps her eyes closed almost meditatively, simply awaiting the Wyrmfoe's call.

Tobin snorts in turn at the Walker, quirking a half-grin. "Well no wonder I can't get anything out of these sticks," he says, then scoops them up and puts them away in a jacket pocket.

Pierces Ice's crinos form paces a small circle on four limbs, the growl she's been holding in for the past while growing once more as the circle comes to a close. She circles again, rising up to two legs, and her eyes scan the crowd and command attention. ~The time for talking is at an end.~ She continues, her circle growing wider, encompassing more of the caern, and gathering more of the Garou within. ~Howl!~ she commands, lifting her muzzle to do just that. Her howl is a short one, cut off by further words. ~Howl! For tonight we hunt for Grandmother's sake! Tonight we hunt for the caern! Tonight we hunt for the Hidden Walk! HOWL!~ And once again, she does, this time she brings all the rage she has exuded all evening into her vocalization.

Howls-For-Glory needs no second urging. Lifting his muzzle to the sky, the Galliard lets loose with an exultant, expectant howl. Pierces Ice's Rage begins to kindle his own in him.

Endures joins her tribemate and packmate in raising her muzzle high, howling out their rage and excitement to the night sky.

Kills-Wisely raises his mouth high to the sky and lets loose a rage filled howl, demanding fear from all who would stand before the Garou of the Hidden Walk.

Holds-the-Line's head snaps around to the Wendigo; half a second of surprise and she too tilts her nose to the sky to call out.

Olga takes a little longer than most, heaving herself off the ground, slowly buckling up into war form, and finally belting out a discordant howl to the obscured full moon.

As the howl begins, Thunder's Forge comes out of his sulk to raise his head and sound off his own dark, sonorous howl that betrays his great well of Rage and inner anger. Beside him and in near perfect synchrony, Edge throws up his voice, angry and loud as he can, trying to make sure that his deep bay is in the mix.

Three-Blades looks up as soon as she hears the calls rising. From her eyes-closed stoop, she stands and sings out with her wolfsong. Her ears stand up on her head and she looks skywards, as if the calls of the Garou were something visible.

White Bear takes the opportunity to bite the bundle of herbs and mushroom parts tied to the end of his spear with a snap of his jaws before tilting his head back to let out a loud noise for the impending revel.

Reggie eagerly turns away from the fashion debate, standing tall, then even taller, as his already bulky form bulks out even more, loose skins tautening into the fur of the war form. He roars up his howl to the full moon.

Pierces Ice moves faster, faster, howl building in pitch and volume until it reaches its peak. She stops then, suddenly still except for the shuddering of her shoulders with the thirst for the hunt. Again she looks over the gathered and her motions are barely restrained. ~Follow, Garou of the Hidden Walk! Follow me to the hunt!~ And with that, she sets her focus on the stone at the caern's center.

Jamethon already in the warform, lifts his spear to the sky as before when calling upon Chimera and rather than howling, unleashes a roaring that is punctuated in a rhythmic cadence.

Umbra: Center of the Caern
A subtly spine-vibrating thrum of power issues once again from the once-dead caern, pricking hairs and fur. Slowly but surely, the rejuvinating actions of the Garou have slowly been transforming the recently spiritually dead caern back into something befitting a caern. The caern is once again alive with a variety of spirits, though spirits of war seem a rarity now, and Wendigo spirits are never seen. The caern, visually, falls just short of the wildest rural utopia imaginable. Only hints of the previous pollution remain--slightly less than green grass, young sapling trees where there ought to be mighty oaks and pines--and these are things that, with time and care, should eventually replace what was lost.
The air crackles with tingles of spiritual potency, though it's obvious to Garou who'd witnessed the caern earlier that the caern just isn't quite as powerful and potent as it was before the BSD invasion.
Contents:
Holds-the-Line, Yi, Endures, Howls-For-Glory, Rags, Thunder's-Forge, White Bear, Kills-Wisely, Jamethon, Pierces Ice, Jihgfed, Tersa
Obvious exits:
South North West

Pierces Ice reaches through to the Umbra, the rage of the moon and her mood residing close to the surface. She returns to her circular pacing, a wide arc around the center of the caern, while she waits, impatient, for the others to arrive. When all have come through the gauntlet, gathered within her sphere, she stops, suddenly quiet, to scent and listen for signs of quarry.

The Umbra has gone quiet, like the Realm might when a pack of predators passes through it, the small wildlife dropping into silence to hide their presence. But one sound does reach the lupine ears of the werewolves, a sound that can best be described as golden song, coming from the south.

White Bear's head pivots about, nose working at the umbral winds to take stock at of the scents.

Howls-For-Glory's ears prick up when he hears the song, unerringly turning to face the source of the music. A sign? His tail swishes. It is beautiful.

Three-Blades sniffs, noticing the decided lack of spiritual activity. That puts the Gnawer off, but as the song reaches her ears, she gazes in the direction it comes from with interest. Then, the ragabash looks back to the Wyrmfoe, expecting some sort of explanation, or command.

