Funeral

[hazlogs]

It is currently 16:25 Pacific Time on Tue Nov 5 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 58 degrees
Fahrenheit (14 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric
pressure reading is 29.99 and falling, and the relative humidity is 60
percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

She is waiting for the knock at the door; when it comes she doesn't take
long to answer. There is only one light on, somewhere behind her. She
doesn't quite look at him; just gestures him in with a hand. "Lemme get my
coat."

Dark-brown eyes, touched with amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face.
Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from
generations of pure Italian ancestry. Black hair falls into her eyes, the
spiky-short cut grown out into shaggy layers at sides and back. Her chin is
delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined. Her
eyes have a shadowy, bruised look, either from fatigue or the artful use of
makeup; save for that Gothic touch, she might have stepped from a
pre-Raphaelite painting. She can't be more than twenty-five or so, but in
that youthful face the eyes are cynical, brooding, world-weary. Athletic
grace and a certain streetwise confidence show in her movements, but there
is often an element of tension as well.

She wears a long-sleeved black dress of crushed velvet, the color
accentuating her pallor and the darkness of her eyes. The bodice has a round
neckline and an Empire waist, kept snug by ties that meet in the back. The
gathered skirt is full enough to swirl heavy around her ankles, revealing an
edge of lace petticoat and the steel-reinforced toes of black engineer
boots.

Rina pages: Have I mentioned that Rina looks terrible in black, these days?
It tends to play up the undertone of grey, and the dark circles. And those
big empty awful eyes.

Salem is dressed as he normally is, the black-on-black color scheme more
than suitable for the event tonight. His face looks a bit drawn, perhaps,
but his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses and his expression's unreadable.
With a grunt of acknowledgement, he steps inside, shutting the door behind
him.

Evidently she getting more than her coat; a slender .38 is on the coffee
table, and she props a foot up on the furniture--hiking up the dress on the
side away from him, to holster it on her leg. The jacket comes next, slung
around her like armor.

Salem watches this with his hands buried in the pockets of the massive black
coat, saying nothing.

Keys in hand, she turns and looks to his face for a moment; then she gives a
small nod and heads for the door.

The walls are there, layer upon layer of emotional brick. Unsmiling and
apparantly unfeeling, Salem turns on his heel and follows her out the door
and down to the car.

She locks up and follows him, without a word.

[...]

The drive is quiet apart from the noise of the Yugo's much-reluctant heater
and the rumble of its engine. Minutes pass before Salem, driving with grim
concentration, asks, "Have you ever been to one of these?" His voice is
flat, passionless.

Rina stares out, expressionless, watching the sky darken to grey and purple.
"No," she answers, hoarse and quiet. "They didn't ask me, when-- when they
buried Angelo."

"No?" Salem grunts. "I'm not surprised. Fucking traditions." He lapses into
silence again, that flare of temper subsiding back into black, still depths.

Rina doesn't answer; she glance down to her lap, twisting the ring on her
hand.

Later, Salem mutters, "Shit," which might be in response to current events
or simply an observation about the state of St. Claire traffic.

Rina twists at the ring, her eyes distant. "What?"

"Nothing," says the Philodox, braking as a traffic light turns yellow in
front of them. "Nothing."

Rina turns her face away, and stares out again. Her hands still move,
listless.

[One long, cold, otherwise silent drive later...]

Around the Lone Boulder

The sparse forest gives way here into a vast clearing, entirely devoid of
trees or heavy underbrush for great distances all around. Low, thick grass,
a palish green in color, grows everywhere underfoot; it sways ever so gently
in the chill winds that seem to settle in across this open expanse with
unusual frequency. The occasional darker shoot or dandelion weed makes its
way up amidst the rest, but the hilly territory is on the whole a uniform
color, reminiscent of a moor. Adding to the image is the single, ponderous
old stone, a grey-brown in color, settled uncannily in the dead center of
the expanse as if it has perched there alone since the dawn of time. Grass
grows up around the weathered boulder, but its vaguely-flattened top clears
the grass by a good many feet, at least chest-high to a good-sized man. The
sky, often grey, is a presence in this sudden openness, appearing from
amidst the treetops to arc high over the grass and stone.

Woodland tracks lead off into the forest to the north and south, while the
boulder itself stands at the center of the clearing.

Sepdet is pacing the perimeter of the area set out for the ritual, gently
shaking a sistrum that rings with the soft patter of a dozen tiny bells.

For the evening's festivities, Sepdet has donned a traditional gown of
undyed linen with sharp pleats curving up into an Isis knot gathered up over
her breasts. Her hair has finally been wrestled into cornrows again.

She carries an ankh-shaped musical instrument much like a rattle, but with
tiny cymbals suspended inside the loop that jingle like a tambourine.

Salem arrives with Rina, sweeping in at the kinswoman's side like a
two-legged Doberman, hulking and dark in the big black coat. His
expression's dour, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses which are
starting to become as omnipresent as they used to be on another dead Walker
elder.

