Finding the wolf [Pack-Andrew]

[Andrew Black] Andrew left the Gaurdian's room, dressed in a plain black t-shirt, baggy dark blue jeans, white socks, and black sandles. He arched his back and yawned, throwing his arms out and stretching a bit. Scratching his head and taking a bite of the turkey sandwhich in his hand, he took a lazy look from side to side, "Anyone here?"

[Linnea Bartlett] There's a small kitchen abutting the warren of dormitory rooms, with their narrow beds and whitewashed walls - always cool, beneath the church, cool enough to raise goose bumps on bare arms until one gets used to the temperature. Andrew has been left alone much of time since his return to the Caern: the Sept is undermanned, the few remaining Guardians pull duty for long hours and return, exhausted and bored, they minds running through ever-twisting black tunnels.

In ordinary times, Andrew would have had almost constant direction, almost constant instruction, but these are no longer ordinary times, and what guidance he receives is haphazard, tossed aside in a rush. "Let me show you belowstairs," Prayer Without Mercy said to him two days ago, and took him on a long, dreary patrol of the lower tunnels, droning on at length about moons and duties, tribes and rank in such a monotone that the cub would be lucky to have come away from the six hours in the blind twisting dark remembering even a tenth of what the Guardian told him.

Today, as he munches his turkey sandwich and pads on his sandaled feet, Andrew finds Linnea in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. It's dark in here: she hasn't bothered to turn on the overhead light (something about conservation, some lingering puritanism, some thrifty quaker instinct bred into her over years and centuries) and is illuminated only by the weak, incandescent glow of the fridge light. She turns, looks up, almost bumping her head on the freezer door - her quarry, a big red apple - in hand. "Heya - " the sixteen-year-old offers with a slicing smile. There is a distinct intensity to the young woman, as the moon waxes somewhere far above them, and it can be heard as an undercurrent beneath her friendly greeting. "Andrew, right? How's it going?"

[Andrew Black] Andrew had continued to feel pretty much left in the dark, though Prayer Without Mercy's dry introduction to Garou society was useful enough. Though he had to force himself to listen and learn, which didn't say much about the Gaurdian's teaching methods. And afterwards, Andrew decided to figure out exactly which moon he was supposed to be. It only took a quick web search on a library computer to find some site that told what moon phase he was born under: the New Moon.

Rousing Andrew from his thoughts was the girl he had met at the Brotherhood. He wondered why it was so dark in here, moving to get some lights in the Kitchen. When that was all done, the cub got a glass, took the milk from the fridge, and poured himself a drink, "Yeah. I'm alright. You?" For the life of him, he couldn't remember her name, he just had to hope he could keep up small talk without giving that away.

[Linnea Bartlett] "That sounds like a small-talk understatement, Andrew," the girl responds, with another friendly grin twisting her mouth upward at the corner. She steps back from the fridge to allow him access, biting into the flesh of her apple, a flash of white teeth into the sweet white pulp. "I'm Linnea, we met before. I - you'd had a lot to remember, so I wouldn't be surprised if you remembered my name. Have you - I mean - " her skinny shoulders curve with breath, and as she speaks, she shoves her free left hand into her left hip pocket, extending her body through the torso. " - I meant to find you sooner?" Her voice lilts upward, turning the last statement into a question and her mouth twists, sheepishly. "There's just so much to do."

[Andrew Black] He shrugged a little, finishing his sandwich and washing it down with the cold milk, "Someone named Prayer Without Mercy was teaching me a bit."

Andrew took a deep breath, glancing at her before finishing the milk and putting the carton back in the fridge. Taking the cup, he moved to a sink and began washing it, "I did some checking but I'm not entirely sure.. what does being born under the new moon mean?"

[Linnea Bartlett] "It means you're a Ragabash - the trickster, the No Moon, the questioner of ways. You're there - " Her voice is briefly muffled as she chews through a mouthful of sweet apple, she's far too polite to talk with her mouth full of food. " - well," her face lights up, briefly - "Ben can teach you about that, he's a Ragabash, too. Except he's a Get of Fenris, and they use different names for each of the auspices? German names, I don't know. Me, I'm a full moon - that means I'm one of Gaia's warriors." She pauses, her arm stretching out, this skinny adolescent girl who should be gawky in a school uniform somewhere, or stretching her long legs on a field hockey team. " - well, we're all Gaia's warriors, but full moons, we lead the war."

Linnea takes another bite of her apple, considers the core, then chucks what remains into a covered plastic pail marked COMPOST in big letters, rather than throwing it in the trash. "C'mon Andrew - we can talk as we walk. You remember I told you you were a Silver Fang?"