Endures seems wary, looking around carefully as she moves beside pack- and tribe-mate. She doesn't say anything but she does turn to look toward the south as well, her muzzle raising as she scents the wind.

Holds-the-Line makes her way through the Gauntlet, ending up where she started - near the Fangs and the proto-pack. She asks politely if she may hunt with them even as her nose works and ears swivel to catch scent and sound of absent life.

Pierces Ice shifts onto four legs as she turns her attention southward. ~Three Blades, Kills Wisely, take point. Scout ahead.~ One ear still turned toward the sound, she takes in the rest of the hunt. ~Range out. Requiem, take left flank. Endures Pain, your pack takes right. The rest with me.~

Jamethon stays low to the ground, one hand down on it and the other on his bent knee. His senses are working overtime, and at Jacinta's instructions he quickly moves to follow them.

Hackles stiff, Edge shakes out his fur and stares off towards the song's origin. Beside him, Thunder's Forge also gives himself a preparatory shake and twists an ear towards the song, rumbling under his breath.

Calls-Spirits snuffles Holds-the-Line when she comes near and has no objections to her running with them. At the Wyrmfoe's command he forms up with his Elder and her packmate-to-be.

You may, Endures replies to Holds before chuffing agreement to the Wyrmfoe. She looks at her 'pack' for the night, her ears flicking as she does. We hunt. With that, she leads them off toward the right flank of the group.

As the orders are called, the two Lords of Requiem head for the left of the scouts.

Howls-For-Glory bumps Holds-the-Line lightly as she joins the pack, and then follows the rest of the proto-pack as commanded. He sniffs at the air, and otherwise keeps alert.

White Bear doesn't bother to agree with his alpha's orders. He merely shifts down into Hispo, doing what the wyrm foe told him to.

Holds-the-Line's fangs slash warningly at Howls-for-Glory when he bumps her, ears flattening at the younger male. Chastisement completed, she falls into place just behind Endure's-Pain and to the Fang's right.

Rags raises his muzzle high to sniff sharply at the Umbral air, then, with head tilted towards the source of the music, follows Jacinta.

Three-Blades nods once, looking to Kills-Wisely before dropping down to all fours and shifting to her lupus form.

Kills-Wisely moves to stand first beside Three-Blades, then waiting for the ragabash to make the change to lupus makes the move into the small clearings between dense umbral foliage to hide his approach, senses reaching out to seek the prey whatever it may be.

Howls-For-Glory is just barely able to keep himself from doing something so stupid as returning the growl, but masters the largely suicidal impulse in time to move along slightly behind the other three.

As the Revelers move along, Kills-Wisely and Three-Blades running ahead, the main group following from behind at a slightly slower but decent pace, the two scouts are the first to catch up to the flickering, amorphous form moving brightly through the trees south of the Caern, darting this way and that.

Three-Blades lifts her head as she catches first sight of the supposed spirit. The Gnawer ragabash drops closer to the ground to edge her way towards the unfamiliar creature. An ear indicates for her scouting partner to come with as well, as she starts a wide circle to flank the oddity.

Kills-Wisely moves off as his partner indicates, stalking around in attempt to keep with her pace. The Wendigo warrior doesn't pay too much attention to the spirit itself now that he has seen it, but rather focuses on his own stealth.

Thunder's Forge walks slightly ahead of Dagger's Edge, the Alpha of the small pack holding his head down and his ears forward. Edge follows in much the same fashion, both giving the darting form of light a critical look as they remain to the left.

As the scouts begin going around the glowing, musical spirit, the rest of the group is continuing along without warning and come very swiftly into viewing range of it as well. Pierces Ice snarls as the prey comes within view. ~Prey!~ She launches herself into attack. ~Flankers close! Take it down!~

Three-Blades snaps her ears and head up with the call from the Wyrmfoe. A growl issues forth from the ragabash, and she bulks up into the hispo form. She stands her ground first, letting the others rush around on the attack.

Jamethon, in a quick motion places his spear on his back as it melds with his form's melting into hispo. He waits a moment to watch the spirit for motion, and makes a quick leaping stride to cut it off.

Kills-Wisely howls straight out at the spirit as soon as the call is made, and an eerie quality takes on his howl as soon as the spirit moves. From the direction the spirit heads, Kills-Wisely calls upon the wind spirits to send a breeze to distract the prey.

Endures-Pain surging up to hispo at the front of her proto-pack. She leads the group in a sweeping move from the right. Meanwhile Howls-For-Glory finds a burst of speed, moving around the trio ahead of him to lunge at the amorphous spirit with teeth bared. Holds-the-Line remains in lupus, her own path taking her farther around the prey in an effort to cut off retreat.

White Bear luanches after Jacinta, rear claws digging in and throwing up dirt as the hispo thunders along as fast as he can propel himself.

Calls-Spirits likes this not, but surges forward alongside Endures-Pain as ordered by the Wyrmfoe. Still, he keeps one ear cocked to their flank and remains, for some reason, in lupus.