Set upon a bed of large stones is a sizeable pyre, with torches at each of
the four corners set into natural slots formed by the woven boughs. A photo
of John and a dramatic wooden carving for Chaser are set up for all to see
on top of the pyre.

A wide area in the meadow that includes the boulder is encircled by bowls of
clear water, their mirrored surfaces reflecting the cloud-laced sky. Chips
of some blood-red stone have been dropped in some of them.

Rina doesn't quite look at anyone; her own eyes are distant. A rolled-up
canvas, a cylinder perhaps three feet long, is tucked under one arm. She
pauses, a brief uncertainty coming to her posture as she watches Sepdet walk
her path. The dark, vague gaze glances over to Salem for a cue.

Sepdet circles around to the Walker and his charge. "Salem. Rina." She
reaches out briefly and presses a hand on the human's shoulder. "Come on in,
we'll get started shortly. Let me know if you want anything done here, and I
always give time for people to speak on those who have gone before us."

It's towards the designated place, and at the designated time, that Quentin
approaches as well; his notebook tucked beneath one arm, his other hand
tucked into a jacket pocket, his manner rather.. subdued and grave for
someone of his age.

Rina meets Sepdet's eyes for a moment, and she nods minutely. She doesn't
speak; without a sound, the Kin girl steps past, within the curve of the
ritual work.

Raeye's arrival is marked more by her emergence from the woods than any
sounds she made in approaching. Her face is carefully schooled to express
nothing, though she offers those gathered a nod and the barest and most
unenthusiastic smile to Sepdet. She keeps a slight distance from the others.

Sepdet turns and finishes her circuit, noting her tribesmate with a quiet
glance, then sets the sistrum down on the edge of the Boulder. "A Galliard,"
she requests. "Call the sept to the Gathering, please."

At some point, Kaz has wandered in via the woods. She gives the pyre a
dubious look, and then settles near it.

Salem acknowledges Quentin's arrival with a curt nod, saying nothing. The
tall Walker keeps close to the kinswoman, protectively.

Shadow Eyes blurs in from the Umbra alongside Touch Deer, and shakes his
ruff.

Raeye clears her throat quietly, shifting into a more appropriate form for
howling.

Andrea brings her entire pack over. First a space near the boulder was
empty, then with a shimmer the five stand there.

Rina hugs the cylinder of canvas to her chest with both arms. The tension in
her posture racks up a notch, with the arrival of more Garou. Her eyes,
empty and exhausted, remain lowered.

Sepdet starts back and breaks into a wan smile as Andrea brings her pack
through. She ducks her eyes to the alpha, then moves back to stand before
the pyre. "If anyone has a token to honor the Fallen, will you place it
here?" She indicates the pyre.

Sith-Fhuil arrives on four legs, followed closely by Runs-at-Dawn, slow and
careful as if in a funeral procession. Eyes trace over the Rite Mistress,
the Walker pair, then find the pyre, and the Fianna find a place in the
circle.

"Salem-rhya.. Rina.." The greetings are spoken ever so softly as Quentin
draws near to the other two of his tribe. Not too near, though. He leaves
them both plenty of room.

Eye-of-Ra howls long and loud. ~Garou of the Hidden Walk. Please join us at
the Lone Boulder to honor the late Glass Walker John Smith, and the Get of
Fenris Chaser-Never-Rests.~

Golden-Eyes arrives on four from a different direction than her two
tribemates. Silently she moves close to them, lightly nosing Sith-Fhuil in
the shoulder with her muzzle.

Andrea, unsmiling, nods back. She steps toward the pyre, standing still
before it for a long moment of thought. She then places a small stone within
the wood and steps back. The dim light of the area glints off the rich
golden brown of tiger's eye.

Rina straightens a fraction, looking to Sepdet as if for permission; then
she paces to the pyre, and sets the rolled canvas there. She pauses for a
moment, long enough to whisper a word or two, her hand on the painting.
Then, without looking at anyone, she returns to stand a few steps from
Salem.

Yi approaches the pyre, eyes glinting darkly. Her balled fist is taken out
of her jacket pocket, then opened up over the altar. A knife's opened blade
is drawn over her hand and the Gnawer stands there letting blood drip down.
Standing silently, she waits until the blood is slowed and then cleans off
her blade before moving off to a spot in the shadows.

Touch Deer's does not move forward to place anything on the pyre, but
instead quietly waits for the ceremony to begin. His eyes dart to not the
arrival of his packmate, and he looks towards Little-Bear.

Touch Deer does not move forward to place anything on the pyre, but instead
quietly waits for the ceremony to begin. His eyes dart to not the arrival of
his packmate, and he looks towards Little-Bear.

Alicia strides into the area with Yi, glancing about the gathered Garou. Her
chin is up, hands shoved into her pockets. She makes her way over to the
alter and pauses for a moment, letting out a breath. Taking her hand out of
her pocket, she places down a small glass orb, one that looks strangely
enough like an eye. Once done, she heads back over to stand with her pack.

Sith-Fhuil bumps her crown against Golden-Eyes' ruff in silent greeting,
then takes inventory of the gathered. Finding Eye-of-Ra, she sniffs toward
the Strider faintly, perhaps to confirm her place among the living. Good to
see you safe.

