Lara's Rite of Passage
7/13/2007
07:50 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Red's Hole in the Ground(#3015RFJs)
Cold, dark, and under a rock. Where else would you expect to find a badger?
Descriptions may be emitted as they occur.
If you aren't familiar, take a moment to review house-rules by typing +VIEW HR for the index. Most of these are considered general for GarouMUSH, with the exception of `Being Rendered Unconscious` and `'Reserving' a Dodge,` which represent my take on issues there exists no written stance for.
Contents:
Red
Lara
Ciuraq came and got Lara late in the afternoon, telling the cub in a rather blunt manner that she should clean up after herself, and join him outside to get going. The wolf, once he has a Lara in tow, led the cub down to into the bawn. As they go, she might recognize that they're heading down to Bone Arches. As he gets closer, he lets out a howl, to let Runner know he's close.
The Gnawer Fostern waits at the appointed area where Ciuraq and she had agreed to meet. The howl from the Uktena gets a reply from the ragabash, bright and waiting with a voice just on this side of tense and anticipatory. When they arrive, Yi is in crinos form, having drawn a circle on the ground with ashes from a recent fire. Mixing a mud-like paste with a blunt rock and a wooden bowl a few more moments, it is set down as the Uktena and cub come into view. ~Greetings,~ she addresses them once they're within earshot. She focuses her gaze first on the elder, muzzle dipping down to acknowledge his rank and responsibility, then onto the cub.
Silvertip, when he arrives, shifts up to hispo. The white furred, monstrous wolf gives himself a bit of a stretch, before he returns the greeting. Then, without any warning, he walks back a few steps and gives Lara a shove towards the Gnawer with his head. ~Go.~
Running Elk, who had been in lupus, shifts slowly to hispo, and (impelled both by shove and by her own anticipation) pads into the circle willingly. Eagerly, even. She sits, looking at Runner.
Runner moves out of the circle of ash as the cub approaches, gesturing for her to sit. ~Don't move yet,~ she rumbles, gently scraping out some of the paste from bowl in her claws and painting on glyphs. Philodox, Running Elk, Uktena. They go on each cheek, and the hispo's forehead. ~Elk Running Off A Cliff, cub of Little Silvertip Mauls The Horned Serpent, today you will be sent on your Rite of Passage. But before that, answer me this. What does it mean to be born of the philodox moon? Gaia, Sister Moon, the spirits and I hear you. Speak.~
Running Elk doesn't even blink at the paste. She considers the question, nose twitching at the paint. ~It means I am judge, keeper of the ways. Mediator. One who stands in the middle, between the warriors and the new moons, the storytellers and the knife moons, holding them in balance, guiding them back to that balance when wanted or needed. It means I walk the line. That I choose to walk the line.~
Silvertip watches his cub with a very appraising eye, the fostern Uktena seemingly aloof of the cub and Gnawer. His ears scoop as Lara responds, flick once, before they press back forward again.
Running Elk tries not to pay attention to her Elder's reactions, and mostly succeeds.
~And what does it mean then,~ Runner continues, ~to be a Garou?~
Running Elk's ears swivel. ~To fight for the Mother. In as many ways as possible.~
Silvertip remains aloof. It's like the cub could announce that to be Garou is to defile the earth, and the warrior wouldn't react. Removed doesn't begin to describe his demeanour.
Runner nods once more and then finally asks, ~What does it mean, Running Elk, to be a child of Uktena's Brood?~
Running Elk picks her way carefully, here. This results in possibly There's the impression this might be because she doesn't want to say /too/ much to an outsider. ~To... know things others cannot. To seek things others fear to seek. To fight things others are not even aware exist.~
Running Elk picks her way carefully, here. This results in her saying very little; there's the impression this might be because she doesn't want to say /too/ much to an outsider. ~To... know things others cannot. To seek things others fear to seek. To fight things others are not even aware exist.~
That gets Silvertip's attention, his ears perking as Runner asks her question. He remains wary through the cub's answer, looking ready to cut Running Elk off at a moment's notice. ~That's not for you to know.~ He rumbles to Runner, when his cub finishes.
Running Elk looks apologetic.
Runner glances back towards Silvertip as he makes his remark, again her muzzle dipping. ~These words are not meant for me to remember, but for those that /should/ remember, to know.~ Her eyes switch back to the cub afterwards and she steps forward again, lifting her clean claw to wipe off the pasted glyphs, smearing them away. ~This which you have spoken, take with you as you go. The spirits watch and wait, as will the Garou, for your return. To us, or to Gaia.~ She then takes a step back and looks to Silvertip, silence indicating her part of the ritual finished.
Silvertip turns, trudging off into the evening's dusk as he backtracks they way they came. After he goes about 8 metres or so, he calls for Running Elk to follow.
Running Elk, having twisted her head to look at him once Runner took a step back, only follows him once she is called. But she follows quickly, giving Runner a brief and quiet chuff of thanks.
Runner turns back to the abandoned circle and ritual implements once the pair have gone, uttering a few last words in a growling Garou tongue before carefully wiping the ashes away.
The fostern doesn't pause, shifting down to lupus somewhere along the way back towards the pure tribe's collective territory. He leads her up high into the Promontory mountain, into the heart of Uktena's turf. As he makes his way up the slope, the wolf finally looks back over his shoulder at the cub. Running Elk did well in saying little, he commends her, mildly.
Running Elk lopes after him doggedly. ~They talk too much. We do not,~ is all she says in response.
Silvertip rumbles agreement as he steps up to the overlook outside the cave. A pungent odour wafts through the air, similar to what Lara smelled when Ciuraq was high, but much stronger and significantly different. He shifts back to Homid, slowly and uncomfortably. Shakily, he stands up; the Warrior stretches his arms out. Lara might notice he's wearing his nicest clothes - those reserved for ceremonies and important things he has to be in homid for. "Take ape."
Though Lara is less reluctant to take homid than the ahroun, it is clear from her posture that this is a slight disappointment to her. Which is not to say that she doesn't do it as quickly as possible, when directed to do so. She melts into homid, and watches him, silent. The odour, she does not, this time, react to.
Ciuraq, once he's done stretching, slowly paces into the cave. He starts to wave her in, before he appears to think better of it. "Take off your clothes, At... Follow. Leave them out." With that, he disappears into the dim of the cave. A few moments later, she might make out the sound of him trying to start a fire inside.
Running Elk doesn't blink at this, merely shucks them off, folds them quickly, and puts them between two rocks. Then she follows. She either shows no signs of body modesty, or hides it extremely well. Probably the latter.
Ciuraq fiddles with the fire even more - apparently it wasn't out, just really rather cool. Over against one of the walls, she might make out a strange looking mask, maybe some sort of fish, and a bowl at the mouth of it. It slowly steams, despite the fact that it had to have been made before he left to get Lara. It's a light grey, with strange green chunks floating in it. It doesn't look very nice at all. After a minute of blowing into the fire, the fostern seems satisfied that it'll take off. "I tell you... to be cliath, do this: Do no eat. No drink, and stay in the cave." He straitens up, looking over to Lara. His head tips up. "There is wood, here, to keep you warm. When the hunger is too much, or thirst is too much, you drink that." He points to the bowl over at the mouth of the mask.
Running Elk gives the mask a really peculiar look, but she nods at his instructions. "Si," she says, not even the barest hint of confusion in her voice.
"Uh... After this. You see what you need to do next." And with that, the fostern starts out of the cave.
Lara narrows her eyes at this statement. After he leaves, she regards the mask. On the one hand, she is only mildly hungry, and not thirsty at all. On the other hand, things will Happen after that! On the third hand, drugs. Hm. She lowers herself to a crouch, looking at the mask. Thinking. Twice, she makes an abortive movement that way.
Ciuraq leaves the cave without a backward glance at the naked cub. It starts to get even darker outside.
Lara turns over possibilities in her mind. It's really not very long after the ahroun has left-- less than 15 minutes-- when she makes the decision that it doesn't matter how hungry or thirsty she is or isn't, she wants things to /happen/. So, third time being the charm, she makes a fluid movement over to the bowl, and drinks from it.