Edge snarls out - Finally! The philodox surges forth with his pack alpha, jaws wide and looking to tear into the spirit with frightening alacrity. And indeed does Thunder's Forge surge ahead, hispo paws slamming into the ground as he charges straight forward for the spirit, ready to sink his honed claws into it and tear down it from the air.

Isaac lunges forward as well, ears up and jaws wide. He takes the last several yards in two hopping bounds forward.

Rags eagerly joins the charge of surging Garou. His crinos form lopes in a four-limbed gait, the monstrous claws digging into the ground for traction to propel his weight forward.

Those who did not jump in or who lag behind for caution's sake are not there when the rest of the Garou descend upon the spirit taking the form of goldenrod flame. Kills-Wisely's breeze causes the tattered edges of the fire to dance but do not change its course. The vanguard of attackers, those who have thrown themselves heedlessly into the fray, come close to dogpiling on the spirit as they surround it, and the fire bathes them in illumination, a sensation of intense, fiery heat coursing over and through their bodies, before the night suddenly goes blacker still for the sudden absence of light, the spirit disappearing in that flash.

As the prey falls beneath them, Pierces the Ice raises her voice in a howl of triumph, the pain from the heat almost beyond her awareness with all else that she feels at the moment.

Three-Blades folds her ears back with the sight of the spirit bursting into flames. Only seconds after, the area goes dark and the Gnawer narrows her gaze to try and compensate for the lack of light.

Fights-For-Hope slams into the others as the spirit vanishes from view, the heat washing over his body causes a strange growling to emit from the Fenrir. Picking himself gingerly from the dogpile until the Wendigo elder howls, then does he too join in the victory cry.

Endures's head tosses back as she howls to the sky. Its both triumph and pain but the theurge holds true to her rite name, managing it and pouring that into her call to the night.

Howls-For-Glory's fur bristles as he feels the strange sensation of the energy washing over him. The pain is almost of no consequence to the Galliard as he lifts his head to join in the howl of victory. He narrowly avoids landing atop any others nearby.

Calls-Spirits, who held back, trots to a halt when the light goes out. He breathes a sigh of relief, and though he looks a little drained, he does not look unhappy to be so. Foolish to think something evil would come so close on a moon like this, he chides himself.

Requiem pulls their two selves from the pile, black coats steaming from the heat of the spirit. Both Thunder's-Forge and Dagger's-Edge look dissapointed in their own ways and remain silent and brooding.

Kills-Wisely, though left out of the main dogpile seems to feel no less left out of the victory. The Wendigo warrior does however, decide to be cautious and looks around, sniffing for anything that should not be there.

Holds-the-Line's additional flanking maneuver leaves her out in the cold and dark - literally. She manages to pull up before careening into Howls-for-Glory, her own muzzle lifting in a mournful victory cry.

White Bear tilts his head back and joins the howl, the blue and white Crinos booming loudly regardless of the pain of the heat. Or perhaps all the louder because of it.

Three-Blades too, once her vision has adjusted, looks about. The ragabash doesn't seem all there for a bit, but comes back around as she focuses her attentions on seeking out perhaps, where the spirits had disappeared to.

Isaac falls even as the prey falls, suddenly finding his chest slamming into the dirt. He lets out a surprised whuff, and a small whimper at the pain from the burns, and then looks around in confusion. The sounds of triumphant howls calls him back and he lifts his own voice as well.

Rags' weight and momentum send him over the top of the dogpile to slither down the other side for a graceless landing. Blinking the flash from his eyes, he waits there a moment, turning his head one way and another as he picks out the various voices howling about him.

Kills-Wisely growls out, then simply roars, ~We too are hunted! The prey is here!~ He then bolts off at something he seems to have seen in the brush, claws splayed before him.

Pierces Ice ends her howl and gives a mighty shake, massive head swinging over toward her tribesmate's call.

Even as Kills-Wisely calls out his warning, something else rolls into the clearing suddenly formed by the rending, leaping attack of the Garou. Rolls, literally. Tens or scores of furry balls, just over the size of a softball, emerge from the underbrush, bouncing over rocks and downed limbs, more and more pouring out of the night canopy from the east and west, from left and right of the Garou's path into the engling. The Garou have just enough time, a bare second or two, to react to the Wendigo ahroun's warning before the furry balls will be upon them.

Howls-For-Glory's howl is cut off as if by a knife. He, too, looks after Kills-Wisely, and then bulks into crinos in a flickering instant. ~They're like Critters!~ Disbelieving, he prepares himself for the flood.

Thank Gaia, and here Thunder's Forge thought he had wasted his time in coming. He quickly fixes his sights on the army of fuzzy softballs, eyes going narrow and fixed with immense concentration. Beside him, Dagger's Edge makes the change to Crinos and prepares for battle.

Fights-For-Hope is in crinos in a second at the call, spear out and ready to swing at the creatures. The large Get finds himself along side the Fenrir pack Requiem to the east.

Isaac scrabbles to get his legs back under him and looks around in utter confusion. He spots his tribesmates and lunges in their direction.