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] Learning about the passageways beneath the Church, examining weakness that could, in teh future, be used to their disadvantage and bottleneck passageways that could funnel another army of wyrm minions into small places, limiting their numeral advantages.

But over time he finds himself in the battleground which claimed the lives of many garou, There he stands and watches, looking onward at each and every one of those souls who gave the ultimate sacrifice for Gaia's bounty.

And there he stands, in more casual attire than one would expect of him, looking at the stones of the many. His bow in hand and looking towards the far end, spotting some corpses of wrym creatures still about. And taking aim, muttering to himself as he lets an arrow go, striking the creature in what was once his head.

[Andrew Black] Andrew followed along with her, nodding slowly. Trickster? Questioner of Ways? So apparently he was supposed to play Devil's Advocate? The fact that Linnea was a 'warrior' almost made him laugh. Judging by her size, he was almost certain he could take her. Then again, size was pretty decieving when a girl could be sweet and innocent one minute, and then turning into a frothing monster beast in the next.

"Yeah.. I just kind of got a short run down of each of the tribes. Apparently Silver Fangs are.. leaders of the Garou..? And we have really good 'breeding'?"

[Linnea Bartlett] "We're the - " she looks around the passageway, leading Andrew through the dormitories, into the library, her pale eyes flashing for a glimpse of anyone else. She stops, restarts. "We- we were given a charge, we're - but - " Her nostrils flare with a brief, frustrated snort. "We remember the past, we maintain our lines and keep our traditions. We have a duty to lead the Nation. We have an obligation - I - " She opens the door leading down to the tunnels and catacombs leading toward the Caern's heart - and beyond, the battlefield.

"Ferdinand call tell you better than me," Linnea says, her brow knitting in frustration as the words rush through her, orderless, unnumbered. "He's a Philodox. I - " She flashes a brief glance at Andrew, her pale eyes a bright point in the darkness as they descend. "He knows the law and the lore - I - I know it, but sometimes I can't - I can't get it right." Her voice thrums and burrs with underlying frustration, it stands out starkly in the taut line defined by her skinny shoulders, the bulge of lean muscle beneath pale skin.

[Andrew Black] Andrew just continued to keep following after the girl who didn't talk very well, apparently. Taking a note of the library, and then the tunnels and catacombs. This area was new, and he felt a little confined within the dark caverns. To keep from getting a sudden case of claustorphobia, he turned his attention back to Linnea, quickly becoming confused by her lack of coherence, "Umm... yeah."

[Atropos] Long corridors, twisting and winding tunnels run in a blur to the lupine eye, a sharp turn taken left, then another right. Nostrils flared out to detect for different scents, heightened to pinpoint precision and sensitivity with the aide of Gift. Large black paws left dusty prints into the packed earth as a wolf-bitch, sleek and black as a shadow, raced along in the wake of her purebred charge.

It wasn’t too hard to pick up on the scent of the energetic Silver Fang after she emerged into the tunnels depths. Lupus form acquired for its great bursts of speed and faster travel. In a short span of time, the black wolf has found a stronger scent of Linnea’s, noting the direction it leads her towards, she quickens her pace until the pathway to the Caern’s heart comes into view.

[Benjamin Keyes] The flickering dance of fingertips across the obsidian flesh of the Statutes is barely audible in the air, unlike the clatter of Arrows striking the indestructible, let loose by Ferdinand's skillful eye and aim. For his part, the Rotagar seems all together distracted, watching each projectile launch itself through the air as if waiting for the one that would miss so he could jeer in Ferdinand's direction but thus far, no such luck.

Instead he remains where he usually does, settled atop the massive Bear claw that juts from the obsidian ground, talons sticking through his former Alpha and Caern Warder, also frozen in battle ferocity. Propped up on an elbow while laid out with feet dangling over the left flank of the paw, Ben waits and whistles softly as the Guardian Hours continue on through.

"...You know it isn't much fun if they don't fight back or move or anything." He'd been quiet down here for the most part, unwilling to venture too many words to the young Philodox, his eyes roaming up and over he Cavern Walls, in and effort to keep busy/entertained but...well he knew all the niches. Knew all the cracks. Could measure the exact pattern of Bear's rumbling snore. It had all been done before.

(Sigh)

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] There continued to be the echoing of thick thuds against the former body of one of the creatures that had caused so much pain to those of the Sept. Those that had cost the nation so many worthy warriors. Why could he not have been here to help? Why must he always be a day too late.

