04-09-2007~07-02-2007 : Ruth Trips-Over-Paws' Rite of Passage

Ruth Trips-Over-Paws' Rite of Passage

PART 1 - Ceremonial Start Off

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (54% full).
It is currently 10:58 Pacific Time on Mon Apr 9 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.91 and rising, and the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)

Among the Steam Vents
The ground here is rocky and barren. Small, narrow cracks network the area, and heated steam trickles out of many of them. The steam fills the air in this spot, warming those nearby and leaving a thin sheen of dampness--and just a hint of minerals and sulfur--on everything nearby. Because of this, the rocky ground is slick and treacherous. Two or three times a day, a blast of hot steam briefly erupts from one of the cracks, increasing the heat and smell in the area.
The forest surrounding the caern's border is far less dense than the rest of the nearby forest. Scattered, centuries-old oaks stand majestically over their fallen, decaying, moss-covered comrades. This peculiarity seems to surround only the area just outside the caern.
Through the mists, you can see the caern circling towards the walls of the crevice, north towards the rocky slab; east, you can hear the waterfall; the caern's center lies to the northeast. The valley continues towards the southwest.
Contents:
Trips-Over-Paws
Obvious exits:
WaterFall Down the Valley Center Rocky Slab

The half moon shines somewhere in the sky, though at this time of day there's no telling without some actual research. One cub has been called forth to meet Yi at the Steam Vents, where the Gnawer fostern prepares some implements for a special rite. Busily mixing something paste-like and pungently smelling of sulfur and other minerals from the area within a cracked wooden bowl, she awaits the arrival alone.

A smallish young grey-furred wolf makes her way down from the valley rim into the Caern. She does not dawdle, but neither does she scurry. She spends a few moments snuffing the ground near the waterfall, giving a soft snort of satisfaction, before she completes the distance to the Bone Gnawer Crinos with a few strides of easy trot and halts a pace away. Her nose twitches at the strange scents as she tucks her tail under and crouches respectfully. Runner-rhya?

Runner pauses in her mixing, the fur about her claws covered with muddy paste. The ragabash regards the mixture awhile, and then offers it over for inspection. ~Does this smell right to you?~ Ears twitch forward in added, curious query.

Trips-Over-Paws extends her head without moving her body, neck stretching as she sniffs. Her eyes half close in concentration. Her tail-tip, tucked underneath her, switches to and fro in uncertainty. What is it supposed to smell like?

Runner licks some of the errant condensed water vapor clinging to her muzzle, bringing the bowl back and sniffing it herself. A wrinkle of her lips and a sneeze later, the Gnawer sets the bowl down. ~That is a good question. When does something smell 'right' and when does it smell 'wrong'?~ The newmoon shrugs a shoulder with a wolfish smile at the cub, and then motions for her to edge closer. ~Your elder, Walks-the-Middle-Road. Did she mention why you have been told to come and see me?~

Trips-Over-Paws cocks her head to one side. Not with two-leg words, she answers with precision.

~Good,~ Runner replies again, her expression taking a tilt for the more somber. ~Because I never did like it when surprises are ruined.~ She sneaks in another grin, picking up the bowl of paste. ~Because You, Trips-Over-Paws, have just been selected to go on your Rite of Passage. Today. Right now.~

Trips-Over-Paws ponders this, before her tail wags again. Good?

Runner beckons the cub closer, stooping to tower less over the smaller wolf. ~I'd hope so. Now step forward and prepare yourself. This won't hurt.~ Scooping up some of the paste into her claw, she waits.

Trips-Over-Paws steps forward as ordered, with another nervous wag of her tail as she carefully avoids stepping on any of the preparations. She licks her chops, twice, wondering how to get herself ready for something she's never done before.

Runner's hand lifts, large claws carefully drawing upon the young wolf's face. It takes a little time to fully render, but in the end the glyphs for breed, tribe, auspice and cubname are painted on along each cheek and forehead. The paste is cool, but smells warm with minerals, clinging but not clumpy. A satisfied rumble at her work later, the Gnawer sets the bowl down and stands to her full height. ~Trips-Over-Paws, I ask you. What does it mean to be a Philodox? Take what forms you wish to answer this question. I, the spirits, Sister Luna the Moon and Grandmother Gaia listen.~

With a glance behind to be sure she has room, Trips settles back onto her haunches, shifting to Crinos as she does so. She sits in silence for a long time, watching, ears turning to catch the small sounds from the living Caern about them. Her voice, shen she finally speaks, is soft, calm, and sure. ~The warriors of Gaia always fight. The half-moons exist to make sure that they can fight together against the true enemy, and do not destroy themselves with fighting each other. Everything else follows from that.~

Nodding once to the answer, the Gnawer continues her inquiry. ~Then I ask you, what does it mean to be a Garou? A warrior of Gaia?~

Trips-Over-Paws's head dips for a moment, her face shadowed with thought. When she looks up, her eyes are bright. ~It means knowing what you are, and accepting what you are, and being what you are, and making that better. A Garou can never be anything except Garou. Anything else is a lie.~

Runner's ears tilt to either side briefly, but otherwise the ragabash shows no approval nor disapproval of the answer. ~And finally, Trips-Over-Paws, I ask you. What does it mean to be part of the Children of Gaia?~

Trips-Over-Paws's ears splay slightly, and her jaw drops in a lpine grin made fearsome by the warform. ~It is to be Garou. Gaia made all Garou; all Garou who accept her are Gaia's children.~

~And knowing this, then,~ Runner rumbles in conclusion, ~your Rite of Passage continues to the south of here.~ She gestures in the cardinal direction. ~The elder of another sept has called upon the Children of Gaia for their aid. Walks-the-Middle agreed to provide.~ The gesturing arm sweeps back, indicating the cub as if to point out just who is being sent. ~The Rite of Passage is a test to prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the Garou Nation. It is our way of communing with the spirits beyond the Gauntlet, knowing that they may Gift us with their knowledge and charms. And last, this is a test to show /yourself/ what you can do.~

Trips-Over-Paws nods, returning to solemnity and shifting her weight in readiness to move. ~How do I find the right place?~ she asks.

Here, Runner smiles again in that ragabash fashion. ~That's a good question, but not impossible to answer. In the Sept Compound is a bag for you. It holds the things you will need to find the sept. You may leave when you are ready. But before you leave, wash your face in the waters of the caern's pool. Remember from where you've come, and take that with you as you go.~

Trips-Over-Paws gives Runner a sideways grin, a grin that is, inevitably, full of teeth. ~Riddles?~ She stands, but does not move off immediately. Instead, she takes a long look, listen and smell around her, first taking in the Rite preparations and then turning her attention to the rest of her surroundings. It might be surmised that she is looking for clues.

Runner lolls her tongue at the cub, looking quite innocent and honest for a ragabash. The preparations for the Rite only serve to indicate that there was more than enough paste made for just one cub. Everything else seems like the Hidden Walk on an average day. ~Only as much as one from a caern of Chimera may figure,~ is the fostern's answer. ~I believe there will be answers in the bag awaiting you at the Sept Compound.~

Trips-Over-Paws licks her lips once more, giving a final glance around and still finding nothing out of place. Dipping her head and ears respectfully to the Bone Gnawer, she pads softly towards the rocky slab, slipping into her birth form as she goes. As she reaches the rock, she lifts a hand and presses her palm against it, then stoops to take a small handful of earth from its base which she drops into the pocket of her jeans, uncaring of any potential mess. Straighening, she walks steadily towards the waterfall, and knees before the pool at its base, scooping water into hands and burying her face in it.

The glyphs remain through her shifted forms where the cub can see them. As she washes the paste off, the tingling sensation and scent remains wafting for a short while before it too fades with the washing. Yi returns to paste mixing, scooping up some of the earth about the area and grinding it into the bowl. The cub is left to her own devices.

You paged Trips-Over-Paws with 'Ok. So - rite prep done... the intention was to have both you and Ruth travel to a sept that was away from the caern. However you wanna, you could go separate, or together.'.

Trips-Over-Paws does not straighten, but instead shifts once more, into Lupus. She crouches submissively, then takes a short drink from the pool before trotting away up the trail, towards the Sept Compound.

PART 2 - Compound Conundrum

The Sept Compound holds a new structure, commonly known by the sept Garou to be the latest project from Basil Kills-the-Cries. Intended to be shelter for Garou on the bawn, the area itself is otherwise a rather rugged looking campground. Campground in the sense of 'there's flat areas to pitch tents, maybe, and a firepit.' Off to one side, as a wolf's keen sense of smell would pick up, is the muskier odor of an area scent marked by Yi, and Stacey. The odor gets stronger a little ways further, until one comes upon a fresh built pile of rocks. And upon one of the stones is a traditional Garou glyph, marked as 'Rite of Passage'.

Into this pads Trips-Over-Paws. She looks and sniffs around with curiosity, tilting her head to regard the glyph-marked stone carefully in order to make sense of it with wolf vision. Uppermost in her thoughts, however, is the bag she is supposed to be finding here.

Never underestimate the power of the Wolf, or just the wolf's jaws. The bag is easily found with a bit of digging and rock moving. It's a normal looking hiker's rucksack, grey and red, battered and worn.

Trips-Over-Paws prods the bag with a muddy nose, and decides this is perhaps something better accomplished in her birth form. Her hands and nose are no less muddy in homid, but fingers are much better than paws for opening rucksacks, as she proceeds to demonstrate.

There's very little stored in the rucksack, but there's a note pinned to the inside that proclaims, Read Me. And the contents follow, written in a masculine, neat looking print, "Alice - The Trial starts Soon, so don't be late. We'll see soon if you're a fit. - Slipper." And further inside the bag are a set of maps for Washington and Oregon, particularly the city of Portland and surrounding area. There's a mark on a map in red colored pencil, and with an X marking a spot in the city of Portland. A wallet can be found inside with the sum of eighty dollars in small bills, no ID. And finally, a couple of unopened plastic water bottles with fresh mountain spring water claimed on the label.

Ruth checks the seal on the bottle caps then puts them back in the bag. Next she spreads the maps out on the dry ground, matching up the Xs and locating her present location as best she can, tongue poking out as she traces possible routes with a grubby finger. Finally sitting back on her heels, she picks up the handwritten note and compares the handwriting between the 'Read Me' and the contents.

The handwriting is unlike anything she might've seen of Yi's or Stacey's. The location she's to go to? Portland is quite a ways away. Over a hundred miles away. Further exploring of the many pockets in the bag reveal a bus schedule, with highlighted sections for busses leaving from Washington to Portland at consistent, but sparse times.

Ruth chews her lower lip worriedly as she looks at the timetables. Another thought seems to strike her, and she looks the bus schedule booklet over more thoroughly.

[Ruth pages to the room: Checking it's nothing to do with the Black Spiral Dancer-bedecked bus service.
You paged the room with 'Nope, different line. :)'.]

There's no marking for the Wyrmbus here. Rather, the lines run out of Portland on a round trip. Outside of these items, there's nothing else in the bag. It leaves quite the cavernous space for such a small sack.

Ruth sighs, pulling a face at the timetable. "I suppose I don't look much like I did," she says aloud, her tone tinged with worry. "And why would anybody remember anyway?" Switching to sit cross-legged, she starts examining times in more detail, taking a pencil from her pocket to scribble notes in the margins and calculating ticket costs. From time to time she checks back with the maps. Once she's done with that, she then proceeds to calculate exactly how many meals she's going to require to last the journey, and what cash she'll have left over from tickets to buy food with. Eventually she carefully packs everything back into the bag, and heads... in the direction of the farmhouse, to pack herself some food, a blanket, and if she can find it then something waterproof in case of rain.

The farmhouse has plenty of supplies, to be certain. And packing things goes without event save to be a busybody. The time ticks away on the clocks in the farmhouse. The farmhouse to the city bus is quite a walk that takes the better part of the day, but an even longer ride that takes hours awaits.

Ruth makes sure to include a couple of books, and also some sacking and a short bit of cord which, after a short experiment, she decides will do well enough to wrap the knapsack in and provide a pull-handle by which a wolf could drag the resulting bundle, if she has need of covering long distances on foot somewhere where a wolf dragging a sack won't arouse comment. Aware of the minutes ticking away, the cub nevertheless checks that everything is secure in the bag with the food unsquashed at the top, and also checks that the stitching is relatively secure- it wouldn't do for a strap or a side seam to give way at an inopportune moment.

Finally wriggling into the straps of the rucksack, Ruth lets herself out of the farmhouse and heads towards the bus depot at a steady scout pace.

PART 3 - Alice Down The Rabbit Hole

Precision works for the halfmoon cub, all up until she gets to the bus stop some twelve miles of hiking away and in the city. The station itself is slightly larger for the motorcoaches that ferry people between longer distances. From there, the fare cuts her meager sum by a little under a half, leaving her with 45 dollars and some spare change. "Bus'll be along," says the window teller, and Ruth finds herself waiting another hour and some, having to endure the occasional wary glance and odd look, before a bus displaying Portland, OR as its destination arrives. There really aren't that many riders, a handful in comparison to the full capacity of the vehicle. Ironically, on the side of the bus displays an ad for a rental car agency.

Ruth has had a long hour to ponder the best place to sit, and chooses the seat closest to the driver, on the grounds that this is the place least likely to produce trouble.