Pierces Ice snarls, dropping her head down even as her hackles rise and she turns her attention to the wave from the east.

Three-Blades is fast on Kills' heels, shifting to the warform with speed. Both sets of claws come out, and she runs towards the rolling balls of fuzz. There's a caution in the ragabash though, and waits to see if they are something familiar.

White Bear doesn't quite know what to make of the critters, since anything that small and furry is obviously dinner but everyone seems to think they're not for eating. He faces the same direction as Jacinta, tensing up for the critters.

Endures twists about at the call, her howl cutting off and a low growl coming in deep in her throat.

Rags continues blinking as the moving flashes of light in his sight fade out only to be replaced by moving balls of fur. He wrests himself up to a knee flat on the ground, as he braces for a low, underhanded struggle. He peers to the east, same as Jacinta.

Holds-the-Line's head snaps around once again at the howl from Kills-Wisely. In the second or two before the tribbles are upon them she surges up to hispo, then makes to leap upon their attackers.

I knew it, Calls-Spirits snarls. He backs away from the furballs, sniffing the air furiously as he does so. His form swells up to hispo in a few steps but he ends up looking puzzled, if still wary. ~There is no taint here that I can smell,~ he announces to any who are listening.

As the six Garou on the Eastern front--Requiem plus Fights-For-Hope, the two members of Mantiou's Ridgeline plus Rags--turn to gird their loins for battle, the rolling furry balls are upon them, and they see the things unfurl, uncurl, going from round fuzzy cute balls that may remind some of the Star Trek tribbles, to elongated, flattened things which rise about a foot in the air like the hood of a cobra, revealing a white inner side covered with short white fur and a gaping maw nearly a third of its length, long, needle-like teeth gleaming wet and silvery in the moonlight. They barely pause before a strong contraction close to the ground followed by an equally strong elongation causes them to fly through the air towards the six in a horizontal rain of gnasing, biting pain, too many to count, as each Garou is attacked by at least three, some more of the things.

Seven Garou to the west turn to meet the rumbling monsters, fierce and proud as pins before these miniature bowling balls. They fall from the trees and curl swiftly along the ground, then suddenly snap spasmatically open and fling themselves towards the Garou. They almost ignore the the main party, clustering over the stragglers, Calls-Spirits and Holds-the-Line, and the two scouts, Kills-Wisely and Three-Leaves. These four each find themselves lunged at by four or five of the creatures, while only a few little balls tumble towards the three Garou clustered around where the Engling was slain.

In the short time it takes the little furry things go from 'lunch' to 'bad thing', White Bear goes from confusion on what the big deal is to swatting at them with a clawed paws, jaws snapping forward for another. Pierces the Ice snarls, jaws slashing sideways to snap down on one of the flying things as it nears her head. Like her packmate, she slashes out with claws to snatch the creatures out of the air. Rags is still down on one knee, having not yet arisen from the dogpile, when he greets the welcoming commitee of contorting tribbles with a gurgled yell. Finding them too welcoming, he clenches the most amorous one with the claws of both hands, pulling it away from him, and into two pieces, best as he can.

The pack of Requiem with the addition of Fights-For-Hope is battered by a barrage of the wicked critters. Thunder's Forge goes rigid as he braces for the assault, but remains otherwise fixes as he summons his full concentration to try and discern any weakness in the enemy. Edge bears through the initial onslaught, teeth gnashed as he calls upon the gift that takes away the pain from his body. Fights-For-Hope abandons swinging the spear for now and as the pain hits he roars down at the furballs, ~Attack your own kind!~ His words have a power behind them, the force of a Garou gift surging through them.

Howls-For-Glory decides that deflection might be the best course of action. As one of the little balls rolls at him, he lets out a resounding growl. ~Out of the way!~ Having dispensed with the warning, he draws his leg back and brings it forward with all the strength he can muster, trying to shoot the thing away like a soccer ball. Just like old times on the soccer field. Honestly.

Holds-the-Line spares no time to debate the relative Taintedness of these creatures, not with them swarming over her in a handful. She braces for their attack, jaws snapping and teeth slashing at the furry 'stalks', concentrating on keeping them as far from her as possible.

Calls-Spirits hops backwards, growing to crinos as he tries to put a little distance between him and these fuzzy, toothsome beasts. He slashes out with his claws as the things get within range.

Three-Blades skids to a halt as soon as the furballs change and take their true shape. Teeth grit, the ragabash looks like she's doing a hopping dance backwards, dodging to avoid getting latched on by the little monsters. Her claws lash out at the closest one in discouragement for leaping at her.

Isaac finally focuses in on the threat, and he lumbers forward to snap at the things attacking his friends.

Kills-Wisely is still after the one he originally spotted, and the moment he reaches the enemy his form blurs with rage into the crinos. Gift sharpened claws swipe viciously at the small spirit critters that hound him and his comrades.

Endures lunges forward at the new threats, her hispoed form bristling in a surprisingly aggressive manner. She snaps her jaws toward the nearest fuzzball, a low growl in her throat.