Almost immediately, Lara spits it out in a sputter. She feels queasy to her stomach just having tasted the stuff. Vile doesn't begin to describe it adequately.
Lara rubs her hand over her mouth, and stares at the bowl. "Quizas, mas tarde," she mutters, making a face and sitting against the wall.
[Lara pages to the room: That is, "Maybe more later."]
The queasy feeling doesn't dissipate quickly. The longer she looks, the more her stomach threatens to churn.
Lara averts her gaze from it, after a particularly severe bout of queasiness.
Time winds on, and with it the night's chill. It's not terribly comfortable, but the fire does a good part to keep the cub warm enough. The wind can be heard outside - nowhere near as warm, out there.
Having tried one thing and clearly been told by her body Not To Do That, Lara soon enough squinches to the fire and sits, staring at it. Meditating, until she becomes much hungrier than she already is. She isn't, actually, all that good at meditating, and sometimes breaks off to do other things, but she always returns to its warmth. Slowly, she becomes hungrier.
Mediation fails to pass time, especially for someone such as Lara. Even as she looks over towards the bowl, in moments of impatience, her stomach threatens rebellion again. The fire starts to burn itself out, slowly.
Lara begins to get thirstier. And hungrier. (She's gone without food for much longer than she has gone without water.) As the fire burns itself out, she puts more wood on, rationing it so as to keep warm, but not to waste it.
The longer she waits, the thirstier she gets. Time wears on slowly for the cub, due boredom, hunger, and plain old impatience. By the time the second night rolls around, it's not the hunger that's getting her, but the thirst. It's killer.
Lara occasionally dozes, in front of the fire. Each time she wakes, she is thirstier. She begins making almost yearning glances at the mask, despite its aversive properties.
When Lara looks over at the bowl, on one occasion, she notices she hadn't before: It's developed a oily film on top, since cooling. Black specks are beginning to form on its surface. Despite that, as the thirst increases, it starts to look increasingly... non-toxic.
Lara eventually sidles over to look at it more closely, though she's a bit wary of it.
Cold, growing mould, and utterly unpalatable, it /would/ finally quench her thirst. It's been over a day and a half, almost two days since she's touched any liquid.
Lara makes a face. And then another, different one. And then, holding her nose, she takes a quick swig.
It burns on the way down, and goes down without Lara spewing it all over again. Well, heck, that wasn't so bad.
Yes it was. Nonetheless, she takes another swig, because hey, thirsty, and then settles onto her heels.
She's drank about a quarter of it (not counting the amount she 'spilled' earlier'), and still hasn't spewed the strange brew. She starts to feel pleasantly dizzy, though not overly so.
Lara furrows her eyebrows, and tries to focus on one specific spot.
It's not quite to the point that a person reaches after five too many beers in a sitting, but the paintings on the cave wall are definitely wandering. She's still thirsty as all heck, and her stomach doesn't seem to be revolting like before. It's becoming easier to think that it really isn't that bad at all, despite all claims to the contrary from her rational self. Better than being thirsty.
In this peculiar kind of unfocused focusing that Lara is doing, she reasons her way down a logic jumprope, and sidles (much more clumsily) over to the mask, and drinks some more of it. She even wonders why she held her nose, before.
It goes down smoother than before, and doesn't seem to burn, but is 'pleasantly warm'. Well, at least, she can't feel it burning anymore. As Lara gumps down what must have been a pint, she notices something she hadn't before. The walls are running. Horribly so. It's like the stone is dripping down itself, flowing in ways far too natural for words. Standing is starting to get a bit too bothersome for her, too.
Lara thumps onto the floor, staring at the walls as if they were terrifyingly wonderful.
She's so fascinated by the walls that she scarcely notices that she's dropped the bowl in the process, spilling on her and the floor. The world's spinning more. And now the walls are sloshing back and forth, like she was in a washing machine. And the paintings - gosh, aren't they so colourful?
Lara is so enamoured with how wonderfully fantastic the world's looking that she scarcely notices that she's doubled over, vomiting all over the floor. But the joy ride quickly turns ill, the philodox cub's pulse seeming suddenly over-loud. It's like her heart is threatening to explode, after someone set off artillery inside it. She falls over onto her side, beyond nauseous and twitching. As she passes out, she could swear something's started to whisper to her. Whatever it's saying, though, is lost as she drifts off.
[... On to PART 2!]
The dawn chorus of birds calls Lara to wake, hundreds and hundreds of birds calling to each between trees and branches; birds she hadn't heard since her early childhood sing vigourously, a few fluttering through the air with heavy wing-beats. She rests between two branches with her bum resting on one, her legs on another, and her back to the trunk no less than four metres in the air. She's initially confused how on earth she got there, before a dull, throbbing understanding begins to settle in: Isn't that were she fell asleep last night? Even though it sits poorly in her mind, Lara has a hard time thinking this isn't the case. When Lara glances down to the ground, she notices a small camp there, with remains fire from the night before. A bag lay in the middle of he clear ground, ripped open as if some wild animal got inside of it.
Lara is a strange mixture of confused and exuberant, wary and certain. She recognizes the /feel/ of the air more than anything else; since she left Guatemala when she was five, most of her solid memories of the place are gone. She takes a moment to spy around, while still in the tree, for possible problems, and then clambers down to investigate the camp. Specifically, is it a one person camp? Is there anything useful still in the bag? One never knows...
As she descends, her skirt gets in the way periodically. When she gets to the bottom, Lara spares her clothing a look. Was she really wearing that before? She's dressed in a loose skirt that goes just past her knees, with a double red stripe at the bottom, a dirty blue, narrow, scarf-like strip that's wrapped around her chest once, tied in the back, and a handful of necklaces; her hair falls longer than before, her feet are darkened and hard from walking, and her face, though she can't see it, feels just a tad different. A fuzzy part of her mind tells her that she always dressed like this whenever she was travelling, but some indistinct, rational part of her mind seems to object to this just strongly enough to make her feel uneasy.
The bag is empty, but looks like it used to have food inside of it - the thought of which is enough to make her stomach grumble. There's also a torn cloth top, a woven riot of blues and reds, with what must have been an intricate design before it got torn up by whatever ate all the food.
The camp is clearly a one person affair, with just enough ground cleared in the otherwise dense jungle for a fire, and a place to sleep without bugs.
Once she looks at the bag, she swears. But when Lara tries to swear in Spanish, she instead swears in... something else. This brings her up short, and, after glancing around, she tries to shift.
There's no one about but the birds. The cub shifts fluidly to lupus, arriving in the feral form readily. Where the jungle was almost familiar in homid, in lupus it's a three dimensional labyrinth, complex and maybe just a tad overwhelming. Thousands of familiar and unfamiliar smells lurk everywhere.
Lara stops abruptly, one paw upraised, trying to get a handle on the scents, smells, and lack of color. Her nose twitches. It takes her more than a minute to stop sniffing things (things! everywhere!) and pad back over to the bag. First, she snuffles it thoroughly, just to try and absorb the scent of whatever entity ripped it up, and then she shifts back up to homid, takes it in hand, and shifts into glabro, to see if it was dedicated to her. That checked, she starts searching the nearby woods in homid to see if there's anything recognizably edible.
Lara doesn't recognize the animal, it not being native to Washington at all. She /can/ tell where it went, roughly, up until it heads into the canopy. The bag, though it's not as good for holding things anymore (in need of mending), is without a doubt dedicated to the Cub. As she wanders off into the woods, the endless vegitation seems at the least unidentifiable, even if it is 'familiar'.
The cub wanders around (still holding the once-bag) for several minutes before apparently realizing that she can probably just as easily find something poisonous to eat as not. She slowly falls into lupus and begins hunting for something small and mousy. Or voleish. Or any of the small but edible critters that tend to exist in forests. If and when this succeeds, she pounces, probably loses it, searches again, and eventually gets /something/, at which point she begins trying to follow her own (old) trail back from the campsite. Unless, that is, she can 'remember' where it was she was trying to get to.