Or so she would believe. Despite having all her materials gathered, and the seemingly unassuming manner of a young lady, Ruth finds that her presence near the driver earns her a wary and suspicious look. It's so blatant, it's not hard to see behind the driver's tinted shades that he, Greg by the name tag, is unsettled. The Curse is called just that. When she's behind him and others have gotten on the bus, Ruth finds herself sitting alone with a buffer of a seat in all directions. Curse or Gift, the predatorial nature manages to keep her from being bothered the entire trip there, minus pit stops for restroom breaks. Once she's off the bus, the looks end. But, she's dumped in Portland with little else but what she's got with her. Little by little, the people come and go around the area, ignoring the girl and not asking questions. No further questions are asked until a young man about twenty-something in age approaches near silently from behind and speaks. "Alice?"

Ruth turns, somewhat startled at actually being spoken to at last. She gives the speaker a careful look, not immediately answering.

"Ewan." So the man introduces himself plainly, gauging her just as much as she does him, and then some. Slicked back black hair, aquiline nose, deep blue eyes, he carries the same pure bred look that a certain one-eyed Glass Walker holds. Now that she's turned around, she spots another looking a little peculiar behind the Shadow Lord, with another blond young man chatting it up with a woman in a deep blue pinstripe pencil skirt and suit. The woman remains quiet, but writes with speedy pen flying over a small pad in hand. "If you'll come with me," Ewan continues, "we'll take you to where you're needed."

"I'm not Alice," Ruth says with honesty, smiling a little she shakes her head. "I've been sent instead. I'll do my best, but you might need to explain things for me, if you can. I'm ready to come with you now," she adds, shrugging her shoulders to indicate that she is wearing her backpack already.

Ewan, that Shadow Lord with quite a bit of pure breeding in him, leads Not-Alice towards the pair behind him. They don't greet each other beyond a significant glance and a nod passed from Ewan to the blond fellow. And somewhere in her notetaking, the woman of the group gets the notion to follow along and takes up rearguard. Retreating in silence to an awaiting black Chevy Suburban SUV, Ewan disables the alarm with a blip of his keychain and motions for Ruth to enter the backseats before the other two enter on either side. No one sits in the shotgun. Once in, Ewan drives off with the passenger load. "So Alice," he speaks up. "How was your trip?"

"Boring," Ruth answers, succinctly. "In a good way," she adds, lest it be thought she'd rather not have made the trip. She lapses back into silence, leaving it up to the others to tell her what they will, if they choose to.

The trip they take is a little less boring, made so by the radio that Ewan turns on to play the local rock station. The blond sitting beside Ruth fidgets a little more, constantly flicking his eyes between her, her bag, and the rearview mirror. Finally it seems eyes meet each other between the blond and Ewan, and the blond speaks. "M' name's Gary. So, what did yeh bring wit' yeh, Alice? Anything important?" His accent is a softened Irish - and rather good, for a faked one. His hand indicates the bag, and notetaking continues with a furious scribble of pen to paper. The woman flips to the next page.

Ruth rouses herself to give Gary a brief, friendly smile. "I'm sorry, I did say, but I'm not Alice, they sent me instead." She shrugs, with another quick upward twitch of the corners of her lips. "You can keep calling me Alice if you prefer. And I... might have brought something important, but I don't think it's in the bag. I don't know enough yet to say for certain though. Anyway, you're Gary, he's Ewan, and... who's this, please?" She indicates the woman next to her, smiling in that direction.

"Oh we know you're not really Alice," Gary comments, dropping that fake accent to be replaced with a regular ol' Pac-West American, "but where you're going is a bit of Wonderland itself." A glance up from the woman taking notes towards Ruth, and she's introduced. "That's 'Notes'. Not sure if she prefers it, but everyone's gotten used to calling her that and she hasn't complained yet." Like a non-stop secretary, Notes continues on in silence. The drive continues on until they're out of the city and off to a road surrounded on either side by trees, not unlike Highway 22 up in St. Claire. "So you really mean to say you've nothing important with you? Nothing to show who you are and such?"

Ruth shakes her head slowly. "I don't have I.D., and I don't have much in the bag... but lots of things can be important. Not all of them can be seen."

The philodox cub's answer gets a chuckle out of Gary, and a bit of brow waggling. "Oh, I like one," he notes to the other pair. While Ewan makes no comment, he hides a smirk and pulls the vehicle over to a side road, driving now in a bank of heavy fog. Despite the lack of visibility, Ewan's speed doesn't decrease either. "We're here. Look sharp." The Shadow Lord's words have an effect on Notes, at least, who suddenly flips her pad shut and slips the pen neatly in the spiral rings atop. Five more minutes pass of driving in pure fog. Ewan doesn't bother with turning on the foglamps either. Then, the noticeable twinging feeling of crossing an invisible line of power sweeps over, and the vehicle slows to a stop. Ewan gets out first, and the others pile out. Gary pauses, turning to offer a helping hand out of the car. "Watch your step. Don't want your thoughts out in the open yet by cracking your head on the ground."

Ruth seems hesitant about accepting the offered hand, as if she's not quite sure what to do with it, but is glad enough of a little direction as she tries to orient herself on unfamiliar ground when what she can mostly see is white.

"Notes, lead the way," Ewan states as he adjusts the coat about him. So the silent one begins to move with a steady clip of her heels against the asphalt. As large a vehicle as the Chevy behind them disappears into the fog, the trio plus cub take a turn towards the right. In a short while more, a chorus of discordant howls can be heard in the distance. It's faint, almost like a trick being played on the eardrums. "Aw man, they've started already! Come on!" Gary's form suddenly grows, shifting up to his warform with a bursting profusion of reddish fur and ivory fang. "You'll be introduced at moot, soon as we clear the Guardians," Ewan rumbles, shifting himself to the near-man. "For your sake, I hope the Enemy's scent is not with you." Gary himself throws up a howling cry, calling for a watcher over in their direction before motioning Ruth to hurry along. Notes slips down into her hispo form, a lean looking brownish grey fur replacing her suit. ~I'll take the bag,~ Gary offers.

Ruth apparently sees no harm in handing over the bag, even if there is still some money left in it, and hands it across to Gary. Then, as it would appear speed is needed, she copies Notes and shifts onto four legs. She takes advantage of the form to apply her nose to the air, snuffing hopefully for information that her eyes are not providing. She's careful not to become separated from the others, however.

The added advantage of the wolf's nose suddenly provides a plethora of information. Scents of other wolves, males and females, their trails all crossing paths in old and new tracks. The acrid scent of car fumes is nonexistant here, even though she can smell the faux leather of the carseat she'd just been sitting in. Even Stacey and Yi's scents linger on the bag itself, detectable by the keen senses of lupus forms. The group runs rather than walks, a ground eating lope putting distance between them and their transportation until they break through the fog bank and come upon a flat meadow. The sky above is starry, and the half moon hangs in the air still. A pair of Garou in their warforms step forward to meet the group, which slows and Notes drops back to allow Ewan forward. The Shadow Lord's managed to keep up in his Glabro form one way or the other. ~We've brought her,~ he notes with an indication to Ruth. The large female crinos of the Guardian pair steps forward with an equally large protruding of metallic claws strapped to a gauntlet on her arm, sniffing deeply. She then nods to her companion whose mottled fur smoothes itself and he rumbles, ~Welcome to the Sept of the Silent Rains, Honored Visitor. You are welcome to join our moot, by order of Slipper-rhya.~ Gary looks pleased as punch, and leads Ruth on. ~It's been some time since we've gotten a welcome guest,~ he chatters at her. ~Most of them these days never make it past Hold-Has-Strength's nose.~

Trips-Over-Paws tucks her tail submissively as she is subjected to the scrutiny of the watchers, its tip wagging a little in response to Gary's statement. She carries on with the others, keeping close even now they are out of the fog. Her senses are working overtime, taking in whatever she can of the location- others who may be there, the terrain and its vegetation, potential dangers, and any landmark by which she could locate they point at which they just entered the fog-free meadow.

The group travels past the watching Guardians until they re-enter the woods on the other side of the meadow. The vegetation feels swathed in unscented mystery, but the presence of wolves can be smelled out. Then the scent of a fire followed by the crackling sound of embers and growlings of Mother's Tongue can be heard interspersed with English and lupine whinings and half-howls. It sounds like the Calling of the Litany, the shooting down of the Fool; sounds like, but isn't. Everything comes to a quieted halt as the four Garou enter however, and Ruth finds herself being even more scrutinized by ten other Garou. This is a moot? An expectant air hangs about like the lingering smoke. There's enough tension for there to be, but even more so as groups stand a little divided from each other. One Garou strides up, exuding the leadership charisma and clearly holding the respect of those around him. ~Greetings Trips-Over-Paws,~ the crinos rumbles warmly. ~And welcome to the Silent Rains. I am Slipper, adren galliard of the Children of Gaia. And this... is our sept.~

Trips-Over-Paws returns the greetings in lupine fashion, the cub quietly submissive but still cautiously alert. The perceptive might guess that she is a touch suspicious of this familiar-yet-unfamiliar gathering, but her rsponses remain scrupulously polite.

Introductions aren't made quite yet beyond Slipper. But Slipper of all the Garou seems to be not only the oldest, but the warmest and most welcoming. ~As you all know by now, I've sent word to other septs for aid in dealing with our problem. Only one answered to my satisfaction, and so here she is. Trips-Over-Paws is from the Hidden Walk up north. Yes, the same that followed Fog until the fall. But as you can see, there's still hope. The Garou there are /not/ of the Wyrm, lest you doubt Hold-Has-Strength's nose.~ The adren lolls his tongue in a blatant grin, though it quickly retracts. "Trips-Over-Paws? What kind of a name is that?! Sounds like she's a cub!" barks a man's voice from the side. "You mean to say you've brought in a /cub/ to judge this situation? What're you, insulting our honor?" At this man's comments, a fresh chorus of tense growls and verbalized protests rises up.

Trips-Over-Paws's spine curls instinctively, tail wrapped beneath her. Her puzzlement is also evident. Nevertheless, she fails to see why anybody's honour would be insulted. Her head tilts as she recalls the creed, the phrasing reflected in lupine body-language. I shall be respectful; I shall be loyal; I shall be just; I shall live by my word; I shall accept all fair challenges. No, she sees no insult to /honour/ there; but she is willing to have it proven otherwise, she admits meekly, if someone is able to explain.

"Reciting the Creed of Honor isn't going to-" "Shut up, Dirk." The sound of a voice from behind shows Hold-Has-Strength, this time in her homid breed form, walking up to the moot gathering along with the crinos from before. ~The lines are clear, Slipper-rhya,~ rumbles the larger crinos. Slipper nods, still amused in expression but having gotten a twinge of seriousness. Angry growls and bitter looks are again exchanged between the sides of the otherwise tight knit Garou. Hold-Has-Strength and Dirk eye each other, but Dirk looks away first. The crinos beside Hold joins the pack on the right with her, tipping the scale on the right side to have seven Garou to the left's five. ~It says something, doesn't it, when another sept sends a cub to deal with another sept's problems,~ Slipper notes. ~I asked for a philodox. An outsider, because we need this. Our window's getting smaller by the day. Easy-Eye?~ The Sept Alpha indicates a black furred, white muzzled Fury on the left side who steps forward and examines Trips. I see no challenge to honor here, unless someone wants to make something of it.~ That golden set of eyes sweeps over the others, and two Garou come forward. She turns as the pair come up, trying to avoid each other, but step on the same spot seemingly at the same time. They both start to speak, but Easy-Eye cuts them off. She points to the right side one, a brute of a man on the right, made more so by the scars marring his exposed skin and Glabro form. The glyph of Glory is scarred into his left shoulder, grey as his eyes. "I don't see reason why we gotta listen to this /pup/. It ain't none of her business bein' in ours. Just let me duke it out with Freezer and be done with it!" Freezer, the other grey giant who'd stepped forward, fires off a cold stare until he's indicated. ~For once, I agree with Brittle-Bones. The cub is only just. She doesn't even look like she knows what it means to battle.~

Trips-Over-Paws is certainly showing no signs of offering Freezer any threat, remaining poised in meek submission before the Sept. She /is/ a half-moon, the points out, and will give a half-moon's promise that she will say no word to those not present, unless to remain silent would mean breaking the Litany. Why not say what the problem is, and see if an outsider, even a cub, might be able to offer a suggestion that an outsider's nose can smell? When this cub has gone, she will not know whether the any suggestions she might have offered were acted upon, after all.

"Get m' name right, Slush-For-Brains," snaps Bones, shoving his hand somewhat ineffectually against the taller crinos. It's not the name calling, nor the result of the shove, though, but the action's point that draws Freezer to raise his huge fist to strike back with a snarl. A duck, a lunge, and soon there's two crinos wrestling each other to the ground. At least they're not using their claws. An exasperated sigh releases from the alpha, and Easy-Eye does so as well, the Fury's claw lifting to warn away the others who look eager to jump in. ~There they go again,~ rumbles Slipper. ~Easy-Eye, the moot waits.~ Easy-Eye quickly steps in to try and push them apart with her own self, only to be struck a glancing blow from Bones' balled fist. Make that three crinos in the middle of a fight then.

Ears pricked as she watches the brawl, the Gaian cub conspicuously does not wade in as well. Instead, she backs clear of any immediate possibility of getting caught up by accident, sits down. Then stretches out until she is lying down, watching quietly from a safe distance, like a spectator at one of the more... interesting rugby matches.