And again the garou bow is drawn, a patient hand watching its target, another pray muttered "strike turn, Hunter, my old friend" before the arrow is released and once again claiming a new part of the creatures flesh. Three arrows already deep in the head of teh creature.

Eyes not coming off the target, just yet.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] (Okay modify that to shattering across the stone)

[Linnea Bartlett] Frustrated with her spiraling ramble - the teenager at last simply shuts up. The tunnels are narrow - large enough to accommodate no more than a pair of Garou in their largest warforms, and for some time there is only the supple sound of their heartbeats and breathing, the faint, vague heartbeat of the Caern's heart that asserts itself against their mystical senses, slow and sure and certain. Some moments later, Linnea turns and flashes a look back at the Silver Fang cub and stops, close to the entrance to the Caern's heart. "It's hard to be down here, underground. Isn't it?"

Her head cants to the side, her thick braid falls over her shoulder - she reaches out, stopping Andrew with a brush of her long fingers on his shoulder. "But listen. Listen. Feel that. Feel how close the worlds are, here - it's better than on the street, can you feel it? We're almost whole down here. Don't look at the dark - just feel the Caern - can you?" Her pale glance flashes over his shoulder, the flicker of movement at the end of the tunnel, the midnight lupus closing on the young pair. Her mouth twists upward at the corner, and her attention flickers between them, boy and black-furred beast, as the latter closes the distance.

[Andrew Black] He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and just trying to feel it. Which he did. It felt calm, peaceful, like his spirit was floating in a serene lake on a warm day. Nodding, "Yeah.. I feel it."

Something got his attention, pulling him from his focus on the power of the Caern. that feeling on the back of your neck like someone was behind you. His eyes opened as he turned to see the black wolf, looking down at it before returning his attention to this caern they were on the threshhold of.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] There is something about the bow that is quite fitting to one of his personality. A garou bow passed down from father to soon, a traditional weapon that holds a wonderful symbolism. Like in leadership, mediating and teaching; one must be patient, understand everything around while not losing focus on the target and know the exact moment to act. It takes a steady head and calm head.

"Yes, it is more sporting when they are moving, more worth the art."

[Atropos] A cloud of dust curtains the air in a fine layer, stirred up by the sudden back-peddle of paws as the wolf-bitch slows down, easing into more of a fast-paced trot down the length of the tunnel. A shadow sliding into the peripheral of Cliath and Cub.

Like her war form, Atropos’ lupine features were a miniature version, perhaps, prettier and more decorative than she allows herself to be in homid. She was covered in a sleek pelt of midnight-black, bearing the tradition markings of her tribe, in the silver-white fur pattern upon her head, worn like mask over the lupine features, covering the eyes and extending over the muzzle down the bridge of her snout. The edges of the fur mask curve down the face.

What light filters through the Caern’s heart gleams off the bits of jewelry worn by the Black Fury. Twin arm bands and a tail ring (at the base of the tail) crafted out of leather and fine metalwork, fashioned into the shape of an eye. Small piercings cut along the ridge of the ears. As she drew closer, her pace shifts into a prancing walk, an object dangling between clench jaws, swings back and forth, taking the shape of a cloth bag made of linen.

[Linnea Bartlett] "That's why we're here." The girl responds, quietly, her voice rich with conviction, her eyes on Atropos, as she plunges down the dark corridor. "That's what we're here to defend. When you - when you get confused, or when it hurts, when you're frustrated, come down here and remember, okay?"

When the lupus is close enough that Linnea recognizes her, the young Silver Fang sinks to her haunches, her body easily balanced, her center of gravity low and sure. "That's Atropos," Linnea offers to Andrew, by way of explanation. "she's going to be my packmate. And that's one of our forms. I want - I'm going to show you how to find the wolf inside you, how to shift without - without losing control of yourself." Her gaze flashes back to the Fury, her mouth quickening into another bright grin, tipping her head at the linen bag. " - what's that?"

[Benjamin Keyes] "I wouldn't go as far as Art..."

A tongue-click echoes in the cavernous space, the whisper of his clothes (That deep gray hoody, oversized and deflated all around him, with cargo pants and the usual construction hard-toe boots) joining as the Rotagar rolls and slides down off the prickly Bear's claw, landing on the balls of his feet and splayed hands with a decidedly inaudible thump.

"...But to each their own. That Bow will come in handy once we actually get out onto the field. We put Linnea infront of you to keep any close-quarters action off your back while you peg any distance folks. Severina and I will take the flanks. Defensive position for multiple opponents. One large opponent on the other hand..."

The flicker of a knife suddenly appears in the Caverns broad and expansive illumination, flickering between his fingertips like a rubber pencil.