Little Bear slips over to stand near Touch Deer, nodding a greeting.

Eye-of-Ra proceeds to drop into her birth form to make room for those
arriving. She pulls and unfolds some pieces of paper from her pocket,
placing penciled portraits of both deceased on the pyre before dropping
back. Sith-Fhuil catches her attention, and Raeye gives her a grim smile and
a nod that shares the sentiment.

Runs-at-Dawn remains silent next two the other two Fianna, his posture
rigid, formal. As close as a wolf can come to standing at the position of
attention.

Shadow Eyes has nothing to place, save memories. He sits back on his
haunches, ears flapped back.

Andrea walks back to her pack, inclining her head at Little Bear as she does
so. "Will someone sing of how this came to be?" she asks, in a low voice. "I
haven't heard more than the news itself."

Touch Deer whispers somethig to Little Bear, and looks around.

Sepdet gives Raeye a nod and steps to the pyre. While people are filing in,
she's chanting under her breath. It's a prayer others have heard her use her
before, but the minutes stretch out far longer than usual. Apparently this
one is more of a challenge than usual, or else she's just taking nothing for
granted.

Dane remains on the fringes, where he can more easily watch for unwanted
"guests".

Golden-Eyes gives a sundry expression. The tone has certainly gotten a
little more heavier than she had expected. Dipping her muzzle, she looks to
the pyre with her golden-eyes lightly glint in the dim light.

Salem shifts his weight slightly, but otherwise remains still at Rina's
side, watching the others filter in impassively.

Kaz settles down near Elan, flute in hand.

Patrick doesn't even step forward, but just reaches into his jacket pocket
and pulls out something circular, a hoop with some sort of dark leather
woven across it in a web-like pattern. With a flick of his wrist, it spins
towards the pyre, the dim starlight glinting off something towards the
middle of the web.

Little Bear nods back to Andrea, tilting his head towards Touch Deer to hear
what he has to say.

Jamethon steps up to the pyre from the back, a cold gleem in his eyes and
movement purposeful and slow. Once he stands before the pyre, he places atop
it a wooden figurine in the shape of Chaser's hispo form. The likeness can
be seen quite well from the distance most see it from, much less up close.
This done, he turns and steps back to his place.

Raeye swallows, mildly flushing at Andrea's request. "I was there," she
offers, "I will sing it."

Rina lifts her head, to watch Raeye with dark, hollow eyes. Her right hand
twists the ring on her left.

Tempered-Blade takes a few steps forward so that she's standing over the
pyre. She brought no things to send those past to Gaia. This is all she has
to offer.

With that, Tempered-Blade snakes her head around and bites her shoulder
firmly. She gives a muffled yelp and then lets several drops of blood fall
onto the pyre before she steps back.

Stepping back and swelling into the form of the dire wolf, Raeye lets out a
soft rumble of foreboding notes, words that would have no rhythm or rhyme in
English, but fit well in the Mother Tongue. ~The Ice-Walker felt it time to
prove his worth, his hard work, and Challenged the Fostern Bone Gnawer
Ears-to-the-Ground for rank. For acknowledgement. For equal status. She
accepted, and set him on his Challenge, the mission to slay two Black Spiral
Dancers who have offended our Sept. To slay these Dancers in a new pack that
consisted of none the members in his present pack. To play the Omega, to
learn humility, to be at the bottom of the ladder and learn that success may
still be achieved that way.~

Andrea turns her attention to Raeye, crossing her arms in a loose posture.

Salem's lips thin slightly. He leans over toward Rina and murmurs quietly to
her, translating.

Rina steps closer to Salem the moment the tale starts, listening to him. Her
dark eyes never leave the Strider, though; there is something intense in
that stare.

Quentin edges just a -hint- closer to Salem and Rina as the story is told;
he doesn't understand every last word of the Mother's Tongue yet, after all,
so he keeps one ear on what he can hear of the translation. A shift of his
weight to one foot, gaze lingering on the Strider that he doesn't know as
she speaks. So to speak.

Sith-Fhuil listens intently to Eye-of-Ra, gaze unblinking, posture stiff.

Little Bear stares at the pyre, face carefully neutral as he appears to zone
out. Though maybe he's just listening intently. He's not looking at Raeye,
though.

Raeye continues, her song quiet and and hopeful. ~Ice-Walker gathered those
he thought fitting for this mission. The Strider Seeker, for his experience
as an Ahroun. The son of Thunder, Storm-Singer for his wit and knowledge in
battle. Chaser-Never-Rests, the Get of Fenris for her tracking abilities,
her straight thinking. Myself, Eye-of-Ra.~ She omits a reason here. ~We
searched long and hard, and finally found a lead, one that Chaser tracked,
leading into the Dancer-infested city of Seattle. We had our prey. Or
perhaps our prey had us.~ She bristles, then continues in sharp stacatto
snarls, ~A run-down tenement building in the dingier end of town lay at the
end of the trail. John and Chaser made their way inside to the foe while
Seeker, Jarred and I scouted the perimeter, searched for exits. Jarred felt
it wasn't right to leave them by themselves, and he went in to help.~ She
pauses for breath.