There's a whooping cry from Dirk as Freezer looks to have the upper hand, who is quickly hushed by the two Garou left around him. Eventually it's becoming clear that Easy-Eye is trying to pull them apart, still, but more trying to shove Freezer away. Along with Trips, the three she'd come with stand apart as well, backing Slipper instead. The dividing lines separate this sept into three distinct groups. Finally, after a few furious seconds of fighting, Bones manages to pull himself away and jumps back a longer distance - all the way back to those who look to be backing him. Easy-Eye keeps Freezer from pursuing. ~Coward!~ howls Freezer. ~That's all you can do! Jump back, run, hide. No wonder the Enemy grinds at us from your territory!~ Bones bristles. ~You warmongering blockhead! It's your fault he's dead! Yours!~ Again, the rise of snaps, snarls and growls fills the air until Slipper steps in and swipes a claw up over the air. ~Enough! By Gaia's Grace, I comamnd you to Calm yourselves!~ The effect it almost immediate upon the unruly right side, a hush and dull stares of blankness falling over them. Though Freezer remains riled, his eventual return to silence is much more natural, and slow.

Trips-Over-Paws sighs, quietly and sadly, her thoughts reflecting in her lupus body-language. No wonder you are so concerned that the Wyrm is attacking you; it is already here, sitting and watching until you have made yourselves weak by tearing out your own throats while blaming one another for your weakness. And I expect you could blame me for saying so, and tear out my throat too, she adds, finding herself unable to be afraid of such a fate, but instead deeply sorrowful.

Slipper lifts a claw to his forehead, taking a moment to smooth out his own hackles that involuntarily have lifted up. Trips' statement does earn her some angry looks from the left side pack. Freezer in particular, clacks his jaws at the cub. ~You know nothing of our situation here, so don't judge until you do, cub!~ Easy-Eye steps between this time as well, blocking the crinos' line of sight with herself. ~That's enough Freezer. I think this resolution moot's a bust. Slipper-rhya, we should try again another time.~ The adren remains half-turned towards the pack on the right. When he drops his claw back lax to his side, the spell he seems to hold also lifts from them. ~Alright everyone. Spread yourselves to your territories. Freezer, Bonecrusher, you two will be back here tomorrow night to meet with myself, Easy and the newcomer. And your packs will not be with you. Understood?~ The final question is made in a tone that brooks no argument, despite the clear room that is given for it. However, neither party addressed protests and the respective Garou wave off their respective packmates, turning to leave in opposing directions. The trio who brought Ruth along also move off with a glance from the alpha, heading in a third way. Only Slipper, Easy-Eye, and Ruth soon remain.

Trips-Over-Paws stands slowly, padding towards Slipper while regarding him cautiously, in case she is not welcome to move close. She makes no more comments, but her demeanour remains sad as she waits to see what is to happen next.

At the final disappearance, where the pawsteps of the others have gone out of range, Slipper slips down to his breed form of a middle aged man. Easy-Eye as well, examines a nick on her arm from an errant claw during the fight and elects to assume a matching form of Glabro. "Pretty embarrassing, Susan. I can't say that was our best. I suspect I'll be receiving a few challenges over this." Slipper looks back over to the lupus'd cub. "Hoping too much that they'd swallow their pride there, but nice touch with the Wyrm's Here guilt trip. They must've taught that one to you early. So. I imagine you've got some comments to make."

Trips-Over-Paws also shifts into her breed form, looking small beside the other two. "No more, not yet," she replies, shaking her head once. "Freezer was right about me not knowing the situation here. I wouldn't want to reach any conclusions based on wrong guesses. And I'd like to listen in this shape too. Sometimes things sound different with two legs than they do with four." She spreads her arms in a gesture that is neither welcome nor shrug, but something in between, looking first at Slipper, then at Easy-Eye, and then back once more. "What can /you/ tell /me/?"

A low whistle emits from Slipper at the girl's change back. "Glasses. Who'd've thought? Then again, your elder Stacey looks about your age too." Slipper arches his pale brows at the cub, and then nods to Easy-Eye. "Susan van Hamersveld, Fostern Philodox of the Black Furies, Master of the Challenge. And quite a challenge I have on my hands here." The Fury exhales again. "The two you saw were Bruno Aufderheide, fostern and Get ahroun. He's called Age-of-Winter, but everyone calls him Freezer. He leads the pack I am in, Stormfront under Cougar. And the other you saw Bowie, or Bo, fostern Fianna and also a thickheaded ahroun. He leads his pack the Cracker Jacks, under Flea." Reminded of this, Easy takes a moment to inspect herself for just that. "They've been at each other's throats ever since our last battle with the Wyrm," Slipper inserts. "Rather, ever since one of the Cracker Jacks died in the battle. Bo blames Bruno. But really, there's some tricky feelings in here. And I wouldn't have asked for aid, but as you can see... it's gotten to this point."

Ruth nods sympathetically. "They didn't seem to actually want to, um, resolve things," she remarks. "Um, what actually happened in the fight with the Wyrm, please? No, wait, what do you say happened, and what do you think everybody else is saying- even the stuff that can't all have happened because different people say different things?"

"There's no easy way to describe it aside from getting the stories from those two themselves," admits the Fury. "As for what happened, we should probably start from the recent trouble. Developers have been coming in, scouting out the area here. Suburbanites from Portland, you know. We've been lucky so far, but there are other forces at work. The Wyrm's found us, despite our efforts and Fog."

Ruth nods. "Who owns the lands anyway?"

"Susan has some in her and her Kin's name," injects Slipper, "Despite being Warder and Sept Alpha in one, I don't have one acre of this place. It's how we found out about the developers in the first place, because she's had to go deal with legalities. Between Susan, The Baronness, and the resources we've managed to scrape together, I'd say we actually own... a third? The rest is unfortunately, still out of our hands. But it's only to be expected, with hard times and the End Times coming." Susan, called Easy-Eye, nods slowly to what Slipper speaks. "When Bruno found out about it, he was the first to insist we disable their projects immediately. Physically, of course. His thoughts ran along the lines of destroying their workers and equipment. But the greatest threat right now is located in the territory that the Cracker Jacks protect."

Ruth turns to Susan, nodding again encouragingly.

"Which, leads us to now. The Jacks found that there was more than just the development going on," Susan continues ominously, the rise of Rage within climbing as her voice grows quieter. "We believe there are forces of the Enemy at work, and confirmed it when we executed the attack to stop the developers. Bruno had us go through the Jacks' territory to get there, and they were supposed to be the second wave backup. But... there was soon realization that it was too much to handle. The Jacks came late. Hell, we wondered if they'd come at all - they had been scattered like they are sometimes, but they were supposed to come when called. By the time the fight was over, Tommy was dead and we were running."

Ruth dips her head a bit, frowning thoughtfully over the top of her glasses through her heavy brown bangs. "Did the Cracker Jacks give any exlanations about why they were late?"

Giving a shake of her head, slow and like she's burdened. "Bo, or Bowie as you know the alpha of them, had been saying all along that Bruno was jumping into this too quickly. And with eight--" "Seven." "-- excuse me, seven members now, they are still the largest pack and the strongest we have, covering much of our territories where we don't, and can't. By the time they'd gathered together, the battle was already underway. We'd stumbled into witnessing them dumping some kind of sludge into the foundation holes they were building for the housing. Something that we could all feel the taint coming off of."

"So you had planned a fight, but it started sooner than expected because of that discovery?" Ruth asks, starting to sound rather formal about her questions.

Susan nods affirmingly. "In truth, this attack was planned between us already. Stormfront would take the front, and the Cracker Jacks spread out behind and around to keep them from escape. Meanwhile, Trickster, Slipper-rhya's pack, has been working on other means to completely destroy this supposed developer's company and subsidiaries." Slipper adds to the detail, "In essence, while Stormfront and the Cracker Jacks give them some hangups on the building, we can find ways to transfer their monies to us so we can use those funds."

Ruth still looks thoughtful. "And having actually fought them... in /your/ opinion, if the Cracker Jacks had arrived as soon as they weer called in, together and coordinated, would the fight have gone the other way? Or were the opposition tougher than you'd anticipated?"

"Both," Susan replies easily, a grunt following afterwards as she touches a hand to her stomach. "Which was to say, this latest group of Wyrmspawn is taking its damn good time to set up, at least. If we strike /now/, the way Bruno suggests, we could take them even with loss. Tommy was unfortunate, but a charach of his caliber could only hope to redeem himself in such a battle."

Ruth now looks puzzled. "Um... sorry? I didn't get that last part."

"It was found out," Slipper intercedes as Susan starts to speak again, this time the Fury appearing to have a stark and unpleasant opinion, "that Tommy had mated with another Garou who was at our sept. The mother and metis died at childbirth, and Tommy had been the omega of the Cracker Jacks from then until his death. It was... an unpleasant discovery." Diplomatic in tone, Slipper keeps himself level and places a hand on Susan's shoulder. "The mother had been of Susan's tribe." On mention of that, Susan quickly brushes away the Alpha's hand, and squares her shoulders. "Tommy, the one who died, was a Child of Gaia ahroun. I know he fought hard, but was overwhelmed at the end. Last to the battle, and last to leave."

Ruth's half-smile is not one of amusement. "I hope it will be okay with you if I talk to both Freezer and Bo about their own sides of the last fight?" It's almost a statement rather than a question, and she doesn't wait for an answer. "Would you- either of you- say this current argument about it is distracting from planning the next one? Do you think it is likely to make the next one fail because the packs won't work together?"

Slipper is the one to answer that, his tongue coming out to wet his lips in thought. "I think you've figured that one out already," he replies with a fold of his arms over his chest. "This sept has only sixteen Garou to protect it now. Seventeen, including you. Seventeen and Fog, and what spirits we have keeping this place quiet. At least, it was until Tommy died." A hand coming up to rub at his temple, the Alpha looks over to Susan, who sighs heavily. "We /need/ the Cracker Jacks, and we need Stormfront. I know Bruno and Bo don't get along, but they are the best at doing what they do, and keeping the caern safe from the Wyrm is what they do. They're going to meet with us again tomorrow night, as Slipper-rhya has said, but you can find them both on their territories. I can take you to Stormfront's protectorate. But it is getting late, and you should be resting after that long a trip."

"You think there's time to rest?" Ruth asks, rather dryly. "I would like to talk to them, each of them, seperately, without the other being able to interrupt. So if the other one isn't actually /there/, that might be best. But first I guess I need to ask you what you expect. Or don't you mind, if it helps?"

"I am the Master of the Challenge here, and the lead philodox," Susan snaps, tone firming up like it got a blast of liquid nitrogen, "And don't forget that you are yet a cub yet, a chit of a pup in this place--" "What Susan means to say," Slipper once more interrupts to keep Ruth out of the line of verbal fire, "is that you might not be tired, but there are still some duties and down times to be done and had while all this is going on. For now, at least we know the last battle has temporarily weakened the forces we stand on guard against so they won't be acting against us. We've struck the first blow. It's now time to make sure we can finish the job we've started. Perhaps it is better you see Bo, first." The Alpha gives the cub a look of warning nonetheless, urging her to move on. "No doubt he'll still be awake and partying with the rest of the Jacks. They don't sleep very much to begin with, and now under Flea..."

"I hadn't forgotten, Easy-Eye-rhya," Ruth adds with a submissive bow of her head, her voice even more wry than before. "And I am /really/ glad I'm not in your position," she adds, her expresson tinged with both respect and sympathy, "because it can't be at all easy. I'm ready when you are, Slipper-rhya," she announces then, "if it's okay to go?"

"It's fine," Slipper permits with a nod. "Head east through the wood, and follow the dirt road south. Try not to deviate from that, and you'll see where Cracker Jacks territory begins." The submissive bow is taken in, but the wryness in the halfmoon cub's voice doesn't go unnoticed. "When you're done with Bo, Stormfront's territory is north on the dirt road," Susan Easy-Eye states. On that finalizing note, she adds as she turns to depart, "I'll go talk to Bruno."

"Thank you," Ruth says, waiting politely for Susan to take her departure before setting out herself. She glances about her as she begins her walk, looking for her bag in case it's still around.

The bag's still there, leaned up against a nearby tree to be picked up without incident. The Alpha watches as he puts out the fire used for the brief moot, pausing just long enough to slip into his lupus form before disappearing into the rolling fog of the wood. The fog itself seems charged with the supernatural energy of the caern, engulfing the area in full after the last Garou has left it. The sky gets blotted out by the clouded atmosphere, blocking away the moon to a thin haze.

Aware of the way in which the body tends to veer off course, Ruth sets a course eastwards into the fog, then tries to keep straight by lining up trees- until it becomes too thick to see one tree from the next, when she just has to walk and judge the path as best she can.

PART 4 - In the Morning Mists...

The half moon is already starting down the remainder of her path in the sky, but it would be impossible to tell visually. The fog has obliterated most of the visibility, leaving the world around in an eerie quiet as the young halfmoon moves along. Guided by scents of other wolves and animals along a trail eastwards, she can still sense the stretch of the caern and bawn tickling like little fingers along the tips of her nape fur and mind. Then the tingling changes. It doesn't grow weaker as she gets further, but stronger - as does the feeling of being watched. Rustling off to her left sounds like movement, but the duration is too fleeting to say.

Trips-Over-Paws drops her bag in order to turn her head towards the sound, both ears pricked sharply; but her feet stay firmly pointing in the way she was headed. Anything more risks losing her direction altogether.

The smells of the city waft into the air from here, cigarette smoke, some kind of beer, decent cologne... hygiene. There's a muttering of a human voice as well, relatively old and male. "Where the heck am I? Can't see a damn thing in this damn fog." Then the voice shouts out. "HELLOOOOoooo! Anybody there?!" Then from the pea soup that is the mists, swirls into view a man.