Her attempts at hunting are fairly unsuccessful, with network of roots, trunks, and thick vegitation on the ground level making hunting far harder than it ever was in a more clear forest. As she tries, though, Lara practically stumbles into a clearly marked trail. Clearly marked, and well traveled, given how packed the ground is.
Lara glances one way, and then the other, and makes a questioning noise in her throat. She flicks her ears, thinking, and then goes five or so minutes down one direction, then five or so the other, to see if her own old scent-trail from the day before is on it.
Well, it's clear she was over in the west fork of the trail the day before. The east fork she'd been on as well, but her trail wanders off (And gets lost among the jungle as it heads) towards the small camp.
Running Elk now has an internal debate between going back wherever it was she came from, and heading to wherever it was she was going. Since, for all she knows, she could be going back home from a long trip away, she finally goes in the direction she was going in before she took a break for the night. She remains in lupus, ghosting along not on the path, but alongside it, in the brush.
It rapidly becomes more and more clear that she isn't too cut out for this terrain, especially in lupus. Repeatedly she ends up very far from the trail, unsure how she got there. And when she does manage to stay near the trail, her progress is slow.
Soon enough, Lara gives up, shifts slowly into homid, and, returning to the path, mutters a curse in that strange language and starts walking.
Lara makes her way down the path, the cub making good time on... where ever it is she's going. Her hunger has been steadily growing, as her earlier attempt at hunting turned out to be greatly unsuccessful due to the major differences between where she learned to hunt, and the actual jungle here. It's about three in the afternoon - though, it's impossible to tell these kinds of things - and it's getting hot. Up ahead, she can hear water running, some sort of stream or river.
Lara brightens slightly, and keeps going, presuming, that is, that the sounds of water don't fade away if she keeps following the path.
After a while, the trail takes a sharp turn. The water is clearly off to the right side of the trail, much louder than it was before. It sounds like it's flowing pretty fast.
Lara debates for a moment, and then heads to the water instead of keeping to the trail. (Though this is for drinking purposes, primarily.)
It's about 10 metres to the water, the jungle being so dense around the flowing water that she could sarcely see it until she's close. The river itself isn't small, being about 8-11 metre across. It's flowing pretty reasonably quick, too.
Since one can't really see one's self in such fast water, Lara merely takes a drink, and splashes herself (and lightly soaks her clothing) with some of the water, the better to cool herself off. She then sits quietly for a few long minutes, trying to guage if there are fish in these waters.
She can't, in fact, get a good look at herself, though the fish are a different story. A few, large fish swim roughly 3 metres into the river, cruising along with surprising speed. With almost a double take, Lara notices one of them is impossible colours, a cascade of blues, greens, oranges and ultra-reds, constantly shifting as it swims.
Lara doubletakes so much that she completely misses any opportunity to study it more. But then she flows slowly into crinos and studies the flow of the water some more. Eventually, she lashes out at practically impossible speeds, aiming to grab/scoop one of the larger fish.
With a deft motion, she lunges out to grab one of the large aquatic animals. Her motions are sure, swift, and carry her directly into the river with a equally pronounced splash. The fish scatter quickly, each of them avoiding the comparatively slow and cumbersome crinos' claws. Quickly, the current begins to carry her downstream.
Lara swears energetically, while making determindly for the shore she came from.
She reaches shore quickly, though she's been carried 15 metres down stream from where she fell when she gets to the shore. Something she didn't notice before, in homid, is the unmistakable smell of someone smoking fish.
Lara clambers out, using her claws as pitons if necessary. Then she starts salivating and, only after she starts salivating, notices the smell. She pauses, to get a better idea of where the scent is coming from, and then falls back into homid and tries to head that direction.
It's little further down stream, but it's an easier trek to make than it was through the jungle to the river in the first place. She stumbles upon a place where someone's taken advantage of a small shaded clearing, with slow, clean water lapping up at its bank. There, they've erected an impromptu fish-rack, where several of the large fish from the river, gutted and cleaned, are stretched over a small, smouldering fire.
Lara stops abruptly when she gets in sight of the fish-rack, and looks around. "Hello?" she calls curiously, in this unknown-but-known language.
There's no response to Lara's call.
Despite her hunger, Lara sits down against a tree and waits. She seems willing to wait for hours.
It gradually cools off as an hour passes, the humid heat becoming slightly less oppressive as she waits. Finally, after that hour, she hears the sound of a number of somethings walking through the woods. Indistinct voices carry through the jungle, the sound of a number of people.
Lara waits until they come closer.
When she can see them through the forest, she can make out about eight different people. About five of them are Spanish, clad in heavy, sweat soaked clothing, carrying packs and muskets. The other three are native looking men, covered in tattoos and various decorations, dressed lightly, and travelling lightly. As she notices them, one of the Spaniards seems to notice her. With a shout, he brings his musket up, and two others are close behind.
Spaniards. Just what she always wanted. Or... not. Lara the Philodox makes a split-second decision, and represses most off the angry reactions she might have. Of which there are many. She makes no sudden moves, but holds up her hands, in what she hopes is a 'don't shoot!' gesture.
They don't shoot. However, two more have finally finished messing with their muskets to point them at her. Conversation amongst them has come to a crashing halt. One of them talks quickly to the other, but his words are hard to follow: It's like listening to Shakespearian English spoken at breakneck speed, and there's a lot of slang in there she doesn't recognize. Add to that she isn't hearing half the words because he's keeping his voice down... The other nods a few times in agreement, before gesturing with his musket abruptly. "Stay there." He says, in Spanish. One of the native looking men gestures to the two other, in a sort of 'I'll handle this' sort of way, and starts to walk towards Lara slowly.
Lara says, "Si," to him, in Spanish that is deliberately badly accented. Which, given the archaic versus modern differences in language, probably makes it even less likely he'll understand her. She tells the native man quickly, "I was lost. And hurt. But I did not steal from them."
No Spanish comes out of her mouth, though. Lara instead answers says 'yes' in whatever language she'd been speaking earlier, despite all attempts to the contrary. The tattooed native lets his hand fall towards his side, where hangs an long, hard looking stick of some sort. He starts to say something in yet a /third/ language, before he shakes his head, and says in badly accented Mayan, "It's okay, cunt. Not hurt you. All the food is there, so it is okay."
Lara attempts to remain impassive at this insult, and, unsurprisingly, does not succeed completely. "Thank you," she says, eyes flashing her anger, but body still signaling 'truce! truce!' Slowly, she lowers her hands.
One of the Spaniards gestures for the guy to go on, before lowering his musket slightly. "You look from around here." The dangerous smelling native says, his broken Mayan no better. His two compatriots both slip off to one side, the other four Spaniards relax slightly, coming forward into the clearing just a little further. "Are you from up-river?" He gestures from the direction Lara just came.
Slowly, Lara stands. "Yes," she says. She volunteers nothing further.
"We would really like to go there." The man continues in his semi-broken Mayan. Almost as an after thought, he adds, "To trade." His two compatriots are slowly getting closer to Lara, approaching her from the side.
Trade. Sure. Lara backs up, trying not to let the compatriots flank her. "There are paths."
"Which one?" He asks, not really asking. It's more of a demand, really. "How did you get here?" The two quicken their pace as she starts to back up; one of the Spaniards raises his musket slowly, thought the other four keep their guns aimed down.
Lara gestures toward the path. "That way," is all she says. "Not far." She keeps backing up.
"Could you sho..." The lead mans comment is broken off as one of the two other non-Spaniards, apparently tired of waiting, makes a lunge for for Lara. "Come here..." the man grunts.
Lara hisses, "Don't /touch/ me," partially in real fear, partially in the kind of fear she thinks they want to see, and partially in anger, and squirms away. The lead man's question is, happily, quite legitimately ignored.