Tempered-Blade leans against her alpha as she listens to the story.

Julie finally managed to get a ride up from town, hopping off the back of
the old pick-up heading up the road. While it takes a bit of time to get
through the woods, the Gnawer eventually arrives, stepping quietly, and
along the outside of the gathered, while she looks for more of her tribe.
She takes great care in not bringing attention to herself, or making noise
to interrupt.

Eye-of-Ra says, ~Seeker and I found the exits secured, though he circled
around once more while I went in. The Dancers had taken residence in the
belly of the building. In the basement the stench of the Wyrm was the
strongest. At that point, the taint was overwhelming. John's voice broke the
silence as he warned the others to Get Out. I ran down the steps to find
them, and Seeker arrived right then. It was at this point that Chaser, John,
and Jarred must have realized that they were outmatched, and outnumbered.
They battled, and bravely. The female that they had first come across killed
both Chaser and John, and Jarred barely made it out alive after killing
another Dancer who'd emerged from behind that who fought and felled the Get
and the Glass Walker.~ She bows her head. ~Jarred ran towards us at this
point before he, too, would become a casualty in a mismatched war. The
Dancers used Shroud in their attack, and the darkness consumed the room.
Seeker slashed at one before we had to retreat.~ Her howl grows gutteral and
melancholy. ~The bodies are still buried there.~~

Salem's murmured translation to Rina falters slightly at the last, just the
briefest of pauses. A muscle twitches subtly in his right cheek.

Quentin's lips tighten as well in a grimace at that last, the fingers of his
right hand tightening into a fist before easing slowly. No words, no real
change in expression save for that, he glances back to the other Walkers and
then back to Eye-of-Ra once more.

Rina's face is blank, her expression numb, as she lowers her eyes. There is
a subtle tension in her posture, but she remains silent.

Yi continues listening in silence, fist clenching and unclenching
alternatively.

Andrea's jaw tightens as she takes in the recounting of the story. She
otherwise listens impassively, nodding slightly if the storyteller looks at
her.

Sepdet's voice shook slightly when Patrick's web went winging past the
corner of her vision, and she belatedly focussed on the tiger's eye. But
only now does she conclude her chant as Raeye finishes her report. She turns
to face the Gathering and begins to speak, eyes flicking to Salem briefly.
~So runs the tale. They fell as they lived: fighting the Wyrm. And now we
are gathered to hail and send Chaser-Never-Rests and John Icewalker back to
Gaia. Chaser has defended this caern since the dawn of the Wheel Renewed;
John has mustered and organized the city-Garou during the years since he
came to us. Their legacy remains.~ Her gaze pans across the Gathering. ~Who
will speak for the Fallen?~

Touch Deer is completely calm. At least, outwardly. His eyes watch the
storyteller as she speaks, rarely straying to note reactions from the rest
of the crowd.

Owen clenches his fists at the last before shrugging his shoulders under his
jacket.

Dane's ears fold back and his tail droops at the end of the tale.

Eye-of-Ra makes it clear, now that her voice has petered out, that she is
done. The drooping of her posture shifts as she returns to the
less-expressive form of her birth, and she dips her head twice -- once
towards the audience who received her tale, once toward the pyre. Then she
seats herself, watching Sepdet.

Julie's gaze flickers over Rina a moment, lips pursed in contemplation, then
to others she knows as having been here for years; Andrea, Sep, TD, Owen,
and more, then a quiet sigh as she crouches by herself, head falling and
gaze coming to rest on the ground before her.

Salem finishes muttering a translation to Rina, then lifts his head to
address the gathering. His voice carries easily, smooth, well-controlled,
and terribly formal. "I hate eulogies," the Philodox says bluntly. "But,
that being said..." He takes a breath, lets it out. "John Smith was a good
Glass Walker. And a good Elder. I'm proud to have served under him, and the
tribe is... lessened by his death." He pauses a beat, as if he might say
something more, but then shakes his head slightly, clearly finished. The
flat, neutral expression on his face doesn't alter one iota.

Kaz stirs, not quite looking at Salem.

Owen steps closer to the pyre, pulling a glass flask out of his jacket. "I
don't fucking remember giving you permission to die, Chaser. I will remember
that when it is my time. Surely you, if no other, sit by Fenris' side. Rest
assured that those ass-fucks that took you will never rest easy." He takes a
moment to clear his throat. "Willkommen zu Valhalla. Fahrt gut mit dem
Valkyries. Seien Sie sicher, Fenris zu erkaren, mehr Nahrung auf die Tabelle
zu setzen. Und ist hier das Getrank, das wir nie teilten." He then
unstoppers the flask, takes a swig, then tosses it into the fire before
returning to his place.

Rina glances up, when Owen speaks--and then quickly looks away, to stare
hard at the ground again.

Jamethon stands beside Owen now, a quick glance exchanged before looking
back to the next speaker.