Trips-Over-Paws freezes in shock for a moment. Then her thoughts start whirling. Her body-language would be perfectly clear to anybody who understood wolf: oops! Humans here! She scoots backwards into the mist, then darts sideways, taking her best guess at a direction that will lead away from both the Caern and what she knows is pack territory for the Sept members. Then she barks, doglike, hoping to attract the stranger's attention.

"Anybody? Somebod--whoa! Oof! Ow..." The bag the cub left behind is the first to greet the man via his feet and shins, whereupon he introduces himself upon the object via the rest of him. He clearly bites back a curse, more out of fear about the unknown as he scrabbles to unchain himself from the strap that grasps his leg. But the presence of the bag confuses him as well, as he utters aloud, "What's this? A bag?" The bark silences the man, straightens his spine. "Uh... Hello? Someone there?"

Trips-Over-Paws'a ears flatten to her skull in dismay, as she wonders how she could have left the knapsack lying about. Still, she has no better plan at the moment than to try and draw the man away. She scuffs at the ground with her paws, seeking a twig or two to snap, and barks again.

"Oh, a dog. And a dog's gotta have an owner." The man gets up again, brushing off his shirt, his jeans, his jacket. The bag he lifts up with him, shouldering the object as he looks for the person. "Here boy! C'mon!" The stranger whistles twice, hopefully calling to the wolf he can't see. The second bark refocuses his errant direction, and sure enough his feet start in the right, if general, direction. "Come on boy, come here... Hello? Hey, who's there? Anyone?" Again he calls out for now both 'dog' and supposed owner. The forest floor is littered with twigs and leaves of the trees surrounding.

Trips-Over-Paws does her best impersonation of a very /noisy/ dog, barking excitedly in response to the man's calls and leading him, so far as she can tell, towards the road by which she arrived in the car.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" The man thrashes his way over leaf and twig, dutifully following at a slow but steady pace. "Of all the times to get lost... can't believe this..." The mutterings continue as he moves on. The pair reach a dirt road, rather unused in comparison to most major lanes of traffic. There's not a car in sight, nor the scents of recent passing traffic either. It is the lupus'd cub who find the road first, coming out of the fog that mysteriously dissipates right alongside the path as if an invisible pane of glass were set at the border. The man is still trailing behind in the mists, but at least he's headed in the right direction.

Trips-Over-Paws darts right across the road for the moment and then shifts quickly to homid, partly to be able to talk to the man, partly to help her think /human/. Her eyes glance about, looking rather desperately for anything that might help her get her bearings. A compass direction at least, if she can judge that from the sky; at best, something that might let her guess where she is with respect to the maps she studied earlier. A dirt road is not what she was looking for, but if she can recollect where that might lead, and which way along it to point, she can at least direct the man along it and away from the Sept. Other thoughts are directed along the lines of a story to give the man, if he asks. With her accent, he is never going to take her for a native-born American.

It's the moment she looks up into the sky that the clouds are no longer there in force, threatening rain. Instead, the bright half open face of Luna shines amongst a multitude of glittering stars in a purplish sky. One very major difference though - another ominous like star glows a very bright blood red. Anthelios, the Red Star, spoken amongst the Garou as The Eye of the Wyrm and a sign of the End Times. But more importantly, the presence of the Red Star and the little flittings of the Lunes in the sky like small moonbeams says one thing: this isn't the Realm. It's the Umbra. The man comes walking out of the fog at a steady, and this time confident looking pace as he strides into view of the girl.

Confused, and not quick-witted even at the nest of times, Ruth spends a few moments dithering in the relative concealment on the far side of the dirt track. Concluding that doing nothing is not an option, and she wouldn't know where to go to find someone else for help, she takes a deep breath, gathers her resolve, and steps out into full view. Once she's done that, she takes a good look at him, nods politely, and awaits whatever might come.

"There ya are," the man greets with an upraised hand as the cub steps into view. "Surprise?" A laugh belts out, and the man shrugs his shoulders. "I suppose an explanation is warranted, but as you can see... you're not in Kansas anymore, Toto." Her bag is slipped off his shoulder, held out as a peace offering.

Ruth regards the stranger carefully, her eyes shadowed by her heavy brown fringe. "Thank you," she says, reaching to take the bag. "And I don't suppose you're obliged to explain.. but I would like an explanation, if you are willing to give one. A truthful one would be nice," she adds, smiling slightly, "even if that's the less interesting sort."

"Oh, she's a smart one," the man laughs again. "And apparently, unused to a kind of place where the Gauntlet is thin enough to walk through. But I'll give you credit where credit's due." He takes steps forward, closing the distance between them. "This is the Umbra, sure enough. And I am Morning-Mist of the Children of Gaia. I see you're being tested?"

Ruth relaxes a fraction, just enough to tilt her head with curiosity and to answer him with an introduction and another question. "Hello Morning-Mist-rhya. I am Trips-Over-Paws, of the same Tribe. And /how/ do you see that, please?"

"How? It's plain as the nose on your face, Trips." Morning-Mist replies, a finger pointing to that very nose. "Of course, by asking me that, you just confirmed my question's assumption. That, and the glyphs drawn on your face help."

Ruth gives the man a quaintly old expression, perfectly aware of the second part and not unsurprised by the third, but not terribly satisfied by the answer given in the first part. She says nothing, however, merely waiting to see what the man will say next.

"By your silence, you must be rather bored with me," Morning-Mist muses aloud. "Well I'm not here to entertain you either, lady." A quick glance is given to the skies above, to the half moon hanging there. "I've been watching you ever since you got here, and so far you've been respectful and fair - even a bit stuffy, but that's probably not a fault of your own. More importantly though, you didn't jump before you looked, and that helps. Most Garou, you see, they don't like to look at things properly. But they also sometimes take too long. You deciding to lead me to the road without losing your head and thinking you ought to play vicious guard dog - I appreciate that. You respected me as a man, but you also respected me even as a threat to a caern not your own. For that, I will give you a piece of knowledge I have. Take my hand a moment."

Ruth continues to watch carefully, in silence, as she slowly extends her hand to take that of the other Garou.

The contact with Morning-Mist's hand is cold and clammy for a few seconds, and then a growing warmth sends tingles up the cub's fingers. It is a short contact made long by temporary flashbacks of the scents she'd smelled earlier. Once the contact is broken, Morning-Mist returns his hand to his side and notes, "From now on, as you have shown respect to me as a man, so will other animals know by your scent to recognize you. Not all of them will take you as a friend, but they will at least not smell the wolf and be scared away. Use the knowledge wisely, Trips-Over-Paws."

Ruth looks faintly puzzled and more than a little thoughtful. She nods, slowly. "Thank you. I'll... make sure I take time to understand."

The man then points down the dirt road, directing her on. "I believe you want to head Thataway, to get to where you want to be. As a piece of last advice? Don't trust everything to be what it seems. Luna light your path, and Gaia guide you." And with a bow of his head, Morning-Mist turns to walk back into the fog bank, the last bit of his back growing out some fur as he shifts and disappears into the gray.

"Thank you, Morning-Mist-rhya," Ruth calls after the vanishing shape, and sets off down the path.

PART 5 - The Cracker Jacks

After the very strange meeting with Morning-Mist, the fog bank returns. Visibility drops a significant portion in the night, but never fear. The road's scent and texture under foot remains as tenaciously as a spider's web on the cut forest floor, a knife amongst the wood. Walking along it takes hours into the night, calling into question whether or not Morning-Mist actually pointed the cub in the right direction. The fog bank peters out eventually, where the cub finds herself at the edge of the thicker forest. Now the skies are clearly seen, and the moon shines off the reflector buttons along the road's center lane marker. Civilization is not far, but a winking set of lights in the distance.

Ruth uses the need to get her bearings and look about her with the chance to take a break. Her legs and feet are aching, and her rucksack has become a dead weight for a girl who until her Change had spent far more time exercising her brain than her body. nevertheless, she looks about carefully in the hope that her goal is nearby.

The whistle of a falcon pierces the air close by, unusual for the time of night when it should be the owls hooting. Then seemingly out of nowhere, the silvery form of that bird of prey drops from the sky like a shooting star and wheels about the cub's head to land on a thin tree branch nearby. It cocks its head at her, observing with one eye and then the other.

Ruth seems initially undecided at to whether this is normal behaviour for a falcon. A little hesitantly, she bows in the direction of the bird... then gives a shy little wave of one hand too.

Either way, her question goes unanswered as the falcon leaps off the branch to flap its way up on towards the sky. The half moon shines off its body, and soon it is hard to tell where it disappears to. Replacing the falcon's whistle is a low growl a short distance from the tree the falcon had just been on, full of uncertainty despite the attempt to be a warning. Coming into the light is a small wolf - or big dog, some might guess. And he asks in the lupine way, What are you doing here, human?

Ruth drops easily to lupus form, if not with the speed of one born on four legs, and looks back in the direction of the questioner lest he has taken flight at the sight of the change.

Though it isn't direct flight, the wolfdog backs up quite suddenly and goes into a defensive position, sinking down with his hackles raised. The growl gets louder and even more uncertain, yet with a helplessly curious tilt. Who are you?

Ruth's head lowers and tail brushes the back of her legs apologetically, ears pricked towards the wolfdog and her nose twitching busily as she sniffs in his direction. This one is known as trips-Over-Paws, and is looking for others who can change shape.

The growling fades away to curiosity, and the wolfdog's nose pokes forward. The submissive posturing draws him forth too, for once the wolfdog adopts a higher ranking demeanor. This one is Sinks-Down-Low. Sinker runs with those who change shape. Sinker is a Bone Gnawer. Introductions pause as Sinker goes stock still. Ears tilt back and he drops down to his belly, eyes closing. Then a piteous whine comes from the Gnawer as he looks to be restraining himself from any further action. The whine says it all. Sinker itches.

Ruth's brow crinkles, the half-moon clearly puzzled. She shakes it off, literally, with a quiver afterwards to settle her fur back in place. Can you tell this one where to find... ~Bo~ she manages, in a barely intelligable growl. Alpha of the pack who follows Flea, she clarifies.

Sinker whines again about the itching, but after a few moments more it passes and he rolls up to his paws. The one Garou word gets a confused look from the lupus, but the clarification works wonders. Bones-Alpha. Bones is sleeping, resting. Came back from moot angry-angry. Bones carries a heavy heart, because Laughs-Loud-and-Long is gone. A touch of sadness overcomes the Gnawer too, his ears tilting back and tail tucking under. Things do a 180 soon after as Sinker gets a notion in mind. You come to join us?

Ruth shifts her weight uncomfortably. This one was born under the half moon. This one has come from the Hidden Path, to see things here with new eyes, with cub's eyes. This one thinks many people here are sad and angry. That is what the Horned Serpent wants. That is bad.

Sinker slumps, but grunts his understanding. Slipper-Alpha said he asked others to come and listen, stop the bad things. Sinker tries to stop bad things too, but Bones-Alpha says Freezer-Alpha is stupid and fights too much. The Gnawer swishes his tail, glancing back and forth and then ducking his head before rumbling, Both fight too much, then get too tired to fight Wyrm. Bad, bad thing. Turning from the cub, Sinker waves his tail at her to follow. I bring you to Bones-Alpha. Pack territory starts here, where Fog stops covering Weaver-path.

Ruth gives a near-silent huff of thanks, wearily picks up the end of the rope tied to her bag, and falls into step behind Stinker with the rucksack dragging and bumping along beside her.

The pair travel, slowly given the dragged rucksack which Sinker continually turns to eye like it makes a strange noise, a relatively short distance in comparison to her long trip down the narrow road. What seems like it would be a few minutes of all out lupine running turns into half an hour of walking and bag dragging. Sinker himself pauses a lot to sniff at various scents marking the way, adding his own every so often. Then they come upon a tiny garden shed-sized shack paired with a slightly larger one-car garage amongst the ruins of a house foundation. Rotting timbers overrun with moss crisscross, and the scents of wolves abound. Sinker breaks the silence to bark repeatedly, just about waking the dead for the reception of the newcomer. And wake them he does, with angry and annoyed growls coming from within the garage and shed. "Sinker, shut the hell up!" "Goddamnit, Sinker, what is it?"

Trips-Over-Paws gratefully drops the rope and works her jaw a little to unstiffen it, then sits down, still a little behind Stinker, to await new arrivals.

Groggy faces and hands rubbing sleep out of them show up one by one. Out of the garage, the Guardian met earlier, Hold-Has-Strength or 'The Baronness' as she's called, emerges with her packmates. The scent of the other Guardian also presents itself as he emerges, a short Asian man with mussed hair from sleep. Three more show their faces - another middle aged man wearing a ripped-at-the-sleeves Union Jack tee, and two women, one the epitome of a Scandinavian country girl and the other mousey plain jane by comparison with a jolly head of frizzy hair. Bones, or Bo, is the last to emerge from the lone shed. He comes basically stark naked head to toe, carrying with him a baseball bat punctured at the business end with a large rail spike. "Sinker, I swear t' God if you're waking us up because you saw another rab--..." Bo stops at the sight of the philocub.

Trips-Over-Paws, thankfully, can't blush in Lupus. She even manages to keep from turning her head in embarassment, although she avoids staring directly at the Cracker Jack's alpha. Her head ducks a little, ears turned a little sideways, and the end of her tail thumps a submissive and apologetic greeting to the pack. Hello?

Bo drops the baseball bat from shoulder to ground, leaning on it. "Well, if it ain't the judge on call," he utters deep in throat, scratching at the Glory glyph scarred into his left shoulder amongst the many many others. Sinker does as his deedname suggests, nearly flopping beside the cub and presenting an extremely submissive posture. The Baronness moves forth to join Bo at his side, apparently completely unbothered by his birthday suit - and unimpressed. "Can we help you, pup?"