The man isn't so ready to let go. He tries to hang on to Lara, tightly. He makes what sounds like a crack in the third language she doesn't quite understand, causing the other two native looking men, and a few of the Spaniards to laugh. The head Spaniard puts his musket back over his shoulder, waving them off. His Spanish, again, is crass, full of slang, and pretty dead, but He's saying something to the effect of "Save some for the rest of us."
Something in this-- probably the head Spaniard-- makes Lara snarl, and she snatches her arm away, in a quick, almost impossibly strong movement. And then she's running.
"Qu..?" As Lara's breaks free with lightning speed, everyone's attention becomes slightly more... attentive. The man who was grabbing at her stumbles forward, while the wrong-smelling-guy wastes no time in launching after her. The one Spaniard who never lowered his rifle instinctively squeezes off his hammer, a loud shot ringing through the jungle. She's got far enough away that the shot goes wide, however.
Lara runs. She doesn't know the terrain all that well, but she nonetheless runs as fast as she can. Away.
She can hear some of them crashing through the jungle after her, but Lara's fast. Fast enough to get far, far away; her rage driven speed positively puts leagues between them and her. Before she knows it, she's deep in the jungle, out of breath, but not being chased anymore.
Lara, having not noticed them becoming more attentive at her use of the supernatural, therefore does not factor use of scent into their tracking her. Instead, she makes one trail that ends in a tree, then another, and then carefully backtracks on one trail, and scales up another tree, having tried as best she can to obscure evidence of her presence there. She waits, hoping and yet also not hoping that they will, in fact, try and track her.
Lara pants, and then stops and casts about visually. After half a moment of rushed thought, she makes one trail that ends in a tree, then another, and then carefully backtracks on one trail, and scales up another tree, having tried as best she can to obscure evidence of her presence there. She waits, hoping and yet also not hoping that they will, in fact, try and track her.
She hears something that sounds like distant voices, back over the way she came. Followed by footsteps, through the jungle. Except, the footsteps are pretty close.
Lara tenses, watching very carefully. (In particular, she watches for the tattooed man.)
It's a man, and a man with tattoos, but it's a different man. Or, it looks that way, she might be hard pressed to tell the difference. "Hello? Is there someone there?" More traffic through the jungle can be heard, near by.
Lara considers this. She makes a brief, abortive movement, and then stays right where she is.
She gets a better look at him: He's tattooed across his arms, legs, and has a few on his face. A large wooden 'sword' hangs off to his side, lined with bits of obsidian on the 'edge.' He's wearing a loincloth and sandals, apparently on the go. And, he's really not bad looking, even from her vantage point. Looking back over his shoulder, he looks to someone else. A female voice. "Up there." He turns back, and looks up into the tree, more or less directly at Lara.
At this point, she gives up, and shimmies down the tree, looking a cross between apologetic and wary.
Tok Tz'ikin watches as the teen shimmies down the tree, the man catching Lara's posture readily. He holds his hands out to the side, showing they're empty, as he tries to look unassuming. He's rather attractive looking, even if someone normally isn't into piercing, tattoos and a few stray scars. A woman is approaching slowly, keeping her eyes on Lara as she goes. Two more are further out, having not caught up with the pair. All of them are native looking. "We heard you running like a madwoman. Is everything all-right?" It's pretty clear from his tone that he full well expects the answer to be 'no.'
Breaking through the foliage like a hunting dog on point, the female of the group comes nearly right upon Lara. "She climbs trees like a hairy monkey," remarks the tracker, Ixkeem. She appears unimpressed, however, with the cub. "Better than running into them, though." Ixkeem smiles, finding her own joke to be humorous.
Lara assesses him briefly. And tries not to look smitten. "No. The whites," she says, briefly. "That way." She points, unsurprisingly, back the way she came. She looks warily at Ixkeem, but doesn't scrabble backwards like she was with the Spaniards. "It is better than their guns."
Tok Tz'ikin's interest is almost immediatly piqued, the tattooed man looking back the direction she indicated quickly. He maybe even looks a tad excited. Whistling loud, he waves two the two approaching, before looking back to Lara. "Let's hope she doesn't throw anything at us, then." He remarks the female companion. To Lara, "You hurt? Was there anyone with you?"
Lara indicates no, to both questions. "They surprised me, but I got away. Thought I would circle back later and... see what I could do about them." She adds, with sly sort of grin, "I only throw things at people I don't like, not to worry."
"At least you could have /taken/ their guns," Ixkeem rolls her eyes. "Instead of taking flight. You did move fast enough for it." The cub's further comment gets a smirk. "No throwing yourself at Tok Tz'ikin, though, even if you /do/ like him."
Lara says, definitely defensively, "I wasn't ready to be /that/ obvious. Also," she says, trying to calm that defensiveness, "There were five of them with the guns, not just one. That's why I thought picking them off one by one would be good." She doesn't respond to the gibe verbally, merely restraining a glare.
Tok Tz'ikin throws a glare at the other, his non-verbal rebuke there, though not very strong. "She's young. She shouldn't be grabbing guns." He tells his companion. He looks back Lara with a narrow gaze, letting his hands fall to his side. "Though, a Priest's daughter /also/ shouldn't be out alone. This makes me wonder."
Lara says calmly, "I had permission." Let us all now lie through our teeth.
Ixkeem sighs heavily. "Didn't you see how /slow/ they were to aim them? Surprise, woman. Surprise is the element that wins battles." The woman then stares at Lara for a time with her perhaps, too-calm reply. "You had permission. Ah, well, let's bring her back now that she's had her fun outing under the sun and fresh air."
Tok Tz'ikin snorts, giving his companion a shove. "Oh stop. She could have been attacked by birds and you wouldn't have known." Again, there's not much rebuke there. The man stretches his arms out, looking over his shoulder: The final two are getting close. "That is Ixkeem." He says, pointing to the mouthy woman. He points off to another woman, wearing a bright, multicolour blouse. "She's Ix'iloom. He's..." He points to the approaching man. "Ajpub. And you're..." He points to Lara. "Lying."
Lara argues, "Yes, but surprise works better if they don't know you're /there/. They had me right there. And one of their allies-- he smells... Not good." She says indignantly at Tok Tz'ukin, "Am I? How do you know?"
"It's written all over your face," Ixkeem singsongs with a smirk at Tok. She too looks over her shoulder to the other approaching pair, uttering a quick bird-like whistle of greeting.
"First, because you're bad, and I'm very good at telling when others are lying. Second, because you either slept with a shape-changer this morning, or are one." Tok Tz'ikin taps his nose a few times, lifting his brows before looking over towards Ixkeem with a bit of a smug look on his face.
[Tok Tz'ikin pages: Smug look being friendly intra-pack competition. Sorta, 'ha! Bet ya didn't know that!']
It's at this point that Lara decides, 'I'm in the past, it's not like the Veil /really/ matters,' and says, "Wolf-changer, since you asked." Hotly, she adds, "And I'm not bad!" Now her tone turns mournful. "But I /am/ bad at lying."
"A trait that is admirable in a priest's daughter," Ixkeem notes about Lara's lack of talent. Her gaze travels back to Tok, giving him a wry look. Show off. Then it's back to Lara, and Ixkeem questions, "Wolf-changer? I can't even /begin/ to imagine... but then you never know what they do in the temples. Tell me, Bad-At-Lying, do you like them bare, or with a bit more fuzz?"
Involuntarily, Lara's gaze slides toward Tok Tz'ukin, and then she flushes.
"What did you find?" That's Ajupub. He's a bit thicker built than Tok Tz'ikin, and more heavily scarred. He eyes Lara carefully, like he's appraising a threat. "Found the whites. She was running from them," Tok Tz'ikin replies. Lara is left to the mercy of Ixkeem, for the moment.
Ixkeem just leans in further, shifting position so she's beside the cub. "Here, you can tell me." She cups her hands to her ear. "Not even Tok will know you're lying, I promise."
Lara just glares at her, and then whirls around and tells both Tok Tz'ukin and Ajupub, "Not just whites."