Moving up from the shadows again, Yi comes with her rage held in tight rein.
Turning first to Chaser's pyre, the Gnawer ragabash bows her head deeply in
honorary respect. Then, again to John's pyre. Yi turns to the gathered, her
hand still sticky with the remains of her offering. "Chaser-Never-Rests is a
name that I have come to respect and admire. Same auspice as myself, and
tonight's moon. I had thoughts to bring myself under her teaching, to better
learn how she followed the ways of our paths. But as it goes, this is not
meant to be. I accept this. Perhaps, she will teach me from the floating
worlds beyond this." A pause. "Even though her body has stopped, her spirit
will continue to run for Gaia." The Gnawer gives a moment of silence to
signify the end of that part, then continues with her words for John.

Yi looks to the Synthesis pack members, Rina, and then back to the majority
of the gathered. "I have a habit of befriending fullmoons. Any of you would
know that between a no-moon and a fullmoon, the bond between is a strange
one. But with Walks-Thin-Ice... we had an understanding. He'd gone to my
homeland before. He knew how to speak my language, and not just from voice,
but from his body and mind. I felt him to be a teacher and I even say close
brother. I still owe him much. I owe his tribe much. I will repay these
debts." She takes a short breath and continues, "He did not need to
challenge, in my eyes. To me, he was already fostern. I understand though.
This is the ways of the Sunset People here. This is how rank is achieved. He
has done so much for this place and us. He had earned our respect, amongst
city-walker or not." She lifts her lip up briefly, and then finishes with a
growl. "Even though he did not return, the Ice-Walker will be of second rank
in my eyes. To me, he has not failed his challenge." She turns back to the
pyre, and adds something in her native language to the Walker's spirit
before shifting down and trotting back to her spot to sit.

Kaz angles a glance at Yi. Then she rises to her feet, leaving her flute on
the ground. Not looking at anything but the fire, she starts, "I ain't got
much to say about Chaser. She was a bitch ass Get, and that's pretty much
all you need to know. Well, and she was goddam loyal, and goddam scary,
sometimes. John... I got more to say about John. Me an' my damn challenge
ideas..." She trails off, voice tightening.

After a moment, she takes a breath, and lets it out. "I went on a fuckin'
dissertation, last time we had one of these... shindigs, about how before I
got here, I was a punkass asshole who didn't understand what it was to
connect to anyone, about how I was a loner. Well, John... John was th'
original damn loner. Lone wolf. 'Course, /he/ was a lone wolf 'cause his
Sept died, but from what I can tell, he was like that before, too. Brought
up that way, forced that way. Whatever. At a fundamental level, he didn't
trust other people, an' /way/ more to the point, 'least t'my eyes, he didn't
trust /himself/. So... he /hadda/ be a loner, hadda rely /only/ on him.
But... none of that was gonna work, all that distancing shit, 'cause he ran
into a cub on the way to... wherever it was he was goin'. Sophia." She
sighs. "Miss her. Anyways, he couldn't /not/ give a shit, because she was
/right there/, all th' fuckin' time, needin' him, an' showin' him /he/
needed /her/. An' his tribe needed him, too. 'Cause it was... kinda down in
th' dumps, at that point. So... more'n a year later, he's Elder of the damn
kickass Walker tribe, engaged, leadin' his pack, and angling to be the kind
of leader in /name/ that he already was in /deed/. An' I ain't even
/mentioned/ Rina yet." Evidently, she's not going to, as she glares at the
fire for a moment, then shrugs. "I once tol' Max I didn't let a lot of
people past my bullshit threshhold, I didn't let a lot of people in far
enough to be trusted. I started trusting /John/ the day he pulled a knife on
me. Silver knife, to my throat." Her grin is less a grin than it is a baring
of teeth. "Riddle me /that/." She continues glaring at the fire.

Tobin slips quietly into the Gathering, eventually making his way over
towards Aubrey, where he stands silently, looking very solemn in his black
coat.

Sepdet visibly braces as if expecting a strong wind when the Galliard steps
up, and is not disappointed. To elders, to comrades, she gives her attention
each in turn, murmuring something under her breath after each speaker shapes
the ritual.

Andrea listens to the speakers. Without fanfare, she steps up toward where
Owen stood and nods toward Kaz before beginning.

Sith-Fhuil pays her respects in the form of strong, meditative silence,
focussed on the pyre, the speakers, and the deeds of the fallen.

Rina looks up when the Gnawer speaks her name, and there is something fierce
in her eyes. Accusation, almost, that fails to hide the faint shimmer.

"A part of me has died," Andrea starts, looking around the group. "Kate was
part of my earliest times at this place. She was my packmate under Mask,
when it was Crossing that held Arthur Island." The Gaian stops, a pause
before continuing. "A part of me has died, but a part of her will always
live. I will carry her with me through this life and into the next. Her
mocking, sardonic grin. Her fierce loyalty." A smile touches her mouth, the
first hint of sadness to trouble the calm of the adren's face. "I never
forgot that you were among those that led the way to rescue me from silver
wire and madness." Andrea inhales deeply, letting out the breath again
before concluding, "Chaser-Never-Rests has died as she lived. In glory."