As the two makeshift packs on the East collide with their enemies, the three various followers of Fenris hold their ground and do not seem to openly attack, and subsequently are covered with a hail of creatures, attaching themselves like leeches to arms and legs, the one deviant being a single spirit which takes out another going towards Fights-For-Hope, but given the number coming at him, it seems the theurge is their primary target. In contrast, the Guardians and the Uktena, in contrast, show their true ahroun natures and get set on 'puree'. Furry body parts go flying under the claws and teeth of the rage-maddened ahrouns, but even then, more come to strike their limbs, clamping on limpet-like.

Isaac thunders off towards Calls-Spirits, his fur beginning to shine as he does, to replace the light lost in the Engling's demise, the trees not far off taking on a strange, fey glow. The Theurge he charges in to rescue devotes as much energy to getting away from the monsters as he does to destroying them, more even, and as such while his claws find no purchase neither do their razorsharp, leech-like mouths. The center is left to Enduers-Pain and Howls-for-Glory; the latter snaps out with her teeth and clenches down hard on the creature, finds it wriggling between her teeth, vainly trying to attach it's vicious mouth to her flesh; while Howls-for-Glory's assault doesn't go too well, the Crinos punt awkward, the creature just wraps tight around his leg like a constricting snake, digging teeth into flesh and beginning to pump out liquid. Holds-the-Line does a good job keeping the creatures at bay, but though she knocks one aside as it leaps the others swarm closer and begin to encircle, rolling around her to prepare for another pounce from behind. The scouts do the most damage, but they're hardest beset upon: Kills-Wisely finds the one he'd first spotted and shreds it neatly in two, ripping it open with claws, and slashing down on another, but one latches on to his thigh, and another on his lowered arm, draining him. Three-Blades does her dodging dance but they are all around and they are hungry: she steps at one and though it squishes beneath her feet it sucks on right through her pawpads, making her step difficult.

It is almost as if he was just practicing the gift, for before seeing the effect, Fights-For-Hope is reaching down to rip into the furry little bastards, stomp on them, bite any that leap high enough, and just generally go crazy on the furbies. Meanwhile, as Thunder's Forge feels the teeth of the creatures, he comes out of his trance-like state and erupts into action. ~Their bellies are weak!~ He roars out to any who are listening, if it's of any use, and then rears up into the form of war. With the fury of his Rage, the Ahroun Lord strikes out with his gift-sharped claws to rend his attackers from him. Edge roars out not in pain, but in a growing fury as he grabs for the nearest fuzzy parasite, seeking to rip it off and tear its guts out from the belly, moving onto the next before he even confirms that the first is dead or injured.

All the rage that Jacinta has kept in check through the moot is now released. Her claws slash, and jaws snap at any enemy within reach. Those that latch on to her are given no quarter, as her teeth seek to rend them in twain, not caring that she sometimes catches her own flesh between her fangs. White Bear's pace seems to intensify, the blue and white Ahroun suddenly acting with an untapped furry. His jaws snap and tear at the creatures latched onto him, occasionally swatting as the blue and white Ahroun goes positively berserk. Rags rises to his feet, his muzzle twisted into an ugly snarl at the furry leeches clamping onto him. He rakes sharpened claws along one arm, scraping the leeches off him, then repeats the scraping on his legs, careless in his rage and leaving red lines decorating his skin.

Howls-For-Glory lets out an enraged snarl, looking momentarily surprised as the creature latches on. ~LEECH!~ The Fianna moves to rake an arm down the furball that has suddenly latched onto his leg, trying to flay it open, while being on the lookout for any incoming monsters.

Holds-the-Line lunges - not for the leech in front of her, but the one to her left, jaws wide to clamp down and rip the life out of the thing as she barrels out of the circle. Once it's taken care of she'll go for the one which had been before her, paying no mind to the other two.

Endures's growl goes more savage and she snaps her head back and forth, shaking the thing like...well, like a dog. Its a sharp hard movement.

Calls-Spirits growls in frustration as his claws fail to find their marks. Daring a glance behind him to see where he's going, he adjusts his path so that his back will be to Endures-Pain and Howls-for-Glory. When there is nowhere else to go, he makes his stand, concentrating on swatting the things out of the air before they can get to him.

Isaac redoubles his efforts to reach Tobin, jaws snapping at the nasty creatures as they come within reach. Wordless, he growls out his anger as he makes his way forward.

Three-Blades snarls as the pain of being bitten in the foot leaps up her nerves. She reaches down for the biting creature, and with her strength tugs at it to rip the fuzzball from her foot and hurl it directly at another.

As soon as he is struck Kills-Wisely roars out in violated rage and redoubles his efforts. He saves no more than one strike for each foe, swiping at one then another and another. His rage is being piqued and the only sounds that leave his mouth are spittle filled snarlings that betray the edge of frenzy.