The three look up and over to to Lara, though Ajpub' quickly turns his attention back to the woods. Ix'iloom, the one who hasn't spoke thus far, asks, "They have Shit eating Incan traitors with them?"
Lara says, fiercely, bitterly, "/Yes/. Three of them. And I think one of them is a shifter who has been taken by the Enemy." That's a capital E.
Ixkeem blinks, looking disappointed at not having extracted some answer out of Lara. But then, the new news is alarming and the woman looses a short curse. She looks back to Tok Tz'ikin, and then moves to interpose herself, to get in the girl's face. "And you didn't think to tell us of this /sooner/? What, are you just waiting for them to catch up to you, and to us?"
"I /said/," Lara spits. "Allies. And /you/ were too busy asking me about my taste in /men/ to /ask/ me."
Ixkeem throws her hands up in the air, an exasperated 'oh brother' gesture and sigh coming from her. "Oh it was just an /innocent/ question, not like I was withholding important information about the Enemy's position and approach from /my/ allies."
"She's a no-moon, you should have cut her..." Tok Tz'ikin is cut off when the thick, scarred one suddenly interjects, "Silver!" About a half second later, the a few muskets sound from the north. Several shots crack into tree truncks, and Ix'iloom goes down to the ground hard. Tok and Ajpub are in war form in an instant.
Lara, too, is in war-form, and (despite the fact that this is, after all, /her/ Rite) looking to Tok Tz'ukin for cues, be they subtle or non.
"Ix'iloom!" The mouthy ragabash Ixkeem ducks from the shots, but notices her packmate's fall and calls it out. The ragabash makes a grab for Lara's clothing as well, but the girl changes forms. A grunt later and so is Ixkeem in crinos, hurrying to grab up the fallen one and take her out of harm's way.
There's a second's silence as some of them reload, before another scattering of shots retort from the north. Something burning lodges itself in her arm, causing her considerable anguish - she's barely able to avoid frenzy. Tok and Ajpub' storm forward towards the shots, heading to the prone-musket men. Lara might note they're not going crazy from delirium.
Running Elk does note this, and it gives her considerable internal pause. Given that she's struggling against frenzy, however, she shows very little of this internal conflict. Once she has control of herself, she's off after the musket-men as well, dodging determindly.
Ixkeem remains behind to check over Ix'iloom in the second hail of gunfire, uttering a snarl at the shots. She unbridles her fury, turning to cut a side path through the jungle and arcing away from the musketmen.
A few more shots fire, but only a couple of them are directed at Lara, and none of them hit. Instead, Tok Tz'ukin is snarling loudly as he goes one-on-one with one of the Musket men, bleeding profusely. Ajpub' is no where to be seen. In no time, Lara will be upon one of the prone Spaniards, who is busily affixing a bayonet.
Running Elk is on him in a flash, hopefully /before/ he gets the bayonet attached, ripping for his gut and his nether regions.
Somewhere to the side also in the jungle, a profusion of snarls from Ixkeem and a discovered enemy explode. It sounds like a terrible fight, masked by the dense foliage.
Lara reaches him in time to avoid getting stuck on a bayonet, but as she's running, she takes another shot, this one to the chest. The burning agony is intense, but it doesn't stop her from ripping the Spaniard to shreds. The first blow does little more than slice open his gut, but with the second, the cub rips his rib cage clear off, killing the other instantly.
Running Elk radiates pain (lots of pain), but whirls around to look for other men with muskets. Or possibly the tattooed man who isn't Tok Tz'ikin. She's not picky.
While Lara is looking for the next target, she can hear Tok and Ajpub' roaring and grappling with a particular foe. She finally gets cued in on another one of the Spaniards when a shot nearly takes her head off, the trunk behind her splintering as the slug impacts it.
Running Elk immediately dives for him, dodging as she goes. Even though muskets can't rearm that quickly.
The Spaniard brings up the bayonet on the weapon just in time to graze Lara, the cub's dodging and weaving enough to keep him from impaling her as she got close to him. Her first blow is heavy, slashing open his neck and face in a mess of blood. Her second blow comes down lighter, almost missing him altogether but managing to graze his chest. It's still enough to finish the un-armoured man, though, who falls down with a gurgle. There's a distant shout, followed by the sounds of others carrying on the shout, in whatever language the the three who were with the Spaniards were speaking.
This time Lara takes a moment to think. This mostly gets her throbbing pain, but she does whirl off in the direction of Tok Tz'ikin and Ajpub', though she's trying to come around behind the noises, not from the front. This will probably be of no use at all.
As Lara circles around, the snarls and shouts die down. She arrives to see the two Uktena bleeding profusely in Crinos, and one of the native 'guides' torn asunder on the ground. Tok Kz'ikin gives a howl, asking where his packmates are, before throwing a crooked, suspicious look at Lara.
Running Elk ignores his look. She says, panting, ~I have gotten two of the white men. You got one. I don't know where anyone else is. There were 3 of the betrayers. Come look with me for more?~
Ixkeem's answer is short, frustrated, and above all a little less strong than before. However, the crinos comes closer eventually, limping and covered in large scratches as well as holding a long wound down her chest together.
Tok Tz'ikin pants, unable to respond for a moment. Ajpub' does answer, though, with a profuse ~No~. He winces, in obvious pain as he sniffs the air a few times. ~They're going back to their camp to get more of the flesh-eaters and whites.~ The rufus dusted crinos rumbles. ~Too wounded to get the last of them.~ Ajpub' gives the shredded, dead man a solid kick.
Running Elk deflates, at this point, the pain clearly getting to her; which doesn't mean that she's not still alert and, just as importantly, angry. ~I only know where their fish are. But we can hunt them, once we are healed more. Yes?~
~The silver-toting, ass-licking, rat-chewing spotted bastard,~ snarls Ixkeem as she finds a tree to lean against for temporary support. ~Got away.~ And she looks in the direction whence she came, balefully. ~Cat's gotten his heart eaten by a Snake. They'll be back.~ Then as if to render her frustrations out of herself and at something, or someone, else, Ixkeem turns on Running Elk. ~You didn't tell us they had silver, or a Gaia-be-damned Fera with them! I have never seen a more /dumb/ wolfchanger in my life. And No-Tongue at least jumped up and down when he felt something was wrong.~
~Shut. /Up/.~ Tok Tz'ikin snarls at Ixkeem, leaving very little ambiguity as to whether it's a suggestion or not. ~Where is Rock-Eater? I saw her fall early.~
Running Elk spits at Ixkeem, ~I can't /tell/ if every creature who smells of the Enemy is a shifter. I just knew he was /wrong/ somehow. I /tried/, thank you very much.~ She subsides herself, and asks, grudgingly, ~What /is/ he?~
Ixkeem takes her eyes off Running Elk when the order comes out of Tok. ~Rock-Eater...~ With that reminder, Ixkeem again moves just that much faster, heading for the tree where she'd dragged their packmate.
Tok Tz'ikin, more concerned about his wounded packmate than Lara, summarily ignores her question. He runs after Ixkeem, leaving Lara with just Ajupb'. The battered uktena doesn't look ready to answer her, either.
Running Elk exhales a sigh, muttering something about not taking people's bait, and slips after the other two.
Ixkeem is kneeling beside Ix'iloom when Lara catches up. The crinos'd ragabash cradles her packmate almost too gently for the form. She dares not speak, but looks back up to Tok Tz'ikin with a hope, a searching gaze.
Tok Tz'ikin pants as he stands over Ixkeem, sniffing at the air a few times. He looks to the cub skeptically yet again, before calling over for Ajpub'. ~We should set up camp away from here.~ Pointedly, to Lara, he adds, ~You'll come with us. You should not be out alone.~ With that, he shrinks down to homid.
Running Elk ruthlessly represses her irritation, and shrinks into homid herself, making ready to follow.
Tok Tz'ikin waits for for his last packmate to get close, before the four of them plus Lara set out into the depths of the woods. The dead bodies are left where they are, and the group concentrates on moving. Injuries slow their progress, but they still cover good ground none the less. It's been a few hours before he calls the group to a halt, indicating they'll set up in the small clearing they're crossing.
