11/02/2006
In the Swirling Wind
Pierces Ice turns slowly toward Untangler's arrival, her shoulders still bunched, tense, the disappearance of the others leaving her unsatisfied.
Horace makes his slow, careful way down the northern trail of the valley; he's seen his alpha down there but his glassy yellow eyes are both on the earth beneath his paws, and his tail-tucked steps show his easy submission without really stating it. The wind lifts his fur in tufts. When he's got all four legs on the ground he takes a moment to look up into the wind, saggy eyes lazily blinking away the dryness, before he ambles his slow way towards Jacinta, his posture slightly sheepish, as if to say he's sorry he's late.
Still buzzing with unfocused energy, Fledgling comes rushing back from whatever errand she was sent on. She's still holding onto her submissive posture, but her eyes dart here and there and her muzzle points towards whatever sound catches her ears. The cub slows as she gets nearer the Fostern, bobbing her head low, and staying on all fours. She doesn't say anything, just makes sure the elder sees her. Horace goes unnoticed for the moment.
Pierces Ice rises up and shakes out fully before rising into homid. Her manner is still moon-affected, though she seems calmer than before. "The others have gone to Revel," she says, perhaps to both. Then, clearly to the cub she adds, "As Guardians, we do not leave the bawn. We must stay and guard." She holds a hand out toward her Ragabash packmate.
The cub's activity causes Untangler to stop mid-step, to regard her with placid wariness, not with any fear but in the manner of someone watching a circling bee, fly-swatter at the ready. The elder Wendigo's acceptance of her, though, brings his paw back down, puts him at ease, and he continues his sloppy trot forward with curiosity bristling his wind-tangled fur, and with a bit more stiffness and not so much tuck to his tail. He says no hellos but instead when the wind tosses her scent his way he tells her, in a whine, that he's smelled her around for a while now; and that seems to please and comfort him, for some reason, to hang a face on that memory.
Fledgling's ears cup forward when Pierces Ice speaks, and she observes the shift. She seems to consider her options a moment, then joins the elder Wendigo in homid. She blinks at the new input, or lack thereof, from her senses, then shuffles closer to Jacinta. Her hands twitch and shake as she stands there, trying to bring herself under control. The new arrival, now acknowledged, gets her wide-eyed attention. "Hi!" she says brightly, adding a snappy wave. "Hello!" The response is a little disjointed from Horace's greeting, but that seems to be all the cub can think of to say.
Jacinta keeps her hand out toward Untangler, the other gesturing now toward Veronica. "Veronica, Ingtaq Cetaaq, This is Horace, Untangler, Ragabash of our Tribe. Introduce yourself to him and he will do the same."
A small ashen-coated wolf, Untangler is easily overlooked, especially in the winter. The sunlight melts through the leaves of trees and flows into and matches with the flecks in his fur, hiding him from view. His skin hangs loosely about him, like it's still waiting to be filled out. Untangler's face presents a strange sight, his eyes are unusually low against his muzzle for a wolf, and his muzzle itself is short and stubby, as if he'd run smack into a wall. Long hairless lines like scars run from the inside corners of his weak watery yellow eyes to his jaws.
Veronica ducks her head quickly. "I am Ingtaq Cetaaq, Fledgling Little-Bird, Homid Galliard cub of the Wendigo," she says, fingers drumming on her leg. "I also go by Veronica Eaglefeather. That's my human name, from before I changed." Abruptly, her mouth clicks shut as she becomes aware that she's started to babble.
It takes a moment for Untangler to shift, but he does so with sloppy, slow grace, making it look awkward and easy like softshoe vaudeville. He hangs there, in Homid, his shoulders raised as if he's hanging from a coatrack, his flabby arms filling out clothes and spilling out sleeves, his face expectant, amiable, and vacant, his smile like a two year old's. His voice is slow and smooth, like February molasses, and there's light behind his bright droopy eyes when he speaks his well-practiced "My name is Horace Chapowits, Untangler, Ragabash of the Wendigo and member of Manitou's Ridgeline, guardians of the Caern of the Hidden Walk." His "Hello," is a bit more belabored, a bit more untrained, a bit slower in coming.
Jacinta smiles, though it is with tension. "Assirtuq. I am glad you have met. Horace, I would like you to teach the Fledgling Little Bird some of what you know. Stories. Histories. And of being in the Wyld. Ii? If she passes the test I will give her on her moon, she will be free to roam the bawn alone. I would like her to continue to learn from our Tribe."
Veronica's whole head turns to Jacinta, then back to Horace. She beams a little beauty queen smile, the sort that would probably throw Beatrice into a fit. "I'll be good, and listen," she reassures both elders, one hand now tugging at the bottom of her shirt as the other continues tapping out rhythms on her leg. "I will. Promise."