Touch Deer looks ready to say something. He steps up a few steps to stand
behind is alpha.

Jamethon steps up a bit and seems to be thinking on his words.

Three-Blades continues to watch and listen, looking at Kaz once as the
galliard speaks up, then to the others who have things to tell.

Touch Deer moves to step up and speak as his Alpha steps back. "I have known
some of the best trackers of this land, and Chaser was among them. All good
medicine to you Chaser-Never-Rests." He returns to the crowd.

"Kate Conneff was a bitch," Patrick says bluntly and flatly. "Yeah, she had
her reasons--between Fenris and her father, she never really had a choice in
/that/ matter. Where she excelled, where she had her choice, was how she
channelled her ... bitchiness. She challenged people to greater heights; she
forced people to /think/ about decisions; she fought tooth and claw against
the Wyrm." He stares into the pyre where he threw the web of leather
earlier. "She was a bitch, but damnit, she was a bitch for Gaia and good at
it. You'll be missed, Chaser-Never-Rests."

Sepdet smiles wanly at the frank assessment.

Jamethon steps up a bit further now, to be focused on for this moment in
time. "Ice-Walker. Chaser-Never-Rests. Their names were so perfect for them.
And damning as well. They lived the way they were called, and died as well.
John couldn't back down, couldn't walk any direction but forward. Chaser...
a ragabash who fought like an ahroun. She was a very definition of a Garou
warrior, and it didn't take a full moon to guide her... she was all this
despite the darkness of her birth moon. She wouldn't have accepted death any
other way. They say Get of Fenris have no fear. They fear nothing! This is
untrue... to grow old and die, and not have earned your place in Valhalla?
But no, this is something Chaser could never fear... she earned her place
long ago. And she showed me and many of us, that despite serving one's
place... there is so much /more/ that one can do as well. Farewell Chaser...
and John, were you a Get of Fenris, I'd have gladly called you brother and
warhammer." Words spoken, he turns to rejoin Owen.

Blue eyes peer past braids veiling gaunt features, as Julie watches the
speakers, head cocked to listen to their words. She remains unmoving from
her crouch.

Raeye listens to the remarks made with a pinched frown in place of tears.
She passes her hand across her face once, leaning back to regard Jamethon's
words curiously.

Three-Blades lashes her tail, ears flattening as the words of others push
her rage just a little more.

Salem remains stiff and cold, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his
coat.

Tobin speaks quietly, probably to himself, but the words carry in the
stillness, "I'll see you in the next life, Chaser-Never-Rests."

Owen doesn't respond in any way as Jamethon returns. He is instead as
immutable as the nearby boulder.

Runs-at-Dawn has learned more of the two Garou tonight than he had in his
all-too-brief meetings with them in the past. Too late now, to do more than
mourn, and remember. The reddish-brown wolf remains still and quiet, only
the occasional twitch of an ear or movement of his fur in the breeze.

Sepdet allows a brief silence after the last speaker, then beckons to Salem
and Owen, setting her hand on one of the four torches. ~Honored with word
and song, we send them home.~

Salem steps forward at the Strider's cue. Impassively, he takes hold of one
of the torches, but waits for the others before setting the flame to the
pyre.

The stoniness to Owen's features cracks just a little at Sepdet's last
words, the set of his jaw adjusting slightly. He lumbers slowly forward and
takes a torch. He repeats Sepdet's words in German, "Geehrt mit Wort und
Song, schicken wir ihnen Haus," then touches the torch to Chaser's pyre.

Rina takes a breath, and lifts her head, watching as Salem goes forward to
light the pyre. Her gaze is distant, the faint shimmer of tears more
visible. She wraps both arms around herself. The sharp line of her jaw
tightens, with the effort to keep tears and grief at bay.

Tempered-Blade raises her muzzle and howls a farewell to the Garou who are
returning to the Mother.

Sepdet nods to Salem as she raises her own torch high and then lets it fall
with those of the tribe elders. Almost lost in the sudden roar of leaping
flame, she speaks a sharp, blunt prayer some 5,000 years old, then
translates. "The sisters who love you are here. The brothers who love you
are here. You have the power you need to breathe free."

Three-Blades finally can release some of her rage through wolfsong, howling
to the spirits to speed the fallen on their way while the Garou and kin who
remain fight on.

From afar, John can just /picture/ John's spirit, fighting and struggling to
stay here. Frenzying, almost, twisting fluidly and rapidly between forms in
a search for one that works... clawing, kicking, reaching out...

Kaz, despite the presence of Kin, falls down into crinos as if it were a
blessed relief, and howls, long, loud, angry, dissonant. It goes on for some
time.

Little Bear adds his voice to the howl, shifting up to Crinos to do so.

Touch Deer blurs, takes Hispo, and lets loose and low, dissonant howl.

Salem, as he sets his torch to the pyre, mutters something under his breath
in sharp, Slavic syllables. The flames dance in the dark-mirror lenses.
After a moment, he steps backward to rejoin the kinswoman, John's widow,
grim and silent.