Running Elk helps as best she can (mostly by staying out of the way and putting a helping hand in unobtrusively) and asks, "We guard in shifts?"
Ixkeem spends the time moving almost grumbling and growling the whole way there. But she carries her packmate as smoothly as she can, working with Ajpub in their shifts to make sure Ix'iloom is as comfortable as they can manage. When camp is finally called, she makes sure the downed Garou is resting under some makeshift shelter before coming out to survey their spot. A rueful glance is sent the cub's way as she makes her note. "Would be a good idea, wouldn't it? Being watchful, that is," she replies with a hint of sarcasm.
Since anything Lara says just now would not be helpful, she merely shrugs.
Tok Tz'ikin, all business, gives Lara a 'Yes.' and settles in to start a small camp fire close to the worst of the wounded packmates. He shifts up to Glabro, working to get the flame going. "We never got to finish introductions." He says to Lara, his tone subdue.
Running Elk volunteers, "I could watch first. Or, if you do not... know me well enough... I can share a shift." Once Tok Tz'ikin shifts, she does as well, blood staining her clothing. At his question, she swallows. Name. Name. Good luck with that. "I am a philodox of Circle Snake's brood." (Well, obviously.) "And my name with the people is Antelope Running Off A Cliff."
"Share." Ajpub' interjects all too quickly. Tok Tz'ikin considers this for a moment, before giving a half-hearted agreement. "Weird name. Your elders must not have liked you." He comments, idly. "But. Law keeper, then? I am, also." He throws a glance at Ixkeem, something verging on a wicked smirk.
"No wonder you two get along /so/ well," Ixkeem mutters, herself also in Glabro already and stained here and there with blood. She works on putting her long hair back up, but gives Lara a few once overs. "I'll take first shift with you, if you'd like, Runs Off Cliffs."
Running Elk says, somewhat wryly, "At the time, they felt I was impetuous. And stubborn." Her own raised eyebrow indicates that this tendency may not be entirely gone. Or anywhere near gone. She says to the ragabash, with a very credible attempt at a smile, "I would like that. If Tok Tz'ikin thinks we will not kill each other, that is."
"Maybe you just do not like law keepers." Tok Tz'ikin tells his packmate, his tone just a bit teasing. "I'm never going to get sleep if you two go at it again..." Ajpub' grumbles, settling in next to Ix'iloom. "No, no, I have a question. Maybe she... maybe you could settle an argument I and Ixkeem have had, Lady-off-the-Cliff. Your opinion on something."
Lara settles, briefly, smoothly, into a crouch. "Yes?"
Ixkeem jerks her gaze away from Lara back to Tok for the comment. "Oh, sure, drag her into it too." The ragabash shakes her head, finding a stick to stoke the fire with.
Tok Tz'ikin, almost aloof, looks over to Ixkeem for a moment, before looking back to Lara. "There is a sept... small, close to K'iche'. Well, not very close, but close enough. Xajlaj. You've heard of this place?"
Lara says, blithely, "It is one of many places." Which is not an answer, but for all she knows, he has his Gift on again.
Tok Tz'ikin continues, "They've had more problems with both the whites, and the fallen flesh-eaters. Because they are banetenders, this is understandable. They refuse assistance, though, and will not tell anyone from K'iche' why they refuse assistance. So, no one knows if they are being pride-ful, or if they have reasons." The halfmoon settles down a little more, occasionally throwing glances over towards his packmates. Ajpub' is all but plugging his ears. "But, it is known that they cannot defend their caern anymore. Is it right for K'iche' to send packs to save the caern? Or should they respect the territory, and give weight to the words of the sept, and send none?"
Ixkeem now, in spite of protest, gazes at Lara quite intently in wait of her answer.
Lara narrows her eyes, and glances from Tok to Ixkeem. Then, she looks about half way between them and says, quietly, "The main priority is to work against the Enemy. Territory... Yes, it is important to honor it, but if a Caern falls because you honored territory so strongly... Where is the Mother then?"
Ixkeem shrugs at the younger philodox. "The Mother's right where she ought to be. Surrounded by Garou who /can/ take care of her, those who can anyway. Of course, if they huddle around their sacred spots all the time, they never look up long enough to see the Enemy coming. Have you ever seen anteaters? Ever think of what the ants are thinking?"
Tok Tz'ikin's face draws down into a frown, his head tipping to one side as if he's forming something in his mind. "Ah. I am from near Xajlaj, though. Banetenders... they know their charge well, yes? Surely they have good reasons."
Lara shrugs half a shoulder at Ixkeem. "They go about their business, we go about ours... Yes." She trails off, and regards Tok Tz'ikin levelly. "Banetenders do know their charges, certainly. But you know just as well as I do that the Wyrm is... not predictable, that it can trick and sneak and take advantage of small openings. Such as those openings that the whites can provide." She shrugs that one shoulder again. "They may have good reasons. Or it may not be... Entirely under their control anymore."
Tok Tz'ikin picks at one of the wounds, wincing as he does. "The white shape-changers take caerns to the north, saying they are defending them against the wyrm. They do not know the evils they release in doing so, making the place worse than it was. Doesn't K'iche' risk the same?"
"And the Wyrmbringers go about their business too. Most have left us alone after all." Ixkeem warms a palm against the fire. "We've taken plenty of those openings the whites have given, even if they've lead to disaster. After all, the Wyrm /is/ tricky, and sneaky, and some small openings are just pores with dead ends." She glances over at Tok, brows lifting. "I'd say those banetenders had pretty good reasons for sticking around where they are, no matter what. Big, fat, Wyrmy reasons."
"Yes." Lara says, "As I say. It could well be that they are just... acting as banetenders do, and as people full of warranted pride do, for they do jobs I... can only too well imagine. But it could also be that... things... the whites have unleashed have... acted /upon/ them. Respecting territory," she says again, and trails off. "If you do not respect territory, you can make amends. If a Caern falls, it is not nearly that simple." She pokes the fire with a stick. "I do not think that the openings the whites have given are worth what the whites bring. But I am a simple person, sometimes."
Ixkeem hums with a toss of her stick into the fire and a stare at the young cub. "Oh yeah, simple. Remember that question I was asking earlier? Bare or Fuzzy? Couldn't even answer me that then. Then again I guess it's not quite as simple when /you/ can turn bare or fuzzy. How about this question instead. White, or native? Since you've spent time with the whites, and you know so much about what they bring and how much they're worth..."
Tok Tz'ikin looks to Lara with an annoyed look, his chin jutting just so. "Oh, right. /That's/ smart. Who taught you that, one of the whites?" He spits back. "The whites unleashed them because they did not know about the bane tender's chargers. Because they thought they knew better, like you, and could just take the territory to 'defend it.' It is is suicide to take things from bane tenders. It will destroy caerns faster than it won't."
Lara says, calmly, "Bare, at the moment, but I have not actually had the opportunity to test very much. And I will take native any time. Except for those betrayers, of course." She looks confused at Tok Tz'ikin. "I did not say I wanted to invade them, or take their Caern, or their territory, or do any of the five thousand suicidal things you seem to think I meant."
"No, that is what you are saying." Tok Tz'ikin leans forward, the Glabro's voice dropping lower. "How do you think they are going to take the territory to defend it? The bane tenders are not going to step aside. There will be bloodshed, at the least. They will be ignoring the other's territory, and there will be a fight."
Ixkeem eyes Lara, glances at Tok, and then eyes Lara again some more. "Bare huh? Nice and native, except those betrayers. The ones you couldn't even sniff out right away, and just had a feeling that one of them stunk when they /all/ had /silver/. And we weren't saying anyone was invading anywhere. It was a question of territory. Who it belongs to, and who should hold it. Maybe we'll be good enough with our wisdom to just tell the Wyrmbringers we need the help and they'll switch back to the right side." She gestures to Lara. "Convinced you quick enough."