To the east, it's like Gaia took the can of whup ass and shook it up before popping the top. The four ahrouns, the philodox and the theurge go from puree to frappe, the ground becoming littered with small furry corpses, but even as more and more die under the rage-fueled talons, more of the spirits roll and bounce out of the treeline like a Jigglypuff nightmare, and some more manage to make an attachment to the Garou, sucking the life force from them through tearing, rending, chewing teeth.

Holds-the-Line ducks down over her quarry and tears out great shimmering gunks of something vital-looking from its back, and then lunges forward and wraps teeth around the one in front. Meanwhile the two she ignores clamber up and find rough purchase on her back, beginning to pulsate and curl around her as they dig in to their meal. The two members of the proto-pack continue at their tasks, Endures-the-Pain whipping the thing around until it's finally limp between her jaws, and Howls-for-Glory flaying at the creature which has latched onto his leg. He manages to takes away the greater part of its soft, furry flesh, but those sharp teeth remained dug in sharp. Calls-Spirits continues to back slowly up, batting most of the creatures away though the resilient little balls of muscle and fur and teeth just keep coming back for more. Finally one manages to grab a hold of his palm as he bats out, dangling there, little teeth dug in. He's about to try and ward off another when Isaac saves him the trouble, snatching the creature out of the air and sending his teeth through its middle like only a Garou and an only-sold-on-TV steak knife can. Kills-Wisely's snapping and slashing cut a vicious swathe through the creatures; he seems for a moment to be almost out of them, when more come rolling through, some of them right past him, the Ahroun seeming now to be largely ignored in favour of plusher targets deeper in the Garou's ranks. Three-Blades manages with a great wrenching effort to pull the thing from her foot, everything except the teeth, which stay embedded there like iron nails. As she's doing that three more either crawl up her legs or send themselves snapping through the air towards her, digging roughly in.

The Wendigo elder no longer cares, her eyes blinded to all but the enemy that surrounds them. Her white fur now spotted red with her own blood, and discolored further with the gore of the many creatures attacking her. The shower of gore drizzles down White Bear, as well, adding Red to the Blue and White. His head and neck rear around, the Hispo's massive jaws moving to crush the remaining clingers with his teeth. Losing any semblance of restraint, a leech-decorated Rags launches himself into the oncoming wave of bouncing balls, with talons and teeth wildly slashing.

Howls-For-Glory ignores the teeth embedded in his leg now. It's a sadly familiar state of affairs, now. At least they're not tentacles. He goes on the offensive, then, launching himself at the nearest creatures with murder in his eyes. Moving with speed enhanced by Rage, he tries to meet the more successful eastern wing in sheer efficiency of the kill.

Calls-Spirits immediately sets to with his teeth to rip the creature off his hand, with no time to thank Isaac for the save. It's hard to concentrate on swatting and kicking but does his best, desperate to not be overwhelmed while he tries to free himself of the fuzzy parasite.

Isaac continues to focus his attention on removing the threat to Calls-Spirits. His head shakes from side to side as he snaps at the flying balls of fur at teeth.

Three-Blades howls out as three more creatures latch on just as she puts one off. The ragabash's Rage flares with the pain, and she turns her claws and teeth on all her attackers, becoming a blurry Crinos-version of a Cuisinart machine.

Holds-the-Line roars in fury and boils up to Crinos and bipedal in the blink of an eye; her claws rip and tear at the things on her back, wrenching them from her body. Rage burns off the Wolverine's child as she slashes, claws cutting through their fur.

Kills-Wisely after chomping down on one of the furballs, has one leap upon his face and bite hard into his scalp. The result is a serious snaping of the line between raged fighting and frenzy. The furball in Kills-Wisely's mouth is crushes and splattered about like a cantaloupe at a Gallahger concert, the one upon his face reaches for and ripped in half, and then the Wendigo sees only red little targets that he turns into a whirlwind of roaring frenzied doom upon.

With the blood and gore, Thunder's Forge looks positively elated in that sinister, murderous way that probably just isn't solely the influence of his bloodthirsty pack totem. So much does he seem to be enjoying himself, that the red light of frenzy begins to come into his eyes and then the Lord is the epitome of a rampaging serial killer. Anything and everything that gets in the way of him and his prey is fair game and subject to his scalpel-sharp claws. Further eerie is the fact Dagger's Edge snaps at the exact same time, and the two Lords rain down hell and brimstone on the ravenous soul-sucking furbies. Meanwhile, and still in control, Fights-For-Hope is grunting almost in glee as he continues to whirl about back and forth, strength surging through his blows. His voice roars forth in the spirit's tongue, *Flee! Flee little demons 'fore you are all lost to oblivion!*

On the eastern side, the carpeting becomes small piles, mounds, if you will, of blood and fury, as five frenzied Garou stand up as prosecutor's defense A as Why Garou Are Gaia's Warriors. Their own claws rake their bodies to remove the leeches attached to them and those approaching, but while the reachable ones dwindle in number, so do those arriving, some newly appearing on the treeline stopping and rolling back whence they came, those arriving seconds preparing to launch themselves instead pausing, curling back up into balls and bouncing away as fast as they can, letting their brethrens' sacrifice cover their escape.