Untangler is quiet: he stands there, vacant and at ease, despite the wind playing violently with his close greasy hair, despite the growing sense of silence. "Okay," he finally answers Jacinta happily, smiling broad and open-mouthed like he's just been accorded some great privelege, looking at Veronica with an empty amiability. "I don't know too much," he admits to her without chagrin, "but I'll tell you what I do. What don't you know yet?" the boy asks, in complete good faith, as if full-well expecting her to answer.
Jacinta nods sharply, apparently satisfied with that. She sits, ready to listen. Though her mood is still full of tension, she does seem genuinely pleased.
Veronica blinks as she runs through what she thinks she should know about the Wendigo in particular and the Garou as a whole. "Umm. More about the Umbra? I've just been there once, and I saw a really pretty spirit, like the northern lights. Maybe more about Wendigo? And stories. If you know stories, I want to hear more. And do you know any dances? I keep practising the things Jacinta-rhya teaches me, but I so want to know more dances and songs. Not just fighting."
After his Alpha does, Horace slowly sits as well, his limbs folding in beneath him as easily as the legs on a television tray; he doesn't make any motion, all he does is look up at Veronica, his face earnest and pleased, but there's a sense in it of invitation, that she should sit too. He doesn't wait for compliance before he starts speaking: "My previous pack, at the Sept of the Old Cone, was full of Ghost Dancers. Some of their rituals would last all day; we would dance until our feet couldn't hold us any more and we'd collapse in the dust. But to dance right, you need a drum, so Pierces-Ice would need to play for us." Nostalgia taints the slow easy thrum of his voice, makes it slightly strained and unpleasant. It's gone by the time he turns to look at his Alpha, though, and adds to her, submissively, "If you ever want to, Jacinta-rhya."
Jacinta turns her smile to Horace. "Ii. And Potlatch will come, soon, too," she says, expectantly. She turns back to Veronica and the smile fades. "Stories, Ii. And more understanding of the Yuuyuraq, and the Spirit World."
Veronica drops to a seated position, breathing in deeply. She exhales, finally stilling even the smallest of her movements. She listens to Horace, now radiating respect and attentiveness. She laps up what he says, and when Jacinta speaks, she cocks her head. "What's Potlatch?" she asks, with a bit of a cough. "And...yes. Those are the things I don't think I know yet. I know the history of the tribe, and of the caern now. But I should know more, because that's kinda what I'm supposed to do. Tell stories."
"Potlatch is where there's lots of food," Horace tries to explain, though his focus is a bit myopic, "and dances." His eyes spill slowly over towards Jacinta; if the gesture were sped up, it'd be a dart, but it's more like the sloshing of waves. "And kinfolk," he adds, more momentously than even the previous two. "And stories," the Ragabash manages to come up with after a few more seconds, almost like a concession to the girl's eagerness.
Jacinta nods slowly in agreement with her packmate, but doesn't add anything to his explanation, leaving him in the spotlight for now.
Veronica leans forward, falling back on her usual 'learning' pose. She draws her knees up to her chest. Then she wraps her arms around her shins, and rests her chin on her knees. Horace's words get another happy grin from the cub. "And it's soon? Where is it, the longhouse?"
Horace says "Springtime," with such lust and happiness that it's as if he's trying to conjure the season itself by his lips. After it's said though he hangs there vacant and empty-mouthed, slack-jawed, thoughts elsewhere and his eyes with them, drool gathering at the corner of his lips. "Springtime," he says again, after many empty seconds, "the rebirth of the earth. Although I don't know if-" but he breaks off, looking to Jacinta with mute, creased concern, the rolling fat on his cheeks all wrinkled, "do we have the Rite of Reawakening here, Jacinta-rhya?"
Jacinta looks to Horace with furrowed brow. "I do not know that Rite. I know the rituals of Potlatch, but Potlatch moves, not always at the same time. It is when it is safe to travel. It is when people can come. When gifts are made." She stops, looks up at the moon, and then to Veronica. "The first task of your test. While the moon is full, and it is easier to see. Find your way from here to Wendigo Territory. Alone. Use what you know, but get there before the sun has risen. Ii?"
Veronica looks from Horace to Jacinta. She's about to ask more questions, but stops as Jacinta speaks. Her eyes widen, and she goes still. The racing of her mind is almost visible in that surprised gaze. "Yes, Jacinta-rhya," she says after a few tongue-tied moments. "I'll...I'll get there. Promise. I'll find my way back." She's still a minute more, working things out with a slight movement of her lips, then she lowers her head in a submissive bow. "Thank you for your teachings, Horace-rhya. I hope I see you again soon." Then she turns, starting on all fours for a moment, then rushes in...approximately the right direction.
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