Lara looks at Ixkeem for several moments, evenly. Then she says, "No, in truth, I cannot immediately detect silver when I am in homid and when they have not actually shot at me. It is one of my minor flaws." She then regards Tok Tz'ikin. "Very well. So because you do not want fights, and because you are in awe of these banetenders, you will not investigate as a half moon? You will not verify that your, to my mind very valid, concerns, are not warranted?"
Ixkeem plucks a stick out of the fire, bringing it awfully close to the young philodox's face and waving it around in a flippant manner. "Pretend this is a musket muzzle in your face. Feel that burning? That is the /silver/ about to be unloaded at you because you cannot detect it in homid. Boo. Hoo."
"Were you hit in the head when you were young? Why should /I/ have to go see that I am correct? It is up to you, and idiots like..." The burning stick gets his attention, Tok Tz'ikin stammering off for a moment. But with an eyeroll, he continues. "The proof is /yours/ to find. It is fine for you to win an argument by claiming something, and not having to prove it."
Lara scrabbles backwards a bit. "If you say so," she tells Ixkeem. And then shrugs at Tok Tz'Ikin. "You asked if K'iche' packs should go to save the Caern. I answer, and you curse me. I answer, and you say that your old home is impregnable, and that you are offended that I have said these things. I do not have to prove /anything/. /Inaction/ is just as dangerous, when talking about Caerns being violated, as a wrong action. /That/ is what I learned when young."
"Yes, you do have to prove things." Tok answers, sharply. "You are going to sit by and let bane-tenders die in the fighting, and you cannot even guarantee the packs will defend the Caern. You are going to let a crime against /the law/ go by without even feeling you have to prove it? Whoever spat you out into the world must have been incredibly stupid; it shows."
Ixkeem seems dissatisfied with merely the scrabble, and barks a derogatory laugh. "What's the matter, pup? Haven't been burned before? Tell me you're not afraid of a /stick/." The ragabash scoots even closer, using the stick like a mock-gun muzzle complete with bayonet. She pauses long enough to glance at Tok with a grin. "Oh don't you know, arguments don't need proof. Your guess is as good as mine when it comes to what to do. Our guess is as good as the Wyrmbringers when it comes to what we should do with the land around us. After all, no one knows better than the Mother herself."
Lara does, in fact, do rather more than just scrabble; she shoots upwards and backwards, staring at Ixkeem with a fierce glare, baring her teeth. "What are you /doing/?"
Ixkeem stands slowly, teasing the burning stick in front of the philodox. "Showing you what you are afraid of," replies the ragabash easily.
Lara bites, "So I'm afraid of people being assholes. That's not news."
Tok Tz'ikin looks to Ixkeem with almost a roll of the eye, but he doesn't interrupt her antics. "You should be able to show that in breaking another law, the greater law is actually served. Not that you merely think that it is."
Ixkeem barks a laugh, amused by the philodox's reply. "You're afraid you won't be able to figure this out, I think. Tok Tz'ikin and I have been having this talk since... well, since the Wyrmbringers landed." Glancing over to Tok, the ragabash quirks her head. "So let's say one law is greater than the other. Justice is served by the victors to the losers." She turns back to Lara. "Which side are /you/ on?"
Lara breathes. Yes, calm. Slowly, she settles down again, crouching. But further away from Ixkeem. "I'm on the side of the Mother, and the ways. Which doesn't help with the question at hand." She nods slowly to Tik Tz'ikin. "I said it wrong, earlier, when I said that proof wasn't necessary. What I /meant/ was that you can't find the proof if you just stay where you are. And to me, I think that in this situation, you need to investigate /at the source/, and that since it's a Caern, then that concern does outweigh the other concern. But... I think the question is also clouded by the fact that this is near your once-home."
"It doesn't matter." Tok Tz'ikin waves his hands dismissive, the handsome man looking almost like he's waving the cub away. "I am biased to my neighbours. You are biased against them. No one is free of bias. The fact that I do not want to see them dead does not make it any less wrong for K'iche' to send packs - they ignore that the sept may have good reasons for refusing help, and good reasons for not saying these reasons. Uktena sometimes can justly keep secrets from themselves."
Ixkeem purposefully moves after Lara, never letting the philocub get too far away. She pauses to stick her burning stick back into the fire, at least, to relieve herself of the temporary tool. Her finger does wave at Lara as the cub speaks. "Ah there, see Tok? You have to search at the /source/. So I heard the Wyrmcomers, they're looking for taint and Wyrmthings at the sources of these places too. Caerns, and the like. They walk in, help out with the guarding, everyone's happy. Where's the problem, again?"
Some of Lara's attention is on Ixkeem's proximity, but she laughs ruefully at Tok Tz'ikin nonetheless. "They-- we-- can keep secrets from ourselves all too easily. That is part of why I would answer this question by urging more investigation, because the web of secrets and obfuscations does not lead to clear answers." To Ixkeem, she blinks, once, and then snorts. "That is hardly the same thing."
Tok Tz'ikin barks a laugh, his tone scornful. "You are as stupid as you are ugly. Is that why you are out alone, no man will touch you? We have to work in the dark. The time it takes to get the secrets from the Bane Tenders, the decision is often too late. And other shape changers will not sit around and wait for us to deliberate like a group of priests in a temple."
Ixkeem just stares at Lara outright then, her mouth opening. "But you just /said/, more investigation! I was /agreeing/. Agreeing, and saying, your words are like those of the Garou who come from afar and outside, when they say they're coming to investigate too. Isn't that what you said?"
Lara snaps, "Because we at least respect the bindings and the mysteries and the fact that Banetending /is/ a necessary thing, whereas the Wyrmcomers understand nothing, ignore warnings, and trample over everything, and endanger everyone." She moves jerkily from her crouch to stand again. "And you." She takes a step toward Tok Tz'ikin. "If all you wish to do is insult me and show me no respect, why are you asking me these things in the first place?"
"Because you are a Philodox, and it is your duty." Tok Tz'ikin replies, his tone on the level, "And the white 'law-keepers' will not treat you any better than this. I am being /kind./"
Tension bleeds out of Lara. "Ah, well," she says, in a much less angry tone. "Then I will say that saying that it takes too long to get secrets from the Tenders is not a good reason not to investigate. It just means it's more urgent."
"They trample over everything, endanger everyone but themselves and even then sometimes their own, and don't realize this sure," Ixkeem notes with a thoughtful pause, "but they /do/ have the numbers that could help K'iche' packs." Ixkeem stands again as Lara stands again, taking a step forward as she does. "And you say it's urgent. Perhaps we should enlist their help, but keep them beneath our thumbs. Teach them to understand instead of just letting them run around."
"You say things that are not practical. It would be smart - if /you/ were a White law keeper, and didn't know the Water Jaguar kept secrets." Tok Tz'ikin remarks, scorn entering his voice. "Enough people to find the secrets in fast enough time would violate their territory."
Lara looks vaguely alarmed at Ixkeem. "They do not understand. They never understand. Trying to work with them as if they do is..." She trails off. "Ridiculous." She backs up a pace or two, apparently to be able to keep track of both Tok Tz'ikin and Ixkeem, visually. "That would be the problem, yes," she agrees with Tok Tz'ikin. "I was not attempting to assert anything else."
Tok Tz'ikin looks up into the darkened canopy, the handsome man pointing both hands at Lara, shaking them. "So, it is a problem, but one /you/ do not have to answer to, Corn Stalk? Just leave it to someone else to solve how you can have your answers, but waste no time getting them. And only after then do you decide?"
Ixkeem gestures widely. "How is that alarming? Are we so set that we couldn't teach these Wyrmcomers the ways? Is it a problem with our teaching methods? Kind of have to wonder about our cubs, then," the woman in Glabro notes. "I mean, just look at you. You said you were of our tribe, Uktena?"