Kills-Wisely isn't agreeing with their attempt to escape, his frenzied mind tracking down the prey of war and actually leaping off on a small group about to strike him. Spinning about with claws and teeth to turn them into so much furred tomato soup the frenzying Wendigo is roaring so harshly that blood spittles from his own throat.

Much is the same on the western side, what creatures remain are scraped off flesh, sometimes whole and taking chunks with them, other times leaving teeth behind as testaments. The creatures engaged do not flee, their death is quick as the Garou find time to concentrate their efforts, but those hanging back on the edges turn tail, so far as they have them; they turn furry coiled backside at least and roll back into the Umbral woods, quickly disappearing beneath branch and bush despite the ferocity of any pursuit.

Howls-For-Glory drops to his knees, breath steaming from his nostrils as he snorts in anger. He moves to rip the teeth from his leg with a grunt, eyeing the wound speculatively.

Three-Blades gives chase with an angered roar towards the fleeing furballs, mimicking Kills-Wisely's actions, but as soon as the it's clear that she will catch up to none, the no-moon slows to a stop. Rather, she crashes to all fours, panting, huffing and bleeding from the puncture wounds in her body.

Seeing no more foes in the immediate area, Calls-Spirits shakes his fist at the retreating wyldings, one of their broken bodies clutched in it. He pauses, eyes the small corpse thoughtfully, then flings it away. Ignoring his own wounds, he turns to survey the rest of the Garou, looking for those who are most injured and in need of immediate healing.

Kills-Wisely continues to frappe the little critters near him that aren't lucky enough to have been on a beach in Tahiti tonight, instead of screwing with the Garou of the Hidden Walk. It doesn't exactly look like he's calming down any time soon, but he still has a furbee of doom or two to squish.

Pierces Ice continues to shred the small bodies of the enemy that remain, rage-blind eyes seeking only more of them, even as those nearby begin to withdraw rather than approach.

Holds-the-Line rips the two bodies from her back, claws crushing the creatures before she flings them after their fleeing fellows. ~And stay out!~ she roars before dropping down to three legs, her free hand reaching back to gingerly prod at her bleeding wounds. Only after this is done does she turn to the others, keeping a wary eye on those still caught up in the battle madness.

Isaac snuffles after Tobin, pulling at a small, dead piece of one still stuck to the Theurge's back.

Fights-For-Hope reclaims his spear, standing up once the foe is gone and leaning on the spear as if suddenly burdened. ~Greedy little bastards,~ he growls out as he looks around for any serious enough in injury to actually require healing.

As White Bear rips of the last of them from his hide with his teeth, he starts to taper down. There's nothing more to kill around him, all in his vicinity already dead. With the dead spirit still hanging from his jaws, he looks about with bleary eyes a touch disoriented.

The two members of Requiem slowly make their way out of Frenzy. Thunder's Forge drops his shoulders and roars out a last angry exhale of Rage before he stops to pant wearily, his pitch black fur dripping with gore and leaving only his blue eyes clean in the otherwise mess he looks. Dagger's Edge also comes to his senses in turn, skulking sluggishly among the remains and giving kicks to the dead to make sure they are so. With only a quick glance to one another, the two Shadow Lords turn away from the scene of carnage and without a second look back move away from the battlefield.

Rags tears apart furry bodies, dead or not, and is heedless of those few still attached to him. Little particles of fur scatter around him into a cloud.

Howls-For-Glory picks up one of the dead spirits, looking at it curiously. Aside from the trifling wound on his leg, the Garou only looks a bit drained by the fierce fighting. ~All this trouble over something so small?~ He tosses the body away from him, but palms the teeth he pulled from his leg.

Like her tribesmate and Elder Brother's child, Pierces the Ice does not yet see through the haze of rage that clouds her mind. A small bit of crushed spirit seems to twitch and she turns her aggression on it, until nothing is left.

Kills-Wisely finally, having thankfully been left alone to work through his frenzy does calm down enough to look about with some sense. His breathing is in ragged huffs as he flows into the lupine form, and stalks through the field of dead wyldlings towards his tribal elder.

Three-Blades limps back to the edge of the main group, surveying the carnage. Shifting to a more viable traveling form, the Gnawer hispo flumps down into a tired, bloody mass atop some of the bodies of dead spirits, looking like she's not going to be moving for awhile.

Kills-Wisely looks over to Three-Blades, huffing a congratulatory chuff in her direction. ~Did well, Urrah.~ The 'descriptive' term, at least for now doesn't carry any negative tone, but is rather given as a matter of fact.

Howls-For-Glory settles down on the ground, giving the lupine equivalent of a sigh. ~Not bad for a first revel,~ he observes to himself.

While the Garou are winding down from the combat, all the matter of the spirits--corpses, jaws, etc--all dissipate into nothingness, leaving the area pristine, except for where the Garou damaged it in their attack throes.