Trips-Over-Paws lowers herself into a half crouch, shuffling forwards a little. This one doesn't think so, no. This one was hoping to help.

"Unless you brought the Jaws of Life, there's nothing you could do to pull the stick out of Freezer's ass. It's got barbs," pipes up the blond woman. The Union Jack man and mousey woman laugh heartily, but the Baronness shoots them all a look that quiets them - the look strengthens in intensity towards the blond. Bo doesn't laugh at all. In fact, he keeps his unfriendly stare leveled at the cub. "It's past helping, cub. Only thing that'll solve this one is blood."

Trips-Over-Paws almost snarls, but it turns into a nervous lick of her jaws, and she crouches lower still for a moment before once more resuming a sitting position. Will Bones-rhya tell this wolf the story from the start, as Bones-rhya has seen it? she asks, very much as a request and not as a demand.

Bo doesn't hold back his snarl, the sound twisting in his human throat with a certain pained anguish. "You want to know? You want to know why Tommy's dead?" The man stomps forth, walking right up and looming. "Bo," starts the Baronness, urging the other packmates with a flick of her wrist out towards the ruined house's skeleton. The group shifts themselves, reluctant but dutifully obeying. Even Sinker slinks off to find his spot against the pieces of a wall. Bo points the philocub towards the house, not saying a word and expecting her to follow. Then he walks after his packmates, stopping beside what appears to be half a spiral staircase and banister. The house must have had another floor or more. "Just how much do you wanna know, pup?"

Trips-Over-Paws has followed behind, somewhat less than quietly with the bag dragging along next to her. Her head tilts a little comically, weighted lopsidedly by the load on the rope in her mouth. Her reply, though, is serious and silent as a wolf, spoken with eyes and ears and a slow swish of her tail. Everything from the start.

The rucksack gets a few more eyes on it, and the Union Jack starts to ask the philocub a question before being interrupted by the blond. "What's in the bag? Why're you carrying it around in lupus 'stead of human form, the way it's supposed to be? Is there a head in--" "Puttkamer! Put a sock in it." The Baronness commands silence, and gets it again. She nods to Bo, and to Ruth. "Before I start, you won't know how to judge 'less you know who the parties are, right?" asks Bo, not pausing to let the cub confirm or disagree before motioning to the others. "Every one o' my packmates here is a witness. You met the Baronness, Get philodox and William Speaks-For-the-Trees, Uktena ahroun. That one's Charlie White, aka Red-White-and-Bloody, Gnawer galliard and his tribemate May Serway, Family-Ties-Full-of-Knots. The loud one's Helga Talks-A-Lot, Get and theurge if you can believe it--" "Best Damn Theurge in the sept, just ask 'Tina!" "--and Sinker brought you in. These are my crew. I'm Bowie Maddock, Crushes-the-Wyrm-Like-Brittle-Bones. Fianna, Galliard, Fostern, and Alpha of this ragtag Cracker Jack crew under Flea. Call us flea bitten and we'll be sure to bite you." "Where it hurts!" "Helga." "Sorry." The exchanged looks and glances continue for a short time, and then Bo continues on. "Slipper's probably told you about the Wyrm spawn setting up shop in suburbia. Our sept being small as it is, we tried keeping low profile. But soon as we heard about this, we sent out scouts to check this place out and found it harboring the Wyrm. All of us got together - all three packs - and we planned out how we were going to take it out. Step by step. Stormfront would lead, and Cracker Jacks got their back. Then once us warpacks crushed the actual badness, Slipper's pack, Trickster, would go in to finish the job with paperwork. Everything was just about ready to roll until that trigger happy water-in-his-ears ahroun decided he'd waited long enough and charged right on in."

Trips-Over-Paws's ears flick to follow the Alpha's words and the interjections from his packmates. Her tail is still now, and her demeanour quiet and interested. She does not make any response, other than an indication that she is still listening.

"Helga was still making her chimmy with a raven-spirit for the just-in-case scenario," Bo adds with a notion to the talkative theurge, "when we all felt our hackles go up. It was Tommy and he was fightin' some big trouble, so we had to cut our businesses short and bugger out. Turns out by the time we all got there, Stormfront had stirred up a huge Drattossi we hadn't seen before and a host of banes to boot." The alpha's fist tightens around the baseball bat's handle. "They were trying to get Tommy out before the bastard swallowed him. I gave the order for everyone to pull the hell back. Stormfront wasn't listening, so we grabbed 'em and ran. Then? Then that ass-headed slush-brain had the nerve - the Nerve - to tell /me/ that what I did was wrong! Savin' his ass was wrong! That we should've kept fighting, and /I/ failed to combat the Wyrm!"

Wolves don't nod, but Trip's slow sniff of the air and half-closing of her eyes has much the same effect. She glances to either side at the other pack members, ears quirking an enquiry as to whether this is the whole and the truth of the matter.

A chorus of mutters and a growl from Sinker point out that the packmates of Cracker Jacks clearly disagree with the accusation spoken of. Sinker barks, Bad! Bad! We fight Wyrm, Bones-Alpha fights Big Wyrm Thing. Freezer-Alpha wrong! The Baronness folds her arms over her chest, nodding to the cub with an addition, "We were on our territory since our pack land is right beside the tainted area. We told Stormfront they would be allowed to cross our land when the time for attack came, but obviously they didn't bother to tell us /when/ that would be." "And now Raven's demanding more secrets for more help," pipes up Helga. "Point is," Bo interrupts with a loud voice, "they disrespected us and our territory. If anyone's a Litany breaker, it's that damn Ice-For-Balls."

Trips-Over-Paws meekly dips her muzzle, her expression thoughtful. It is a little while before she makes any response to the story, and she shifts to Homid to do so. When she does speak, it lacks the intense emotion of the Cracker Jacks, but it is not without overtones of sympathy. "If I remembered all that correctly," she says clearly, "the key points are these." She proceeds to tick them off on her fingers. "All three packs agreed to a plan. There was no signal that it was time to start the attack. One pack decided it was time when another pack had decided it was not. The pack that wasn't ready joined the fight without being properly prepared. The fight did not go the way that had been planned. One pack decided that the best action was to carry on fighting, and another decided that the best action was to retreat. The pack that wanted to retreat forced the other pack to stop fighting. Do I have that right so far?" The question is adressed to Bo.

"Penny for the smart lady," Charlie utters, his words biting in the air. Sinker looks torn between wagging his tail with Ruth's observations and tucking it in the degree of tension wafting through his packmates. "The signal was Freezer's to give," Bo growls deeply, "since Stormfront was to lead the attack. But we /weren't/ ready. Like I said. We were prepping talens, in case the fight went wrong. And it went wrong, obviously. Tommy paid the price for that bastard's impatience."

Trips-Over-Paws lets out a long, quiet breath, her eyes gleaming sorrowfully. "So there was a signal, but the packs did not gather before it was given. From what was expected beforehand, from what was learned scouting- if the fight had gone as was planned, do you think it should have been quite easy?"

"Yes." The single word is a vehemently spoken and violently gestured act all in one fromt he pack alpha. "IF things had gone as planned. Of course, things never go as planned but Freezer's glacial-paced brain doesn't register that now, does it?"

Ruth neither agrees with nor denies the Fianna's remark. "So what you met during the fight was what you expected to be facing?"

"Fuck no," Bo retorts with a swing back up of his bat to his shoulder. "The plan - oh the Plan - was to go in and lure them out a few at a time. The /Plan/ would have taken care of those banes we spotted. By the time we got there though, that Dratossi had moved in. Which - get this - Freezer blames us for too. Sayin' we 'waited too long', and that our 'preparations' were unnecessary since it wouldn't have worked anyway. Well, maybe we wouldn't have defeated them all, but if he hadn't rushed in, we'd still have Tommy."

"You've mentioned Dratossi," Ruth says, watching Bo carefully. "Can you explain them to me?"

While Bo might have been cooperative all this time, the fostern ahroun suddenly snarls and turns away from the cub. The other Cracker Jacks all feel the tension up another level. Though Sinker cowers with his tail tucked firmly beneath his legs, the Gnawer ragabash creeps forward to nudge Helga Talks-A-Lot forward.

The loud blonde Get glances over to Bo first, giving the ahroun's turned back a wary look before launching into a full blown explanation. "Drattosi," she begins, "are liars and trappers. They're like that Sarlak pit on Tatooine in Return of the Jedi, where Luke Skywalker was kicking ass and taking names, and man I believe Boba Fett totally escaped from it so he could--"

"Get to the Point, Puttkamer!" cuts in The Baronness once more with a roll of her eyes.

Helga frowns at The Baronness for the interruption, but her digression is successfully waived. "They're big banes that'll trap and eat you in the Umbra. They'll lure you in with illusions and visions of things from your own mind, and if you're not careful, you fall right into their pit, like a big ant lion. Once you fall in... well, you could ask Tommy for the results." Tommy, being the dead Child of Gaia, is of course unavailable to answer in person. "They're big, mean, and look like gigantic crabs. You could weaken them if you keep it from eating other spirits, but getting them to come out of a pit is going to take more than few fishing hooks. Still, I thought they lived in more defiled places than where we were attacking."

"The Drattosi's presence confirms everything that we and Trickster scouted out," butts in Bo once again, his voice more composed, but forced. "The developers of the community have some contracts with some dumping company. You'd think they're supposed to take the trash they produce /out/ of the area, but instead they're putting it in, along with buried radioactive waste barrels. It was our job to stop the whole operation."

After the cub's next question, Bo turns around and fervently levels a glare at the philodox. "Because he needs someone to blame for his own stupidity!" bellows Bo, gripping the baseball bat in his hand hard enough one would think it too could be crushed. "Once he realized the battle wasn't going the way he thought it would, the fool even tried to kill us all by telling us to fight to the end, and then called us cowards for cutting our losses and forcing the retreat." The bat swings up and points at the halfmoon cub. "But don't you call me a coward or I'll throat you right here. I was thinking for my pack, for my caern. For /Gaia/. What good would it have done for us to get killed? I saved the bastard's life, and now I'm 'starting' to regret it."

Ruth doesn't exactly flinch back at Bo's threat, but she does look as if she'd like to, glimpses of rather scared cub peeping through her neutral expression. She takes a good breath and nods slowly, composing her words before speaking again. "You said that you were thinking for your pack. So you must have been thinking for your pack spirit as well... which is Flea. Does Flea approve of how you acted?"

"Flea," Helga Talks-A-Lot quickly and wisely butts in before Bo can work his indignant glare into more, "knows when to jump ship when things get bad. Oh sure, it's a bloodsucking parasite, but it knows strength in numbers as much as any other." The trio of Bone Gnawers gathered to a side cast glances at each other, and Sinker barks another interruption. Flea itches, but no scratching! Flea sneaks in, takes little bites, hops away.

Ruth says "So you acted as Flea advised," Ruth concludes, "-as well as having other reasons for acting as you did. From what you know of him, and setting aside the recent problems, would you say that Freezer considers /his/ Totem's, um, requirements when he does things?" She sweeps her gaze across the whole pack before returning to study Bo, steadily but warily."

Bo has shored up his rage again, though he barely, visibly, trembles from it. "Freezer's fool actions would've killed his whole pack," the Fianna ahroun growls between tight teeth. "But yes, he was following Cougar's way. Fought us all the way back to the caern, though, the idiot. He's a Get, what else can I say? No offense, Baronness. Helga." The pair of Get within the Flea pack eye their alpha, with a look from the Baronness stilling Helga's tongue. "Look... Ruth, wasn't it? One way or the other, I want that sumbitch to admit that he caused Tommy's death. Directly, indirectly, he got impatient and screwed us all over in a fight that could've swung in our favor if we worked it the way it was supposed to be. Tommy wasn't the brightest, but he was pack, and part of the sept," Bo rumbles, putting his bat back over his shoulder. "The least he could do is feel sorry for the poor bastard for five minutes of a Gathering before he went out to kill the Wyrm thing that ate Tommy."

Ruth's head tilts a little, her thoughtfulness now reflecting shrewd intelligence. "So Freezer is normally cautious and patient, and never dashes off without pausing to take revenge on the Wyrm when the Wyrm has killed another garou, and he is now acting completely out of character?" she asks, blandly.

"I..." Bo starts his snap retort, but pauses at the cub's tone. The Cracker Jacks glance at each other for a few long moments, before Sinker breaks the uncomfortable silence with a small whine. Age-of-Winter-alpha is sad too. Sad. Angry.

Ruth drops her eyes to regard her own scuffed and muddy sneaker toes, and allows a few long moments of silence to pass to give everyone time to turn things over in their minds. "We... that's /Garou/ we... need all the useful fighters we can get," she says, eventually, her tone one of apology for stating the obvious. "We can't afford to go killing one another unless there's no other choice." The colour of her voice returns to careful blandness. "But it does mean that everybody is going to have to take into account other people's, um, personality into account, and make their own plans... accordingly." She glances up as the right word comes to her at the end, aiming to catch Bo's eye, judging whether he's picked up on her hint.

"Houston, we have a break through." The voice belongs to William the Uktena, who looks down at his arm carefully before scratching. Bo's eyes are caught for a fleeting moment, and then the Fianna stares more steadily at the cub. "This ain't a democracy, kid. But packs do work best when everyone's in the right line at the right time." The pack alpha looks around to his packmates, whose expressions all are in general agreement. "We aren't mourning Tommy proper until we beat the Wyrmy bastard that took him. So, the faster we do get Stormfront together for another hit, the faster we can go on with protecting the caern the way it ought to be." Bo returns his gaze to the cub, chin tilting up a little as he looks down his nose at her. "Right?"