"...That's going to be a bit tougher, tactically." He straightens, cracking bubbles of tension throughout his body in the process, head tilting to peer through the maze of standing bodies at Ferdinand, a brow arced.

"You do anything other then arrows and etiquette...? Claws and Fangs?"

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] "With the aid of Falcon's brood I can hit any target before they are even able to get to the front lines. But once range is no longer a viable option, my claws are ready to claim those enemies of Gaia."

He looked towards the Get as he moves closer, seven arrows still left in his quiver, but of those he knows that 4 will not be touched. Not here. Not now.

"But I have other tricks that would be worthwhile, shall I be able to teach our Alpha properly. Falcon and his brood have many gifts that hold us up as leaders."

And then with little more than a nod, the garou bow and quiver vanish quickly, as the almost non-existant tattoo seems to enliven a little more.

[Atropos] Andrew would recognize the fur pattern, the wolf that was the woman that turned into the Crinos which frightened him. He’s encountered the Philodox before, a few weeks back at the Guardian’s quarters.

The black wolf steps up to the crouched form of Linnea without hesitation, her ears lay half back, bringing up her lupine head to rub it against her soon-to-be alpha’s chest. The bag swinging in the wolf’s mouth as her head lowers to release the bag, dropping it at Linnea’s feet like an offering.

Black ears swivel forward, tilting her head up to regard Andrew with a mischievous twinkle in her yellow eyes. The Fury’s tail curls up along her back, wagging slightly; she seemed in a particularly good mood, by the way her posture and body language read.

Atropos sits, focusing her mind and will to manipulate a small portion of her throat to change, larynx altering for more human speech. “A gift for th’ alpha.”

[Benjamin Keyes] "Mmmm, our Alpha has a lot to learn..." A slight dourness to his tone, somewhat reprimanding in tone and description as is normal for Ben (assume the worst in everything I say).

"...But she's coming along well. I look forward to testing out her capabilities on the Battlefield. Speaking of which, we're going to need to gather as a pack and stake out a claim in the city somewhere. Linnea's chosen a nice patch of ground that starts not too far from where we are. We can do a patrol through the area's Penumbra and see about cleaning out what wyrm touch we can find. More worried about the Weaver's place on the turf but that can't be helped with the Data Rivers 'n all."

A pause, the knife suddenly hovering flat blade against his palm, balanced and awaiting further play and dance as the Rotagar scratches at the slight amount of fuzz creeping across his chin and jawline.

"...But yes. We need a fight. Something to wet our claws and get us used to one another's space in the Field. Thoughts? Suggestions?" It's clear by the Rotagar's almost absent-minded questioning that he's thought this through and no doubt has a number of options already progressing in his mind.

[Linnea Bartlett] Linnea's plain feature light up with a dancing smile, and as Atropos rubs her head against her chest, the girl buries her hand in the ruff of fur at the sleek black wolf's neck. The touch is companionable and natural, unconsciously affectionate in the manner of all things like her: teenaged girls who run in packs. The bonds yet to be solidified in spirit are already present, knitting them together in new (and strangely familiar) ways.

"A present - " the girl breathes, delighted, joy breaking through her momentary gravity, the part of her that is closest to prayer. Delight is a form of prayer, though - and all too rare a thing in a dying world. She shoots a flashing glance at Andrew, then uncurls her left hand from her hip pocket and grabs the bag from the tunnel floor, fiddling awkward and offhandedly with the closure, but opening it soon enough.

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] "Yes she had shown me the area she wishes to claim, among asking if I would be willing to move away from my ancestral home when we claim the land as our own."

He looks at the new moon with curious eyes. Wondering what questions hide behind those seasoned eyes.

"Yes we should find ourselves a worthwhile battle, but not yet. Not under the pregnant face of Luna. Our blood boils hot and should we misstep then, the mistate could be horrific. And of all, our Alpha thirsts for a fight dearly. She must learn that we cannot blindly run out should we desire a fight. Discipline wins a war, not chaotic fighting."

He looks at the ragabash and then nothing. Awaiting his response, if there comes one

[Andrew Black] Andrew just watched Linnea and Atropos, leaning back against the catacomb wall. He crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. Their affection obviously wasn't anything more than that of two close friends, which suprised him. Atropos had seemed rather gruff and stern with him, and then every so often becoming as caring as a mother. It was enough to drive someone mad if they dealt with it for so long.

He straightened, stretching and yawning again as he tried to shrug off the sleep that still clung to him. Eyes turning to that bag as Linnea began to open it, and he himself was wondering what was inside of it.