Lara stares at the man. Intemperately, she says, "I ne--" She breaks off, and makes an abrupt, angry motion with her hands. When she speaks again, her words are slightly more temperate. "No, Tok Tz'ikin, it is never a matter of someone else solving the problem. I am not a member of any of your packs, but I would come with you and yours, were you to choose to investigate this. Because a philodox must be /part/ of the process, not /above/ it." She shrugs at Ixkeem. "We teach well, they do not understand. We teach badly, they do not understand. We teach like /Gods/, they do not understand. It does not matter."
"You hear that, Tok?" Ixkeem remarks, "It does not matter." She turns to Lara, a smirk twisting on her features. "Even an outsider like her's going to try and teach you about your auspice and how it works."
"A flat chested Priest's daughter does not outrank a Sept Elder. I don't either" Tok Tz'ikin snorts, folding one leg under him. "I can punish them after they've broken the law, not before. Law keepers aren't 'the process,' they are the fall to the earth and the smack of the earth when it runs off a mountain."
Lara says, in an intense sort of almost whisper, "I /wish/ it mattered. Oh, how I wish it." At Tok's statement, and his snort, she deflates a bit and, finally, recedes back to her crouch, "I didn't say I did. Just that I would not... cause other people to go into danger that I wouldn't join in on." Then she sits, slowly, looking at him. "I think one of the problems with how most people see half moons-- and pardon me," she says wryly to Ixkeem, "For talking about my auspice with him--" She turns back to the man. "One of the problems with how most people see half moons is that, to most people, all they are /is/ the fall to the earth and the smack afterwards. But it is more than that. It is guiding thought, it is keeping tradition, it is /living/ the tradition, it is working with people to understand tradition, it is helping people to solve even minor disputes, it is..." She waves her hands a little. "It is not pronouncing from a mountain."
Tok Tz'ikin waits a long moment after the cub's rant, the older Uktena sitting there absently soaking it in. Finally, he purses his lips. "Okay." He offers, lifting his brow at Ixkeem.
Ixkeem listens too, head gradually tilting to one side before she smiles. "I can't say I don't agree," muses the ragabash, "but you really should leave the fall to earth and smack to us. And by us, I mean, /my/ auspice. You should just make sure they get up and dust themselves off when they do fall. And I'll tell you, they /will/ fall. Hard."
Lara reverts to her crouch, laying one hand on the ground. "Well, both new and half moons deal with that. In different ways. Or so I see it. We deal with it-- more formally. You do it-- Well, I would have said more subtly, but I think I just mean less officially." Tok Tz'ikin gets a questioning look. "OK... what?"
Tok Tz'ikin gestures out to the side, offering a 'eh' sort of face. "Okay." He responds, rather non-commitally. Aside, Ajpub' mutters something about 'Thank Gaia', before turning his back even further on the other two.
Ixkeem scratches the side of her face around the claw marks. "I think he means, make your ruling, Philodox. Should K'iche' send packs, or not?"
Tok Tz'ikin speaks right after Ixkeem, giving a non-verbal. "I think my packmate is wrong."
Lara starts to say something in response to Ixkeem, and then stops, in response to the half moon. "Ah-- Well. I could give an opinion, but if he thinks you're wrong, then I suppose there's no point."
"I mean, I think my packmate is wrong. I don't want a judgement." Tok Tz'ikin, stretches, yawning slightly. "She already made her judgement known. I out-rank her, I think. We disagree, but... we do not always have to agree."
Ixkeem glances quickly over at Tok, also about to make another remark until he shows his. "Well. You heard him," Ixkeem relents with a conceding shrug. "And honestly, our agreement to disagree might stand through even the End Times, if we can help it." A rueful grin is sent to the two philodoxes. "But you /are/ the alpha here, Tok. So, now what?"
Lara echoes the question, mostly with her eyebrows.
"We all be quiet." Cuts Ajpub', before Tok Tz'ikin has a chance to answer. The pack alpha snorts a laugh, before he adds to someone - may Ixkeem, maybe Ajpub', "Starting with you." His attention shifts to Lara, and he gestures to her arm. "Your scars. None of them from battle, all before your first change?"
Lara remains a bad liar, so all she does is nod. She tries to make it a decisive nod.
Ixkeem folds her arms over her chest, taking the statement from Tok Tz'ikin as a command rather than a request. She does, though, look over at Lara to inspect the mentioned scars.
Ajpub' looks up at that, the thick, quiet man shakily shoving to his feet; He heads over towards Tok Tz'ikin shakily, leaving Ix'iloom for the moment. "Really?" He asks, terse as ever.
Tok Tz'ikin lifts his brow, not responding as his other packmate joins the trio. Looking to Ixkeem, he adds, "We should fix that."
Lara regards him evenly, and then nods. She shifts slightly, moving to stand, curious anticipation in her stance. "The... Rite?"
Ixkeem uncrosses her arms, glancing back at Tok Tz'ikin when he makes his remark, and then turning her eyes back on Lara. "You proved yourself capable of taking a hit. More than one, in fact," she says slowly.
Ajpub' looks fairly menacing, taking a wobbly step towards Lara. "Get some mud, and we'll solve this problem." He tells Tok Tz'ikin, his voice deadpan but his face threatening a loose grin.
Tok Tz'ikin raises a brow, mirror more of Ixkeem's look than Ajpub's. He takes a few steps back, before turning to head into the jungle growth.
Lara seems not to find Ajpub' menacing at all, as she beams at Ixkeem. "Thank you," she tells Ajpub', and then Tok Tz'ikin when he comes back.
Tok Tz'ikin comes back after a few minutes, carrying a fistfull of muddy earth. About then Ajpub' tries to grab Lara's arm. "Grab the other end, Ixkeem." He asks her, enjoying this a bit too much.
OK, now she's a little menaced. But she tries (very hard) to stay mostly still.
Ixkeem blinks as she's noted, and then with the note, does move to restrain Lara. Don't mind the blood that's caked on her smearing on the other girl.
Tok Tz'ikin swells up into crinos, the wounded philodox looking none the less regal and collected. He lumbers close to Lara, taking the mud that he grabbed in his paw (now looking like a small glop) and smearing some on his clean hand. He then sticks a claw into the wound, drawing it down, carefully splitting the skin and drawing blood. Needless to say, it hurts like hell. ~To remember who you are, and what you did.~ He intones.
Lara squirms a little as the skin is split, but she makes no sound. (She is, however, biting her lip so hard it bleeds.)
Ixkeem makes sure to hold Lara tightly, her own teeth gritting a bit while the deed is done.
Tok Tz'ikin works quickly, drawing a line up, and one to either side. The musket wound turns into a small sunburst, with the silver burn as the centre. He lines each of the arms, and the centre, with mud. ~To remember who you are, Clenches the Sun, And what you did.~ He repeats. He shrinks down to Homid, the handsome Mayan man quickly finishing by smearing mud on her forehead, then at her collar, one for Uktena, the other for Philodox. "And for remembering why you were born, Ixuch'amaw K'in."
Ajpub' holds on to Lara for a few more moments, after she's clawed at, ready to restrain her should it be needed. When Tz'ikin finishes, he lets go, grinning at the cub.
The philodox continues not to make a sound, and she watches Tok Tz'ikin at work as much as she can, through her pain. Once Ajpub' lets go, she holds her arm out, looking at the sunburst. ~Thank you,~ she says, slight hint of wonder in her expression.
Ixkeem likewise grins as she releases her charge, taking a moment to wipe a spot of blood with her thumb on the girl's cheek. No meaning in it. Just because Tok Tz'ikin is fingerpainting.
Tok Tz'ikin gestures to Ajpub', then at Lara. "Ajpub' and Ixuch'amaw K'in" He says, more business like. "Ixkeem and I will take first watch. We will wake you, when it is time to change. Sleep until then." He glances to Ajpub', adding "Check with Ix'iloom often, in your watch."
Lara accepts this relatively easily, with an alert nod (mmm, endorphins!) and pads over to where she had decided to sleep, earlier.
Ajpub' gives the cub a shove as he passes, before heading over to where he cleared the ground. He goes about preparing a place for him to lay, before laying down. Tok Tz'ikin and Ixkeem settle down near the low fire, not too far from Ix'iloom.
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