Ruth smiles slightly, a little sadly but mostly in agreement. "That sounds good. I was planning to go and talk to Stormfront next, and talk to them as well. I can take a message, if you like?"

Bo takes in a deep, deep breath through his nostrils. It's obvious something has clicked, and his sigh comes out like a release valve being opened. "Just tell that Get bastard to get his ass back out here so we can end this," growls the Fianna. "I'll go with you," states Helga, pushing off from her spot in the meeting area and stepping forward towards the cub, "The woods can be pretty funky at night 'cause of Fog."

Ruth scrambles to her feet, chuckling once. "Not a bit like Chimaera then? Yes, please, I'd, um, appreciate that," she tells Helga, then looks back at Bo. "And if it would fit in with your plans," she says, solemnly, "and if I wouldn't just get in the way, I'll help fight."

"Chimera's tricky, but different yeah," Helga nods, her hands working to put her hair up. Bo gives Ruth a quick once over and then shrugs a vague approval of her volunteering. "You got claws, teeth, and heart? Then we can use you. Go on now." That said, the Fianna turns to head back to his bunk, his wordless action acting as the meeting's adjournment. Shortly afterwards, however, the quick staccato call of a falcon hails from the sky. It's the same falcon as from before, swooping down with moonlight glinting off its wing bars. The bird of prey chooses to land atop the tip of Bo's baseball bat, giving all the Garou around a good stare before seeming to turn its gaze upon the cub.

Ruth gives Bo a grin that's more of a grimace to indicate her determined willingness, and is turning to follow Helga when the falcon's cry fills the air. She takes a couple of steps across to helga's side as she watches the bird land.

Every Garou there has their eyes focused on the falcon, whose wings flap a few more times and it screeches at the Fianna ahroun. "Ah... think it wants to talk to you, Ruth," points out Helga, backing it up with a vague gesture at the bird. The falcon speaks then, using a voice that sounds like an ethereal wind. *Wolf cub, I have been watching you,* it says aloud. Oddly enough, its voice is understandable to all. *This place was heavy as black stormclouds with grief and misunderstanding. But since you came, the questions you ask act like the sun's rays and pierce the gloom that cloud the minds of others. You reveal the truth. Because of this, you have shown yourself understanding of the ways to gather truth. Use this knowledge wisely, and in time all the lies of the world will not deceive you.* The raptor spreads its wings again, flapping rapidly as it begins to glow brightly. The light turns bright enough to dazzle, and the feeling of sun-like warmth encompasses the area about the cub. Then, just as quickly as it came, the spirit disappears, leaving the pack and Ruth to ponder the result.

Ruth looks around uncomfortably now the bird has gone and she has become the center of attention. "Um..." She lifts a hand and circles a finger, pointing downwards, as if stirring an imaginary bowl. "I'm guessing that sort of thing doesn't happen very often 'round here?"

"No, no it doesn't," replies Bo with a glance to the tip of his Louisville slugger. "But on the bright side," Helga adds with a quick slap of her hand to the cub's back, "You got one of Falcon's brood to look you in the eye. That's progress! So before you look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say, let's go see Freezer."

Ruth staggers slightly at the Get's back slap, catches herself, and follows the Get.

PART 6 - Stormfront

The quick run isn't all that far, and Helga leads on a relatively straight course through the woods. The fog is still quite thick in the night, though, making the stop at the edge of Stormfront territory like stopping in a greyish black soup. "Halloooo! Who's still awake out here? Tina? Dirk?" Talks-A-Lot glances back at the cub to make sure she's still able to stand. "There's usually one or two of them out here. Tina especially, since she's one heckuva night owl. While we were cubs, even though Ewan and Bruno didn't get along, we'd sneak out and get ourselves in some sort of stupid trouble in the Umbra. Can you imagine? A Get and a Shadow Lord? Still, I was older so I taught Tina most of what I knew, even though she says she's smarter and knows her way around the spirits better than I do. Can you believe that?" The rambling goes on and on... and on...

Ruth had the sense to drop into Lupus for the trip, although the cub is nevertheless showing distinct signs of weariness. As they make a stop she sits, head lifted attentively to look around and nose twitching. The occasional flick of an ear shows that she's paying at least some attention to her escort.

Because Helga's talking so much, the howl of one of the Stormfront pack members is almost missed. It's the cub who hears it first. Speak your names and enter! is the cry from a mid-pitched male. It's soon followed by the appearance of a mottled brown wolf, lean in stature and long of snout. "Ah, Dirk!" Helga's transition from running off from one topic to the next is almost frightening. "Hey, I brought Ruth along because she wants to talk to Freezer. He's not asleep is he? Is Tina? Or is she working on some project she's hiding from me?"

Both Trip's ears perk towards the new howl as she waits patiently.

The Glass Walker in lupus takes a quick sniff of the philocub, and then just waves them both in, not deigning to answer any of Talks-A-Lot's questions. "Oh, thanks Dirk. So anyway, Ruth here managed to get Bo to talking some and, well, she's here to see if she can get Freezer to do the same. Think it'll work? Did Susan talk to him some more too? I know she's been trying to get him to come over and apologize to us for killing our packmate and all, so--" The words pull a trigger, destroying the tolerant attitude from Dirk as he turns and snarls at the theurge. Be quiet already, or I will bite your tongue off. Clearly, the Walker is not in a mood to be social. Doing another complete 180, the wolf picks up his pace and leads them further in to the territory. Helga, looking a little chastened, shrugs at the Walker's back. "Sheesh, what's eating him?" mutters the Get girl to the cub beside her.

Trips-Over-Paws lifts her lowered tail enough to allow Dirk to complete his once-over, and suggests submissively to Talks-A-Lot that perhaps others are also as sensitive about recent events as her own pack.

The Get merely shrugs again, but remains quiet until they come upon a small, lone house not unlike the farmhouse found up in the Hidden Walk. Dirk reverts back to his breed form right out in the open field, opening up the back door for the two - a testament to the area's believed level of security. "They're all in the living room," says the Walker, his brash and loud demeanor from the moot swapped for a low-key tension. Inside, the remaining four members of Stormfront have gathered around the living room fireplace. Tina is just finishing a sentence, where they here, "So that's how Cougar feels about it now." In Glabro form, the Shadow Lord theurge sports a fresh set of claw marks along her cheek.

Like the Glass Walker, once it is obvious that they are headed inside Ruth once more reverts to Homid. "Um..." she turns to Helga a little hesitantly. "Would you mind if you waited outside while I talk to them? Please? I did to talk to /your/ pack alone."

At first, Helga looks like she's about to greet Tina and the others in a bright and too bubbly fashion. Seeing the claw marks and the solemn mood, however, the Get theurge holds her tongue. She's not completely oblivious, thus leading to her nod and swift departure from the pack house. "I'll head back to Bo and the others, let 'em know you made it." She nevertheless waves her fingers at Tina before making haste, leaving the philocub with the five of Stormfront. Bruno, aka Freezer, stands from his large recliner of a seat as he sees the visitors. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes at his own tribemate that caused her to leave. "Have you come to report to Susan?" he asks Ruth first.

"I came to talk to you, and your pack," Ruth replies simply. "But if Susan wishes to speak to me then here I am."

Nodding to the Shadow Lord, Freezer motions for the cub to take her place before the fire. "Speak your piece, cub. We might as well hear what that yellow-bellied redhead has to whine about."

Ruth settles down and looks carefully around the assembled pack before speaking, trying to judge their mood. "I asked to come here, I wasn't sent," she says then, looking plainly at Freezer. "At least, I was sent here to this Sept, but I asked to come and speak to you. I'd like to hear what happened in the recent fight. What /you/ think happened, you and your pack, not what anybody else thinks. Will you tell me, please?"

The mood? Somber. Tense. Freezer folds his arms across his massive chest. "The Cracker Jacks were not doing an effective job of combating the Wyrm - their methods are too cautious, especially since there has already been information said about the forces that await them. They need to take action instead of sitting on their butts worrying about the impending coming of the Wyrm!" The alpha of Stormfront continues entirely uninterrupted by the rest of his packmates. "We crossed over some of Cracker Jacks' territory to take care of this Blight being created. And we did howl for them to come, but Gaia knows where the hell they were. Then when the fight actually got started, only the charach showed up. We only spotted a few fomori at first, chased 'em down and went Umbral to take care of the rest of the banes. That's when that fool Cracker Jack tripped a Dratossi and fell in. By the time the Jacks arrived, we had resigned ourselves to our fate. But that idiot coward Brittle-Bones turned on us while we were fighting. He thought the situation was lost. Tommy's death was unfortunate in its casualty, but every Garou knows the risk of being Garou and waging war against the Wyrm. He was a charach anyway, and he's lucky he got the chance to go out in glory. Because of Bones, /we/ are stuck dealing with our totem's anger." The Get alpha flings a hand out in gesture to Tina's clawed face.

Ruth listens quietly, nodding now and then as Freezer makes his points. "And why do you feel the Cracker Jacks are acting with caution?" she asks the big pack Alpha.

"Their totem is a goddamn blood-sucking bug. Why do you think?" snorts the alpha. "And they chose to follow that totem willingly! Every single one of them, even Baronness." Frustration and anger at his tribemates showing, Freezer uncrosses his arms and paces like a caged lion. "They are a pack of War. Their duty is to fight, to bleed, to die if necessary for the protection of the caern."

"Combat the Wyrm," Ruth agrees. "But surely you didn't just run straight in to the fight without making some sort of plan first?" She gives an apologetic smile to take away any possible implied criticism. "My Elder's Ahroun, and /she'd/... not be happy if /I/ did that."

"The plan," Freezer growls, "was that we lead the attack, and they would come in behind us. They /are/ the bigger pack. But apparently, quantity does not equal quality." The stated opinion of the alpha seems to get winces out of his packmates. Only Susan, the philodox who's watching the cub, manages to keep a completely straight pokerface. "They were to bring talens to aid us all in the battle. Bane arrows. Protective armor. Anything! Instead they came with nothing, and fled when the fighting got too rough for their tastes."

"Had they told you that they had talens ready?" Ruth asks.

Bruno, at this question, turns to look at Tina the Shadow Lord. The theurge only replies with a shake of her head. "No," answers the alpha then. "Again, they lag at everything they do."

Perhaps for the first time, the Homid cub shows signs of frustration, and opens her mouth as if to blurt something out. She bites it back, however, looks down at her toes and shakes her head. One deep breath in and back out, then she looks back up. "So you didn't know if they had the materials ready, or would need to collect them first, but your Theurge could tell you how long it would take to find the right spirit and do the Rite and so on..." She too looks at Tina for a moment, then, rather than dwell on any implied criticism of either Freezer or the Shadow Lord, presses on. "Had you arranged a place to meet before heading off to the fight, or any sort of signals to use?"

"Of course we knew. We gave them plenty of time to do their works. The edge of Cracker Jack's territory skirts the site of the construction zone," Freezer answers, arms starting to cross once again. "They knew where the battlefield was. All they had to do was be on it. There is no excuse about communication. Our call to war was loud and clear, and only the charach answered."

Ruth struggles not to sigh, and barely succeeds. "Your Theurge would know better than I would how long those things take," she says, with a long glance in Tina's direction. Then she looks down, shakes her head as if clearing it, and looks back at Freezer. "I'm sorry, I came to listen to you, not to preach. Tell me more about the start of the fight, and how you felt when you realised that the Cracker Jacks were not close behind you?"

Tina meets the philocub's gaze, but that lucid, clear blue of her eyes is as dark and vague as smoke in the night. The Shadow Lord says nothing and gives nothing away. Freezer on the other hand, much like Bones, starts tensing and twitching with mention of the battle. He leans in forward to a degree, each word coming out with a tension fit for those born of a full moon. "Stormfront never retreats. Never," he growls deeply, "And we are always prepared to die in our fight against the Wyrm. You know the law, cub? Combat the Wyrm wherever it dwells and breeds. That wasn't a 'fight'. It was a battle in war. And in war, we are always prepared to die. If our allies don't come, then we die fighting. Every Garou in this pack understands that."

Ruth nods slowly. "That is your choice, and your way of fighting. What else would have been needed for the battle to be a victory for Gaia? Anything? In general, I mean, rather than just something like 'bane arrows'. Or is jumping right on in and everybody fighting with everything they've got the best way to deal with that particular Wyrm, um, nest?" The young Gaian seems... curious, if she has any feelings about it at all. She has a genuine interest in the answer, even if she is uncertain of the correct term to use at the end.

Freezer stares at the cub for a good long time. The snort that follows accompanies a vague relaxation on his part. The arms uncross, and the shoulders lower just a small degree. "Cub, it's never about throwing yourself in. Even Cougar knows we pick our battles, because when we do fight, there is no retreat. Have you seen a wolf pack on the hunt? Have you taken down moose with your own fangs, after having run it down with those bonded to you? This battle needed two things. Courage and Cooperation. /I/ was chosen to be the Wyrmfoe, the war leader. Hence the Cracker Jacks, including that bonehead Bowie, follow my signal. They didn't. They turned tail and ran, dragged us with it and insulted our totem. That is why the problem is still out there. And I grow weary of explaining over and over that those Flea-bitten enforcers need to take a hint from /their/ totem and hop to."