[Benjamin Keyes] "The area is good. Compact. Nice obstacles for training and some good barricades against the Wyrm's encroachment, so long as we don't piss off the Weaver providing it."

The blade begins it's maddening dance once more, sluicing through the tiny space between each fluid digit.

"I'll agree to a necessity for preperation but the more put together we are and prepared for the Battlefield we become, the better our standing will be in front of the Elders when we present ourselves to them as a Pack-to-be. I'd rather have some certainty under my belt of you, 'Nea and 'Rina's capabilities before the Moot..."

A Pause, the Rotagar's eyes having found the pierced and dying form of the former Warder, Blood~Eclipse, battling the giant Bear Claw that juts from the obsidian ground beneath them both. His features have gone even and dreadfully plain, almost forcefully apathetic as he's talking. After a moment it passes, returning his attention to Ferdinand, a brow perked.

"It would also be impressive if we came to the Elders with something to show them we're serious about this. A Trophy of War would be the perfect symbol to them and our fellow Cliaths that we mean business."

[Ferdinand Corozon Jr.] He watched the Get and nodded, it would be very wise to present a worthwhile thorphy should they have such a chance. It is necessary really. The elders will look upon their breeding with much responsibility. And they will have to step up to it.

"Yes, we must bring something of worth to the Elder, for anything else we shall be seen as a young pack of nothings, unworthy of a totem and recongition."

He then started to move from his position, towards the exit tunnels.

"I am sorry to cut this discussion short, but I must entertain a duty to Luna and make sure my sister is well at home. Hopefully we will speak again very soon."

[Atropos] The wolf’s posture shifts a little, front paws stretching and kneading into the packed earth as her tail coils around to cover them. Her head tilts to the side, wearing what could only be mistaken as a grin as her maw pulled back into some form of a wolfish grin.

Linnea begins to open the bag; she discovers it’s more like a cloth, a linen handkerchief tied by shut by a piece of red yarn. There isn’t much weight to it and it feels like there are two round objects, like small balls. When she peers inside, that is exactly what she sees. Two small, round and leathery balls, the material appears like a type of leather, as it was dried out and tanned.

”It’s not unknown for Warriors of mah tribe to adorn themselves in trophies taken from th’ body parts of their enemy. Seein’ as I’ve recently slain one, I offer as a gift. It’d make a nice pair of earrings.”

[Linnea Bartlett] Atropos could've presented Linnea with a handful of Pixie sticks and the girl would've still smiled and thanked her, enthusiasm restrained and leashed by the politeness drilled into her from her very first days. The linen square sits open in her hand, a few shades lighter than the young woman's underground pallor, the leathery spheres roll in the center of her palm. She studies them for a long moment, her head low, her free hand still laced through Atropos dark fur, pale skin half-reflecting against the sleek dark fur in the glowing shadows.

Her brow wrinkles as she tries to suss out what the objects might be - ears, skin flayed from the cheeks of a wyrm-thing, maybe. She shoots a glance up at Andrew briefly - taking the moment as a time for instruction, as well. "Don't think of this in human terms, Andrew. You are House Wyrmfoe, and our patron is Eagle. Those packs dedicated to him must display the heads of their enemies in honor of Eagle. You aren't human, and their morality - their morality means nothing to us. Atropos can help teach you the laws, so that you know what we must do."

The girl's attention turns back to the Black Fury, then. Still settled on her haunches, she manages to draw herself up through the spine, to expand the already strong presence she carries with her, the sheer splendor of her blood and the ancestors who slumber in her veins. "Thank you, Atropos," her voice is rich with appreciation, her intensity focused on the gift her packmate to be has offered her. "You honor me, and I will strive to be worthy of the honor of the gift."

That said, she rises to her full height, her familiar grin slashing across her plain features, deflating some of the gravity and glory of her thanks, her hand cupping the linen cloth carefully around her gift. "I want to teach Andrew how to find his wolf and shift forms. We're going to the battlefield. Come with us - "

[Andrew Black] Andrew noticed the bag, and then what Linnea put into her palm. For a second or two, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, but then it settled in and he paled visibly. Something told him he probably wouldn't have been as shocked if it were eyeballs, or a tongue, or hell, even if Atropos had dropped a severed head in the girl's lap.

But this, caused a visible phantom pain. He made a mental note in all bold, underlined capital letters to never piss Atropos off. Ever. Infact, he made another note not to make her too happy, lest she give him a similar 'present'.

Then the girl gave him some spiel about not thinking about it in human terms. What the hell did that mean when you were looking at was one guy's.. well.. family jewels. Werewolf or not, it wasn't something he wanted to look at and so he shrugged it off. At the mention of this battlefield, Andrew smiled a little, if he could learn how to Change, would that mean he could stop it from happening against his will?