Julie rises to stand fully, shifting upward as she does. Thin, piercing,
reedy, her howl, keening into the night their sense of loss, their pride,
their hope.

Sepdet shifts down to hispo, throws back her head and belts out a high
keening howl, thin voice soaring over the stronger ones.

Rina tenses at the sudden, violent advent of the howling, and a choked sound
comes from her throat. Her eyes, shimmering, remain fixed on the fire as the
tears break free.

Patrick mutters, half under his breath, some dimly-remembered wrds he
learned long and long ago that somehow seem apropos. "Hold thou now earth
the hand-gift of heroes, what from foe-men was wrested, death wrung from
their grasp. Shall the brigt mail which in battle withstood o'er the
splintering of sword, the shattering of shield, decay now in dust at the
death of its wearer? Harp's joy, swift hawk, and hound at my heel, but dark
are delights if deprived of companions." Rather than join the howling, he
lowers his head and closes his eyes respectfully.

Tobin and Aubrey both shift quickly up to Crinos and add their howls to the
song of grief and loss going on around them.

Raeye shifts into crinos, letting loose a low, melancholy wail that wavers
in and out of the surrounding howls.

Sith-Fhuil's howl, shallow and lilting, can really only be described as
mournful. While she would typically howl to celebrate the lives of the
fallen, she only seems to acknowledge the loss.

Shadow Eyes shifts on his feet, letting a low howl escape his raised muzzle.
The howl is long and low, mournful and sad.

Andrea pushes up into crinos, tilting back her muzzle to howl. Distantly to
the south, on the bawn, at least one howl can be heard to echo the others;
Owen certainly might recognize the atonal call of his Stargazer packmate.

Owen howls not this night, instead focusing on the flames thand sparks that
float high. He mouths a few words, but whatever he's spoken lays in silence.
His attention draws outward for a moment before he turns back to the crowd.

Gaia-Will-Judge raises his head and joins in the howl, long and low.

Jamethon takes on the crinos form but does not howl. Instead he stands tall,
regal, proud. A giant among giants he only growls out a violent near-roar to
throw a different life into the howling.

"See you on the flip side, boss." Quentin murmurs that quietly as the flames
go up, before shifting up to his own.. less-familiar crinos form, throwing
back his head and adding his own long, low howl of loss to the others.. his
notebook dropped rather carelessly to the ground beside him as he does so.
He'll grab it later.

Rina's shoulders jerk from time to time, and the tears glint on her cheeks.
Her grief is nearly silent amid the din of the Garou. Among all the towering
beasts, she looks like a hollow-eyed, fragile child, her face set in a numb
mask.

Flames curl around the picture and carved wooden figure until they are lost
in the rising smoke and howls that swirl up into the sky. Finally flames and
wolfsong begin to subside. Sepdet blurs back to her usual guise and bows to
the Gathered, signalling the end of the ritual. Her expression is fairly
well masked, but weary.

Tempered-Blade bumps her nose into Andrea's leg.

Kaz, as usual, doesn't stay in crinos a second longer than necessary. She
crouches, flowing back to homid, glaring at the fire.

Cries-No-More sits, shifts down a notch to Lupus, and then turns to take
Andrea's side, ready to leave whenever his Alpha is ready.

Owen turns, gives Rina a short-lived look, not having realized she was here,
then stalks out of the clearing. He's howled enough lately. Something is
going to bleed instead.

Salem takes in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and exhales it through his
mouth. He takes a step closer to Rina, placing a hand lightly on her
shoulder.

Three-Blades finishes her howl, and then gets up to walk over towards Kaz.
She looks once towards Rina, before turning back to the Gnawer galliard.

Fights-For-Hope turns as Owen does, and dropping down to the lupine form,
follows him out.

Bitter Cup also falls back into homid, though not as quickly as Kaz. Her
hand falls toward the Fianna's ruff, and she seems to take a wordless
comfort from the contact.

As Yi approaches, Kaz looks up, silently.

Shadow Eyes pads over to Kaz, to say hello to his tribal elder, and give her
a good going-over with the nose.

Rina stifles another sob, bringing a hand up to her mouth as if that gesture
can silence the tears.

Leonard shifts back to homid, turning in time to see Touch Deer disappear
into the woods. He turns and looks over at Kaz and Yi, contemplating
something.

Tobin shifts back down to homid, head bowed. He says a quiet farewell to
Aubrey, then makes his way over towards Rina.

Quentin's howl dies off as well, his head falling back down as he looks over
towards Salem and Rina.. green-gold eyes closing briefly, before he shifts
back to his birth form once more. A grimace as he looks away from the other
Walkers, quietly reaching down to pick up his notebook and brush it clean.

Blotches growls a bit, before shifting back down to her birthform, looking
about.

Sepdet hasn't missed the human's condition but leaves her to kin for now.
She gives Andrea a shrouded look, then turns away to wave at Dane and point
north. ~Another swing around, please,~ she asks.

Three-Blades, while Shadow Eyes is nosing Kaz, rumbles a quiet indication
that she needs to speak with the galliard, but can wait. Fostern theurge
nosings will have to take precedence, for the moment.