Ruth looks at Freezer for a long time, clearly thinking something over. It isn't a challenging stare; she doesn't even seem to be focussing on him, but rather on the wall behind him. "If I told you that the Cracker Jacks say that they didn't hear your call because they were in the Umbra paying chiminage to a spirit to gain its help for the fight, and that /I/ think they were telling the truth, would you be willing to accept that this is why they were late joining the battle?" She holds up a hand. "Not to accept anything else that they might or might not have said and done, just that one point?"

Here, Tina chooses to interrupt the flow of question and answer. The Shadow Lord clears her throat, and makes a gallant move to not twitch her face from the fresh catclaw marks across her face. "That much is true, Bruno. Helga and I worked out how long it would take to make the number of talens you wanted at the battle. It was... going to take too long. They never would have made it in time, if all of them were in the Umbra. Tommy was... Tommy knew it too, and stayed behind to wait for the signal." Freezer's eyes shift from the cub to his packmate, where his eyes widen and glare. The ahroun seems to be at a loss for words after that, instead communicating his displeasure by mere body language. Susan Easy-Eye moves around and up along side Ruth, a hand going to rest on the cub's shoulder in support - and protection.

Ruth straightens abruptly, he chin shooting up and her jaw squaring. "So," she says, with a note of finality in her voice. "You /know/ how to fight, and you know where things went wrong. When you think about them, you know, all of you, but specially you, Freezer-rhya. You don't need some, some upstart nosey kid telling you things you've known since she was in nappies," she adds, backing off a little. Her voice remains firm on the surface, however, if pitched a little high. "/And/ you know that it's going to take /both/ packs to deal with that Wyrm nest... and with the next battle, and the battle after that. And maybe that'll mean having to remember that the Cracker jacks /are/ cautious and slow to move." She takes a breath, eyeing the pack cautiously in case she's gone too far. "And if you're going to let me stay alive a bit longer I've got a message for you."

Freezer's left fist clenches tight as the stare between him and Tina continues. He doesn't say a word, almost appearing to have not heard the cub, until Tina finally turns her gaze away and down. A deep and thunderous rumble of a growl vibrates in the Get of Fenris alpha's chest, and then he turns that dominating, intimidating eye upon the halfmoon cub. The hand of Easy-Eye returns to the Master of the Challenge's side, but she remains nearby. Freezer lingers, stock still. "What?"

Ruth shakes her head slightly, lookig a bit sad. "I don't want this to be someone forcing someone else. I want this to be everybody thinking. But." She shrugs. "Better tell you what the message means, then what it says. If You head over to join the Cracker Jacks now, they're actually ready to fight that Wyrm nest. And I'm coming to. Although Bo's actual words were, um, 'tell him to get his Gat ass over here and let's finish it.' Or something like that." She scrambles back to her feet. "So, are you ready?" She sounds, frankly, scared, but no less determined for that.

The stare of the ahroun grows cold as the ice of his deedname. It takes a long while for him to process the message and the halfmoon's euphemistic take, but his answer is simple. The ahroun boils up into crinos form, grey fur shining almost silver in the moonlight. Battlescars that riddle his body show up clearly in his warform, all of which are worn proudly. The alpha of Stormfront sends up a thick howl, full of Rage and bloodlust barely controlled underneath the surface. It is a howl that sends hackles stiffening, primal urges pumping up from within. The others of the pack join the alpha in their warforms, spurred on by the call to war, and send off their voices to the wind. Once the howls die away, Freezer turns his eyes back to the cub, teeth baring. ~You tell the Cracker Jacks we will be waiting at the edge of their territory. The same as where we should have met. I will wait until the moon touches the crowns of the western trees and no longer!~ The Get alpha turns then and sets a fast loping pace. The others follow suit, falling into line behind him. Easy-Eye lingers a little longer to tell Ruth, ~Don't go thinking you worked any miracles yet, Trips-Over-Paws. But between you and me, you may have just saved the sept from itself.~ The Fury philodox turns away, trotting quickly after her packmates and leaving Ruth to do what she will.

Ruth watches the others leave, looking dissatisfied. "Well that could have gone better," she tells the empty air. "Got to be better than that to fix things." She has a message to deliver, though, and she drops into Lupus to look for Talks-Too-Much and head off back to the Cracker Jacks.

PART 7 - Come Together

Talks-Too-Much is found lingering along the edge of the territory, already looking anxious to return to her own pack's territory. What happened? inquires the puffy-furred theurge. Why did Stormfront run off? Where are they going? Are you hurt?

They have gone to wait for your pack at the edge of your territory, ready to fight the Wyrm, Trips-Over-Paws replies, already starting back in the direction the pair arrived from. We have until the moon touches the crown of the western trees! Both fear and the rising fire of excitement and Rage colour the young wolf's movements, the scent of them rising from her clearly.

Talks-Too-Much jumps back, startled. Freezer didn't bite you? The theurge does a quick check over via circling around the cub, and confirms with an excited tail flag of her own. That place isn't far. Come on! Turning, the theurge darts off back towards Cracker Jack territory, not even waiting for Ruth to catch up this time. When they reach the scentmarked edges, Talks-Too-Much howls loudly, calling for the pack to answer. Sinker's faint voice answers, coming steadily closer with each progressive renewal. The Gnawer's voice is joined by another, more melodious boom that the cub can recognize as a Call of the Wyld enhanced wolfsong, similar to those used at the Hidden Walk's moots.

Trips-Over-Paws does her best to keep up, glad of all the time she's spent in training and wishing she'd worked even harder at it. She joins the howl herself, indicating both her presence and that she has news.

Given some long, whine-filled minutes as Talks-Too-Much circles and paces in place, the rest of the Cracker Jacks finally show up. Bones is finally dressed, and the others arrive in various shapes and forms. "So, Ruth," remarks the Alpha as he looks down at the wolf. "You seem like you made it." The Fianna's eyes move to his packmate, Talks-Too-Much, and then return.

Trips-Over-Paws isn't dead, yet, the cub replies, the irony rather lost in Lupus form. ~Freezer-rhya~... has some things to think about. This wolf hopes his pack will help him think. But he is still impatient to fight the Wyrm, and is waiting with Stormfront on the edge of your territory for your pack to join them. Or they'll start when the moon touches the crown of the western trees even if you're not there. This wolf is going... this wolf really hopes you are too, because this wolf does not know the way, she adds, with an embarassed splaying of her ears.

"Ok. That... that was cute." The comment comes from the otherwise utterly silent Asian man of the group, William. The others all turn to eye him in varying degrees of surprise, but Bo is the first to recover. The Fianna looks unimpressed, yet there is a grudging admittance to the comment. "That bastard's going to get him and his pack killed at this rate," growls the Fianna under his breath. A nod goes to the cub. "Follow us, and stick by rear guard. That's Sinker, May and Charlie. Will and Helga in the center, and the Baronness and I will be up front. Let's go." The pack starts to move, though Sinker draws up beside the cub and tailwags doggishly. We're going hunting!

Trips-Over-Paws's tail waves in answer, although positioned lower even than the gnawer's as she falls into place towards the back. Seems like she'd have ended up there wherever she'd started- the long journey, lack of rest and the general stress of the occasion is nibbling steadily at her poor reserves of stamina. Nevertheless, she keeps going with dogged determination to see the whole thing through.

Forward the Cracker Jacks march, each of them gradually shifting from their various forms to that of a pack of Hispo. Despite their various shapes and sizes in their respective dire wolf forms, each of them move in a bonded concert that tells of the pack's coordination and communication with each other. The pace picks up speed as Bones gives but one particularly loud snort and a lash of his tail in impatience, upping the tempo from the casual lope to a dogged trot. When they get in range of the territory edge, Bones lets out a harsh howl of territorial calling. It's answered by Stormfront's cacophonious presence, and finally... the two packs meet again. Bones rises up to his warform, meeting the already crinos'd Get of Fenris alpha of the Stormfront pack and the both of them lock eyes for a time. It is Freezer, however, who looks away and to his pack behind him deliberately. The Get turns his gaze skyward then, checking the position of the waxing half moon. ~It's Judgment Day,~ he comments with a deep, foreboding growl. Bones, from the Fianna's expression, is doing his best to not make another smart comment. ~The cub's told me you finally want to get off your ass and take responsibility,~ he remarks instead, which all but elicits a snarl from the Get alpha.

If Trips-Over-Paws was in homid, she'd possibly have rolled her eyes. As it is, she picks her way forward, not quite limping but undoubtedly rather tired. She looks a little nonplussed when she gets there, but after a moment she flops onto her back. This wolf must apologise. This wolf must not have been clear enough in passing the message. Please forgive me.

~Oh the message is clear,~ growls Freezer, lips peeled away from his fangs at the Fianna, who nearly mirrors the gesture until there's a loud and concerted sneeze from not one, not two, but three Garou from Cracker Jack. The Gnawers, Charlie, May and Sinker, all get eyed by packmates of both groups and none of them apologize. It does, though, get the job done as Easy-Eye steps forward to once more insert herself between the alpha pair. ~Enough you two. We have a common enemy awaiting us, and we've finally managed to come together again, no small thanks in part to the cub here. I swear to Gaia, you're both worse than she is,~ remarks the Fury Master of the Challenge who looks down to the philocub, ~Sky's-Herald has sent word to Slipper-rhya that we are striking tonight. We must decide a leader for this battle.~

Ruth rolls onto her stomach and seems content enough to stay there, resting her feet, an ear turned to listen to Easy-Eye.

She might be allowed to lay there, but Easy-Eye's gaze turns to the alphas, and then back to the cub. ~Well? What say you, cub? By the traditions of the Garou, who will be leader?~

Ruth inches up into a sitting position, and looks carefully between Easy-Eye, Freezer and Bones. As this pup understands the ~Traditions~, she says humbly, and as this pup understands what has been said, this is a fight to be finished not a new fight, and so Freezer-rhya is still leader.

The Get of Fenris ahroun sharply looks down at the cub, eyes evaluating her verdict. Bones doesn't sit happy with the decision, and yet the glare he sends Easy-Eye's way indicates there is an atomically thin acceptance of the halfmoon cub's ruling. The Fianna shakes out his fur right there, loosing some of that tension in his shoulders. Freezer doesn't even wait for Easy-Eye to speak, instead barking out orders to both packs. ~Stormfront, we run front line! Bones' pack will guard our sides. We move!~ Another significant glance later, and again they are on their way. The Cracker Jacks crowd behind Bones, not moving until he does. ~You heard the wolf,~ Bones rumbles at his packmates, and turns to catch up with the other pack.

Ruth sits submissively beneath the Get Alpha's stare, and lets the others move off before rising so that she once more forms part of the rearguard. From there, the look she sends towards Freezer's back is an assessing one.

For the remainder of the trip, there is actually no argument to who is the leader. The enlarged temporary pack moves like a river towards the sea. Things immediately change when they come to the edge of the tree lines and meet a road. At this time of night, there is no traffic. Beyond that is the rank smell of asphalt and decaying materials, oil and smog. Civilization to a wolf's senses does not smell good. Freezer calls a stop pointing out with a claw towards an even more open area that is fenced off with shrouded chainlink used by construction workers of all sorts. There are cranes, backhoes and bulldozers, silhouetted in the night. ~There it is. /This/ time, we strike the heart of the corruption here. The Dratossi /will/ die,~ claims the Get alpha to the others, ~or /we/ will. There will be no retreat.~ Bones sharply looks at Freezer, teeth bared. ~We've got your weak points. Just don't trip.~ A snort from Freezer, a nod to Tina, and the theurge unhooks a small compact mirror hanging from her neck. A few moments concentration, and the mirror begins to glow, casting a peculiar pool of light upon the ground. One by one, the members of Stormfront pass through the Gauntlet. The Cracker Jacks follow, with the rear guard all urging the cub to head through first. Sinker lolls his tongue at the cub. Easy crossing! he claims.

Ruth takes the precaution- such as it is- of shifting to Crinos, but other than that she does not delay. Easier to just do as the rearguard wishes rather than try to let them go first.

The Umbra is remarkably... quiet, in the area. There's barely the ghosts of thin strands of webbing floating around despite the construction seen in the Realm. Instead, the road is what cuts a white swath of webs on the ground here, thin though it is and easy to overstep. Somehow, things don't look so bad at all. It looks absolutely nothing like the city Umbra of St. Claire. The big deal seems to be, well, missing out of the group. Still the two packs are on edge as they travel forward.

Trips-Over-Paws can hardly fail to pick up on the tension in the group, and keeps herself alert, ears turning and nose high into the breeze. The rearguard would readily detect her reminders to herself that something out there is likely to be telling lies, and she must be on her guard against it.

Closer and closer they get to where the construction machines would have been, though they hold no reflection in the Umbra save for faint, intangible reminders. The ground slopes down as they progress though the incline is barely noticeable. Whereupon coming over the ridge, the philocub sees a most strange, but welcome sight. Her old bookshelves stand at the site, but the titles she loved to peruse the most lie strewn upon the ground in front. They look as though someone had been reading them already. In fact, by the time she looks around to see what else could be strange, the setting has become a much more familiar one. Warm, inviting, welcoming.