[Atropos] A strange sound erupts from the wolf, sharp and loud, something caught between a bark and possibly a laugh. Her head lowers a moment, lifting up a forepaw to run it atop the silver-white bridge of her snout. The lupus pulls herself up to her haunches, eyeing Andrew as she circles around Linnea.

”Ya realize what they are?” human speech reverberating in soft growling vocals tones, slight difficult for the wolf to form proper pronunciation, but managed with the shifted larynx. “Nah doubt ya’ll honor th’ gift, girl.”
Atropos chortles at Andrew’s reaction and begins to pad away, slipping off ahead of them. A smug look appearing on the Black Fury’s face, her nostrils flare out, sniffing the air. Long tongue flicks out to wash over her muzzle as she begins to hunt for Ben, catching a brief sniff of his scent.

[Benjamin Keyes] The Obsidian Gardens:

A battle field frozen in time. Not simply two armies rushing to meet one another, no this was no book display or text from school that edited out the corruptions and savagery of true war. This was a panorama of chaos. Of certain disorder and utter Devastation.

Crinos Garou of all shapes, forms and sizes suddenly sprang into sight at the bottom of the Tunnel, where began the Gardens. Claws, Fangs, Blades and muscle were twisted in dozens of bodies, splayed in various positions and forms. From the knee-fallen creature clutching at his own internals, trying to scoop them back into his stomach, to the speared and pin-cushioned Bat-Garou stood upright by his impalement, even in death. Lacerations, severings, slaughter and triumph, all could be found in the images and all too real statues below.

Among these number, terrible monsters roamed. Many limbed and many eyed creatures, skewered and skewering with long wicked looking barbs and claws and teeth, snapping and gnashing at the furred flesh of Gaian's own, while being pummeled and splattered against one another by powerful Crinos fists and jaws. Monstrosities of varying note, sprang from the very ground or piled in small mountains around great heroes, hanging on to some semblance of life in their Rage born defiance of death, slashing at innumerable odds flowing in to gouge chunks and bloody rips from their bodies...

...All Frozen. Obsidian Glass that shines beneath the deep cavern's illumination, lining the walls around. Beautiful and Horrific all at once.

[Linnea Bartlett] Atropos' question catches Linnea off-guard. Ya realize what they are? Her brow knits and she shoots Andrew a glance that then strays after the lupus Fury, running ahead of them. Her mouth twists into a thoughtful frown, brow knitting into a complex and thoughtful knot about her pale eyes as she looks back at the - at the -

"- oh." Linnea breathes, her cheeks suddenly, furiously red, flush with fevered color. She swallows hard, defiantly not quite thinking the words and bends her pale head forward, not quite looking at Andrew, not quite watching the wake of the wolf weaving out in front her, as she falls into step behind him. Even in the midst of her embarrassment, flush with emotion, she handles the gift carefully - tucking the edges of the handkerchief around it, forcing herself to hold it carefully, her hand cramping, tendons etched in sharp relief against the tender flesh of her inner wrist. As she walks, Linnea shoves her left hand back into her hip pocket, a firm first the only outlet for her emotion. Doubtlessly, Andrew trails along behind her... slower than Atropos, but trotting in her wake, nonetheless.

[Atropos] The wolf has slowed down in her pace. Her head drops to the ground, ears rolling up and forward as her nostrils flare. The thick cords of muscles, tight and powerful, underneath the black fur ripple fluidly with her movements. A pink tongue darts out often to lick at the air, along her muzzle, tasting, sniffing… using the delicate sensitivity to snare fresh scents.

She pads around the huge, glossy obsidian shapes, morbid statues of twisted figures, enemy and ally, of a battle that she fought in to save a Caern. She pauses particular sculpture of a two female Garou engaged in an eternal struggle with a bane. Her head lifts up, ears lay back to flatten on against a lupine skull, yellow eyes roaming over the visage of her lost Sister.

As Linnea draws up on Atropos, the wolf cuffs out a loud snort of hot air, turning to look behind her at the girl. She lets out a soft keen, before stepping away to sniff out Ben.

[Linnea Bartlett] Linnea follows behind. She should be awkward and unbalanced on the uncertain ground, scrambling over the figures of the fallen and the Fallen with one hand stuffed into her pocket and the other cupping - cupping - cupping Atropos' gift to her. Her balance should be off more than it is - but she is keenly and instinctually aware of her balance on the obsidian field, her lean body perfectly poised as she steps on a loop of intestine to boost her over the body of a fallen leech, the heel of her hiking boots levering over the foul thing's open mouth.