Calls-Spirits blinks as Isaac removes a bit of gore from him. He turns and thanks the philodox gravely. ~Help me with the wounded,~ he says, then makes his way amongst the Garou, mostly making a list of various injuries. Spying the battered Gnawer, he crouches down next to Three-Blades and shakes his head. ~The second time in how long? Ten days? Less?~ He sighs and rubs his clawed hands together, a blue glow coming up around them as he does so. ~Gaia, Mother, your child is wounded. I would heal her in your name,~ he says with an air of ritual as he traces his hands in the air over Three-Blades' wounds.

White Bear lets the current dead thing drop from his jaws, picking himself up as he pants for breath. He plods forward, picking up one of the spirits, biting down and shaking his head real hard as if trying to break the thing's neck in case it wasn't just dead yet.

Three-Blades looks up from a slow lick of her wounds. ~Three-Blades, Gnawer, Ragabash,~ she rumbles in reply, distinctly lacking in any irritation behind it but surely pointing out with a flick of her ears, her auspice. As Calls-Spirits comes over, she pulls her lips back in a 'grin', canting her ear at him. ~I am known for finding trouble...~

Isaac follows obediently after Tobin, the glow from his form slowly fading. ~All the bad things are gone? But some ran away. They come back?~

Pierces Ice's rage begins to ebb only long minutes after the enemy are gone. As the anger fades, she seems to deflate, folding inward upon herself until she falls heavily to the ground in lupus, panting slowly and blinking at the mostly untouched scene.

Fights-For-Hope growls over to where Tobin stands, ~You checked for the wyrm yes? Found none? Wyldlings you think?~

~They are gone for now,~ Calls-Spirits answers Isaac. ~If they come back, we will send them running again.~ He calls to Jamethon as he continues working on Yi, ~I smelled no taint,~ he confirms. ~They did not seem to be of the Weaver, thusly I conclude they were of the Wyld. More I could not say.~ He finishes his healing of Yi and stands, looking around for who else is badly injured. Spying Kills-Wisely, he makes his way towards the Wendigo.

Holds-the-Line turns from studying the others to standing guard. Relatively untouched, she remains in a three-point crouch, sniffing the air to keep a nose out for more enemies. Fights-For-Hope nods agreement and melts down to the lupine form now, no one seeming so far gone as to require loss of even more gnosis tonight.

Rags staggers slowly to a sputtering standstill as he runs out of energy. Wearily, he checks his limbs, twisting his neck for better vies, and rips away one luckless leech left that was too frightened to make its getaway earlier. Clenching it in his fist, he stares at it, as he musters up the energy to decide what to do with it, then squishes it as he collapses to the ground, breath wheezing.

Howls-For-Glory drops into lupus, shaking his leg in annoyance as it gives a twinge. Nothing seems to be coming.

Three-Blades closes her eyes with a thankful rumble at the healing touch, feeling its warmth patching up her grevious wounds. The Fang leaves her feeling and looking a lot less mangled; enough so that she rises to her paws and shakes off bits of spirit, blood and loose fur.

Kills-Wisely quickly jolts his eyes over to Calls-Spirits as he heads over, and seeming on edge growls to the healer. ~I am fine. I just feel... raped.~

Calls-Spirits nods at Kills-Wisely and leaves him be. Having nowhere to move to now, he sways on his feet a bit. ~Does anyone else require healing? I have...a little more left to give. I would rather someone here have it than the Wyldlings.~

White Bear, with nothing left to tear apart, starts to slowly limp away from the area. He doesn't respond to Tobin, instead making his way eastward without any more noise then him panting.

Pierces Ice lifts her head, ears turned backward as she looks toward Calls-Spirits. Effort evident, she pushes to her paws and chuffs toward her packmate before heading back north, toward the caern.

Howls-For-Glory pushes himself up. I require nothing, save rest. The Fianna passes through the Gauntlet after a long moment's effort, and is gone.

Kills-Wisely grunts out, ~Returning home to my betrothed.~ As he heads off to do just that.

Isaac bounds along beside Tobin, unharmed, and apparently unaffected by whatever seems to be bothering the others.

White Bear turns to follow his his packmate instead, following her to the Caern.

Three-Blades rolls her large shoulders, and then paces over to the Fangs, coming up not too far from Isaac and Calls-Spirits. As she eyes the departing, the Gnawer remarks, ~They don't know a good deal when they are offered one. But, rather than brood on why our Revel was filled with killing non-tainted spirits, I would like to hear more about things that matter. Especially that very Large Thing That Matters, in the Scab.~

Isaac's ears pull together and then flit backward in confusion as he stares up at Three Blades.

~We can get clean at the farmhouse,~ Calls-Spirits says, stooping to help Jana to her feet. ~I'll tell you more about it there. Come along Isaac. I'll show you how to make bandages.~

Fights-For-Hope looks over at Yi and nods, ~I would like to hear that discussed come the chance too. I could begin formulating talens when I know just that effect needs to be aquired.~

Three-Blades gives Isaac a short, wolfish smile of reassuring expression. Things will be cleared up later, then.

Isaac follows after, tail giving a small, uncertain wag.