Trips-Over-Paws blinks, and takes a few steps forwards, ears perking in joy. Books! Her eyes rove over the covers, recalling the titles, remembering long evenings curled in front of the fire- and nights snuggled under the duvet with a torch. A grin starts to spread across her wolfen face... but it's the wrong sort of face for a childish grin of happiness, and as she stretches her hand forward it's a furred hand, tipped with claws. The cub stops in confusion, staring at her hand, then at the books lying sadly on the ground, waiting for someone to pick them up and put them lovingly away. The books were at home, and that's not her home any more. She's not /that/ Ruth any more. She's a different Ruth. A Ruth who's supposed to stop stupid arguments between bull-headed Garou and poke holes in stupid, stupid lies like those they told her when she was /that/ Ruth. The last thought bursts out of her in an angry snarl. ~Lies! Stupid lies!~

~Watch out!~ The bark of warning comes from behind, as someone ends up pouncing on the cub and tackling her to a side. When she comes to out of her illusioned state, the sounds of battle reach her ears. The ground rumbles beneath her as a giant crab-like claw, deep purple and spotted black at the tips, barely miss her. Just the claw is huge enough to grab a crinos, from the look of it. The two packs find themselves fighting an uphill battle, literally, as the unstable ground beneath starts to give way and sink towards a central point. A pack of banes, four in all, slide towards the Garou in their mad rush. The squeals and high pitched screeches are unearthly in sound, grating to the ears. The one who pushed the cub down is up already, legs sprawled in all directions. Sinker, with his ears pinned back against his head, urges the cub. ~Must get out of pit!~

~Giant purple-and-black claws were /not/ in the job description,~ Trips growls shakily. Terrified, but not quite out of her wits, she scrabbles for a claw-hold on the pit side. Her eyes narrow and she points her muzzle at the closest of the Banes as it slides towards them. ~Grab it, pull it back towards /that/, pull ourselves out the same time,~ she suggests to the Gnawer, breathlessly.

Howls and snarls belt out from the packs as the banes come into contact. Sinker pulls at the cub to help her up first, and just as the one bane coming close to them does get close enough to strike, in come the other two Gnawers of the Cracker Jacks. Each of their fur shines uncharacteristically with the faintest hint of silver. It seems like chaos on the battlefield only gets more hectic once blood has been drawn. The others seem to have caught Ruth's idea however, as one of the banes is pushed into range of the giant crab claw. Its fate is sealed as it gets dragged screeching and flailing down into the soft ground closer to the center of the pit. No time for applause, though - the closest enemy engaged by Ruth and the Rear Guard lashes out at May and opens a deep wound to her chest despite Luna's Armor. The young ragabash howls out in pain, falling away and onto the ground in a stun.

Ruth gives the fallen May a wild glance and bites back a snarl when she sees the Cracker Jack packmember in danger of sliding past her and into the pit. She deliberately steps into her path, digging her hind claws in as best as she is able and bracing herself, flexing her arms ready to fend off anything less friendly that comes her way as well- or to grab at the ground for further support if necessary.

Sinker, hearing May's cry as well, turns to see his packmate fall back. The cub is able to catch May as she slides, but the ground is definitely loose and takes a lot of scrabbling to keep footing. The bane, sensing one down and weak, turns upon Ruth and leaps forward, slashing its own claws out at the cub. For once the unstable footing helps and the claws, though they catch her, do nothing but tear some fur away much too close to her face. It screeches angrily, almost frustrated at its miss. ~Yeeeeharrr! Look out below!~ From above, Charlie ends up landing atop the bane like a cowboy mounting a bucking bronco and smashing it down. ~Sinker, Trips, get May up out of here! Talks is up top and--oof!~ The crab claw of the Dratossi swings in a wild way, knocking both the Gnawer galliard and the bane off out of reach. Sinker bites back a whine seeing his /other/ packmate go flying off, but grabs for the cub and her protected charge.

Trips-Over-Paws has a goal, and it's going to take every ounce of her pitiful strength and not-so-dusty determination to reach it. One clawed hand grabs one of May's arms, and the other punches claws-first at the pit side for purchase as she sets her jaw and starts to try and help drag May clear.

Heave, ho, heave ho. Between Sinker and Trips, the heavily wounded packmate is slowly dragged up onto the more stable side of the pit, laid just at the edge. Waiting there, Helga reaches down to lend her strength and the three pull the Gnawer to safety. That's when a monstrous roar unlike any sound on earth pounds the air of the Umbra, and the crab claw shivers up as the rest of the Dratossi rises out of the pit. One Garou is stuck pinned between the purple claw, recognized as the alpha of the Cracker Jacks. His claws flash again and again, ripping and tearing against the spiritual chitin as he frenzies against his captor. Bones is lifted into the air amidst sizzling heat waves that pour out of the giant crustaceous looking spirit. ~Stormfront, to the head! Cracker Jacks, get its limbs! Pull! PULL!~ Easily ten crinos in size, the Dratossi is beset upon as the Garou fall upon it one after the other. All, save the four on the pit's edge.

Trips-Over-Paws drags her gaze away from the huge Wyrmthing that dominates the scene. There were three Banes left, the last time she looked, and if any are still around then now would be the ideal time for them to attack, while the Garou are engaged with the Dratossi.

If there are banes left, they are small potatoes. Small, edible potatoes of power that the Dratossi has consumed for the past however many nights it's been. ~She's going to be fine,~ Talks-Too-Much goes with reassuring Sinker, who whines thinly over his packmate's state. There were three banes, and just as the cub looks, she sees one leaping up the side of the pit for her, closest of the wounded. Jaws slaver in a terrifying, nigh rabid sight of the delirious Wyrm spirit.

Trips-Over-Paws's whole body says 'oh bugger' and then instinct and Rage takes over. The half-moon cub launches from scared crouch into attack, teeth and claws bared. One half-remembered snipped about fighting a dog is all her numbed mind can cling on to, and she aims to ram one arm right into the thing's jaws as far as she can, while doing whatever damage she can with what she has left to use afterwards.

~Wait!~ barks out Sinker, when the cub launches off on a one-cub mission to go take out the Wyrmspirit clambering up for her. The two meet halfway down the disturbed pit, air choking with tossed up dust and filled with the battlecries of Garou fighting off a true monster. Blows exchange - rather, Trips' claws tear right into the Wyrmy spirit with the odd sensation of what it feels like to tear through something just more Real. Conversely, the bane bites down with its dagger-like fangs upon the cub's arm, sinking down through the muscle like a hot knife in butter through the muscles of her limb and scrape at the bones. Pain courses up that arm, spurring on fuel to the Rage fire in her breast. The pain is just so great that the eyes water and the whole body begs to stop for just that moment. The cub isn't alone for much longer though as Sinker comes leaping down from the edge of the pit to help. Furiously, the ragabash is like a mexican jumping bean, a testament to Flea's very nature as he helps shred and tear away at the occupied spirit. A shadow passes overhead, followed by the sight of Bones flying through the air and falling limply like a broken rag doll against the pitside.

Trips-Over-Paws's out of her depth, and she knows it. There's not much sense left in the cub now, and most of her strength is sapped by the pain that courses through her. Nevertheless, her weight dragging on the Bane must be limiting the thing's effectiveness and so she hangs on, claws clenching into the spirit's mass.

Just as she feels the bane's teeth cut a little more into her arm, the ground shudders and its jaws loosen. Sinker's claws and teeth finish what is left of the fading spirit, and the Gnawer literally tears the rest of its head in two to help the philocub out of her bind. As she feels the heady throbbing touch of unconsciousness lingering along the edges of her vision, there is also the feeling of sailing powerfully through the air and landing harshly. Voices and howls grow faint, but the roar of the Dratossi cuts clear into the mind before things go black.

PART 8 - Coming To...

In the darkness, the vision of a white unicorn comes galloping through a fog. The supposedly mythical creature comes to a halt, head bobbing up and down like it were giving an approving nod. The pointed horn of the animal sinks lower and lower until its tip makes contact, and then there is a feeling of fire and burning pain. The cub wakes, only to find herself in a bed, in a house. Daylight breaks through the windows, and the smell of disinfectant and linen sheets like the farmhouse infirmary riddle the area.

Trips-Over-Paws struggles to sit up, confused by the light and the smells. She shouldn't be here, she should be helping the fight! "Bones! May!"

"... Goddamn, girl. You're loud enough to turn my ears into grenades." A rough slurred voice comes growling from a corner of the same room. A familiar voice. Bones' voice. Only she and the Fianna are in there as she makes her way up. Pain still lances through her heavily bandaged left arm. In that corner, there's Bones in Glabro form once more. He looks almost like a mummy, save for the lack of bandages covering his face. He forcibly lifts his arm to take a swig of beer.

"S-sorry," Ruth stammers automatically, still trying to make sense of her current situation. She glares suspiciously around the room. "This isn't another Dratossi illusion, is it?"

Bones would laugh, but all he gets out is a grunt. "No. No tricks of that kind. That fucker's dead. Dead and gone." The alpha hisses out between clenched teeth as he shifts his weight about in his chair, pushing up to a stand. "You did good, kid. How's your arm?"

"We won, then?" Ruth sounds relieved but not particularly jubilant, and shifts on the bed to try and find a more comfortable angle for that arm Bones just mentioned. "That's good. Thank you. Everybody else safe?" An unspoken 'this time' inevitably hangs in the air after that question. Ruth fills the moment by hunting for the end of her bandage.

"Won... won is a relative term," Bones replies, moving very slowly closer to the bed. "May got cut up really bad, but her heart still beats, thank Gaia. The others are fine. We're in Susan's house at the moment. You're things are also in the closet there." Rather than point, he simply looks at the mentioned armoire. "Get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs. And hurry up, Helga keeps wantin' to talk to you." The Fianna keeps on moving then, every step of his walk looking painful and slow. The bandage on the cub's arm is tucked in expertly, but easily found and unraveled, as if it were meant to be.

Ruth carefully unwraps the bandage, trying not to wince as she does so, grimaces at it and tries not to drop it anywhere where it will leave a mess. As soon as she's found her clothes in the noted armoire and pulled them on- not as fast as she'd like, but no sense in doing herself further injury through haste- she shifts into Glabro. Her hair is no doubt an utter bird's nest, so she tugs the scrunchie out of it and pulls her fingers through it as best she can as she goes in search of the stairs and heads down.

The smell of sandwiches and tea waft up from below as the cub makes her way down. The food hastens the feeling of hunger - no doubt she hasn't eaten in some time. But before she even gets to the kitchen, around the corner of the living room is Helga Talks-A-Lot. "Hey! Hey girl, you're awake! Ooh, well isn't that a nasty bite." The Get herself sports relatively fresh wounds on her person. That doesn't stop her from wearing spaghetti straps. In Glabro. "Are you feeling well? Did Bones say anything to you up there? He was waiting for you to wake up the whole time you know. Think he's taking a shine to you. But not in any bad way... I mean, he said you were a guest and should get looked after. Hungry?"

"Yes," Ruth replies, which seems to cover most of the answers well enough. "He said you wanted to talk to me. But if it's okay with you, Helga-rhya, I'd listen much better while eating something?"

Helga bubbles with a chortling laugh. "Oh, oh forgive me. I was just so excited and everything. Come on! Sit in the kitchen, it'll be easier to eat and talk there." Leading the way again, Helga pushes away the strung up abalone shell curtains to reveal a veritable mountain of sandwiches and one small kettle for the tea. "There's so much to tell you, and normally Charlie would be the one who'd say it but he's..." Once her mind catches up, Helga slows her words down. "He's looking after May. You ah, you really saved her life."

Ruth shrugs. "I should probably say something modest about 'just doing my job', right?" She gives Helga a not-quite-a-smile. "I'm just glad I could do /something/ to help. I was, uh, completely out of my league, for most of that fight."

Helga shakes her head, and pushes the pile of sandwiches towards the cub. Minus one. "Nope," munches the theurge around her snagged sandwich, "you were just fine. That's what we got the big dogs for. Even Freezer-rhya said later you should put some ash in your arm. He offered to do it too, Rite of Wounding. But I told him I'd ask before doing anything rash. Tell me something though. Did you dream?"

Ruth stares at her arm. "Um. Can you... um... can /I/ tell Freezer-whya I'd be honoured?" She looks back at Helga. "Dream? I don't think so. Although it got a bit strange right at the end of the fight. Unicorn showed up? And stabbed me right in the shoulder here-" she points at her injured side. "And then I woke up here. Wondered if I'd died and gone to the homelamd or something, but I don't think that would hurt so much."

Again the Get laughs, covering her mouth so as not to spit out little sandwich crumbs. She swallows first, then continues, "Hear hear." The cub's arm gets another look over, and then a nod before Helga's eyes look back up to the philodox's face. "Unicorn showed up, you said. Stabbed you with the horn on its head? Sounds like you've been claimed - and that's not just the Fenrir side of me speaking. Everyone knows you're on your Rite of Passage out here now. So when you're visited by a spirit of your tribe like that... that means something." Looking down at her sandwich, Helga ceases her words for a long and contemplative moment.

"So if it nodded at me... that was good?" Ruth asks in a rather small voice, looking hopeful.

"If you want to take it that way, sure," Helga replies, lifting her eyes with a big smile. "Must've taught you something a little extra for your troubles, too. Wonder what that might've been." The pensive moment sweeps aside and Helga stands from her chair to wash her hands. At the sink, the Get notes slowly, "You know, you're the only one around here who doesn't tell me to stop talking."

Ruth looks up, mouth now wrapped around a sandwich. As this effectively prevents her from replying, she just flaps a hand in a gesture that might mean anything, smiles, and carries on munching.

"And because of that," Helga goes on without particularly needing prompt, "I just want you to know I really appreciate it. I really do. I mean, there's all these jokes about how I could probably put the Wyrm to sleep with all my talking, but I'm still a Get of Fenris too, you know? I fight as hard as the rest of them, and I do my job. So maybe... oh well. Listen to me. I'm rambling again." Helga clears her throat, sniffs a few times and makes a motion like