When Atropos turns and keens at her, Linnea flashes one of her grins, faintly abashed at her embarassment. The world sometimes feels as uneven as this field of battle, to her, with so many things just beyond the edge of her real understanding. Some of the first hot flush of color drains from her cheeks as they pick their way over the field of battle - and she pauses, now and again, to cast a glance back at Andrew, studying his reaction to the strange, frozen field of the dead. "Has anyone - has anyone told you what happened here?"

If anything could bring home the reality of the war to a cub, it must certainly be the obsidian garden, the battlefield where the Caern was almost lost. Gaians are frozen in white, the enemy pure black.

[Andrew Black] Andrew followed behind, hands tucked in his pockets as he kept up with the two. He felt it was best not to bother Linnea about her gift, it was already bad enough. He had to admit though that at least she didn't say anything bad about it. It's the thought that counts.. or something to that effect.

At the moment, he was more bothered by where they were walking and he was immediatly overwhelmed. He stood where he was while Linnea and Atropos began to wander off. Staring at this sight around him in all it's terror and beauty. It was something he had never seen before, but somehow he knew exactly what this was all about. It was about protecting Gaia, wasn't it? And all of a sudden the weight of his responsibilities came crashing down on him.

This was what he was preparing for. A war. It wasn't something funny to joke about. These weren't statues of werewolves picking up litter or planting trees. They were fighting and dying to stop these 'things'. Creatures that looked twisted and corrupt, horrible things that one only saw in their nightmares with wicked claws and jagged teeth. They were real, as real as the Garou that had fought them.

And around all this, obviously another battle had taken place. Around this eternal, obsidian, battle, a physical one had been fought for something. There were bodies strewn across the ground, some as disgusting as the statues. Slowly, after swallowing and taking a deep breath, he followed after the others.

[Benjamin Keyes] "I see the newblood is getting adjusted..."

Monoton voice, subdued like the fading notes of a piano orchestra, that part they start clapping over as an ovation is delivered. It drifted through the air, clapping at the ears for attention despite it's relative quiet overtone. Where eyes might stray, they find the Rotagar, perched adroitly atop the shoulders of the former Warder of the Sept, Blood~Eclipse. Punctured by three bear claws, whilst fending off the other two, his jaws ratchetting open even in the great moment of Death, perhaps to lean forward and sever three of those fingers with a mighty bite that never came. Never fell.

Frozen so.

He is draped in his favourite gray hoody and cargo pants (All I ever wear. Fashion's for jokes.) the cowl pulled up high and deep over his brow, the shadows within obscuring those all too ordinary features, the sleeves extended well beyond the tips of his fingers, draped over the hackles of the frozen Get Modi.

He's watching. Perched and waiting on high, head tilting forward to cast those obscured eyes out from under his brow, peering at Andrew.

"...You tasting the World for the first time then Little Fang?" Role change "Is everything starting to make more horrific sense now? I told you what we were. I warned you what you were. You're a Monster. Just like us. Just like these" A hand out towards the battlefield "We're all Monsters and this is the fight."

Crack! A fist driven into the snout of the frozen lily white Crinos beneath him, bones fracturing not for the first time under that blow, even as he shakes the hand out, his wince dying away with ease as the burn of will puts it to the back of his mind.

"...Every day. Every night."

[Atropos] The black wolf disappears and reappears, her fur blending against the obsidian figures until Atropos could almost blur from normal vision, she veers and ducks, climbs and leaps, over huge and small, twisted figures writhing in death throes and blood-lusted poses of battle. Her movements, slow and graceful, as she re-emerges atop a higher perch, close the bear claw uprooted from the ground.

The lupine body lowers onto her haunches, to lie atop the gnarled head of a large bane, ears swiveling back and forth, listening to the Rotagar. ”This is where ya hide, Ben.” she barks up to him.

[Linnea Bartlett] Andrew finds Linnea waiting for him, poised atop the gruesome body of some broken once-human thing, obsidian now, a mouth full of fangs, impaled on the claws of a gutted Gaian. She instinctively avoids stepping on the frozen bodies of their own, as much as she can, and although she has spent enough time on the battlefield-become-mass-grave that she might be inured to the sight, as the cub gains her side she sees it again, through fresh eyes. She turns and leads him wordlessly to the Rotagar's favorite perch, stands stark and still, Atropos' gift still held gingerly in her palm, half concealed by the linen folds of the handkerchief.

"The earth opened up and the Wyrm came - " Linnea flickers a pale glance up at Ben, her voice She isn't a Galliard, and her rage tends to flood her mind with feeling, scouring away the best of her words. Nonetheless, she was here at the battle, the defining moment of her life, and that tangled web of emotion - grief and fury, pride and rage - swells and rolls beneath it. "We were here." Her glance encompasses her soon to be packmates, as one. "We lost more than half the Sept - if - if your instruction is going slowly, well, you see why - here." The first flush of color has drained from Linnea's cheeks, leaving behind two spots of red.

"He's a Ragabash, Ben." She shoots the Rotagar another look, which flashes back to Andrew. " - and we share ancestors. I think we're cousins. I - I'm going to teach him to shift. Would you - " she holds up the handkerchief, her cheeks coloring again. " - Atropos gave me this. Uh, would you hold it for me?"

[Andrew Black] Andrew followed Linnea, glaring up at Ben for a moment. He wasn't sure why the guy was a total dick to him, though, maybe he just got off on being an asshole, "Yeah. I know I'm a monster. Tell me something I don't know."

His attention shifted back to Linnea when she said something, a new thing he hadn't heard yet, "Worm? What worm?" Andrew looked at the statues which Linnea sat poised upon. Running his hand over the wolf as it died, while it killed it's enemy. It was obvious to Andrew that this was how he would die.

He wasn't going to grow old and pass on naturally. He wasn't going to get to have a family, to raise kids. He knew he probably wouldn't live anything close to a full life. He would die like this, being torn apart as he tried to take one of these things with him. Two monsters killing eachother.

Everything seemed so bleak now.

[Benjamin Keyes] "When the mood fits, 'Rina..." The Rotagar's movements dangle him from the edge of Blood~Eclipse's shoulders, eyes regarding Linnea's offering of the hankerchief. It's a moment's study before he shrugs and leaps down from the Towering effigy of the Crinos Warder, landing with a soft Thump that barely registers as sound or vibration. Those dull black eyes within their hood, re-settled from the fall, regard Linnea's offering with impunity, taking up the small bundle in one hand while turning his gaze on Andrew.

"A Fellow No-moon..." A pause for consideration from Ben, the sudden presence of a Knife from one of those elongated sleeves, hovers in Andrew's direction, gaze narrowed and mouth a flat line on those cowl shadowed features.

"...You ask me any stupid Questions and I'm gonna cut you..."

...A moment's tension of seriousness, followed close by a grin. Amidst this display of monsters and havoc, it's rather ludicrously bizarre, but then...he was a No-moon.

[Linnea Bartlett] "Not Worm - " the girl corrects Andrew. She is well-spoken enough, well-trained enough to emphasize the subtle difference in pronunciation carefully, and so she does. "The Wyrm. It - it's part of the Triat. It's one of the three - the three things Gaia made when she made the world. The Weaver is order, and the Wyld is - is raw creation? And the Wyrm was there to balance creation and order - death - like winter? Like the way the seasons go, and the earth - sleeps. But the Wyrm, it went wrong. It's the corruption - " she kicks the broken head of a hideous fomor immortalized forever in its death throws. Her shoulders twist, a delicate, dismissive gesture, for all the gravity of the cosmology she means to impart. In truth, she can't imagine seeing the world through any other lens. She cannot begin to fathom what life must be like for those blind to the truth, struggling through their daily lives without the first inkling of the history of time to which they are privy, or the worlds to the which they belong. " - the corruption that's devouring the world.

"C'mon - " the girl stands, stretching, her mouth opening into another expressive smile, wide and sure, a certain savagery underpinning the expression, at odds with her lanky human frame. "Let's see if you can find your wolf. It's inside you - " she says, stepping forward, reaching out, touching Andrew lightly at the solar plexus. "I feel it here. It lives inside me. What about you, Ben - " a glance over her shoulder, her hand hovering there, fingers folding into a fist. "I feel it there, and I grab it and I change.."

And so she does - quite suddenly, her joints snapping and popping, her body expanding into the near-man form. Never pretty, now she is... primal, a sloping brow, forward jutting jaw, tough-skinned, heavily muscled. "Find it. It's inside you." Her voice has a new, deeper register, and the purity of her blood is more apparent.

[Atropos] The Black Fury had been silent through the part of the conversation, head bowed down, ears perched high atop her lupine head as yellow eyes formed slits through the silver-white furred mask. Pink tongue, long and rough, rolled out in a wide yawn, exposing many rows of sharp canines. She begins to wash one of her paws, upturned to expose the pads to her cleaning, occasionally halting the process to nibble between the digits for a flea.

Her eyes befall the pair of future-pack makes, quiet and methodical in her philodox way.