Raeye licks over her nose, gazing solemnly at the pyre. She whuffs once,
dips her head to Sepdet, then blurs down into the form of a black coywolf
before slipping out of sight.

Salem squeezes the kinswoman's shoulder slightly and is about to say
something to her when he notes Tobin's approach. The Glass Walker looks up,
regarding the Fang emotionlessly.

Though Kaz seems tense, still, she nonetheless scruffles the theurge.
Apparently able to multi-task, she asks Yi, voice low, "'Sup?"

Rina wipes fingers across her cheeks, and lowers both hands to her sides;
they clench there tightly. Her posture is arrow-straight, when she turns her
attentio to the Fang.

Spying the trio of Gnawers, Julie quietly approaches. A concerned glance is
given Rina, the last she saw her, the woman was flushed with happiness. Now,
flushed with grief. A sigh, and glance down at the ground in front of her,
lingering near the other three quietly.

Three-Blades tilts an ear. It is about the Gnawers, she says simply. About
Sees-True. About this one. Before our own moot of family, I want to speak of
things.

Tobin bows shortly to Rina and Salem, very stiff and formal. "My
condolences," he says quietly around a tight throat. The words sound hollow
after all that went on just a few minutes ago, and he grimaces because he
knows it. He looks between Salem and Rina, opens his mouth to say something,
but there are no words so he just closes it again. He nods once to each of
them, the look on his face conveying his sorrow, then turns and leaves
without another word.

Kaz sighs. "Yyyyeah. I got back, an' I didn't know if I was gonna be
stickin', so I tol' her t'keep it if she could. But she ain't got no clue,
really, what leadership is, an'... I decided, a couple nights ago, I was
stayin'. So unless /you/ wanna do it--" She looks at Yi, now, directly,
almost challengingly-- "I'll be buggin' her, at our shindig."

Salem gives Tobin a slight nod in cool acknowledgement, then looks down at
Rina again. "Ready to go?" he asks her, quietly.

Rina answers Tobin with a wordless nod, as well; then she looks to the
smoldering remains of the pyre again. A moment's pause, and she turns to
walk away.

Shadow Eyes nuzzles Kaz, then trots after Rina with a soft chuff and
tailwagging.

Tobin pauses as he spots a certain Gnawer, a couple of them, actually. He
alters his course slightly to go meet up with them. He clears his throat
politely when he's near to announce himself.

Salem spares the burning pyre one final glance, then follows after Rina. If
he notices Elan, he makes no indication of it.

Tempered-Blade blurs up into her human form, a dark-skinned woman with
braided hair. She steps towards Rina to offer her own consolation, but stops
when the kin seems to be leaving.

Three-Blades actually doesn't shrink back when looked at. She meets the
galliard's gaze, though not in a returned challenging way. Glancing away
towards Julie as she comes up, the ragabash turns back to Kaz. I have given
Fights-For-Hope my support to go with him on his fostern challenge. That's
all she says for now, looking over when Tobin comes around.

Julie glances at the departing Eyes, rather surprised. A shake of head, and
attention shifts to Kaz and Blades, until Tobin arrives, her gaze sliding to
him at the throat clearing.

[...]

It's a long walk back through the woods to the road where the Yugo's been
left parked. Salem's removed the sunglasses, if only because navigating in
the darkness with them on is nearly impossible; in any case, the shadows are
more than enough to hide his face and his eyes.

Rina's tears are silent for the most part, only the hitched breathing
betraying them. From time to time, though, she stumbles a little, like a
traveler exhausted by a long journey.

The Walker remains close, as solicitous as always; whenever she stumbles, he
has a hand there to steady her.

Sepdet appears a short distance away to their left, a white glimmer through
the trees clearly visible even in the scant light.

Their progress is slow, and from time to time traveling seeds or nettles
catch at the long dress; Rina doesn't seem to care a great deal, most of her
attention focused on the ground ahead.

Salem, upon catching sight of the Strider, lays a hand on the kinswoman's
arm to halt her progress, and then stops himself. "Sepdet-rhya," he rasps,
in greeting.

Rina catches in a breath, and stops. A glance to Salem, and her gaze follows
his to the Strider.

Sepdet circles around to join them. "Salem." Her eyes fasten on the woman.
"I don't have much time, but I wanted to see how Rina was doing." There is a
hint of apology in her voice.

Salem glances from Sepdet down to Rina, letting the woman answer for
herself.

"She's alive," Rina says hoarsely. "And you don't hafta talk about her like
she isn't standin' right here." Her voice isn't quite steady, nor is the
humorless ghost of her smile.

Sepdet sighs. "Sorry, Rina. If I'd said 'you' this big lunk might think I
was worried about him."

Rina gives a tiny shake of her head, averts her eyes. They remain empty,
dead. "S'aright," she says quietly.

The 'big lunk' snorts slightly at the Strider's words and folds his hands
into his coat pockets. "Thank you for performing the Gathering," Salem says,
after a beat. Blandly.

Sepdet says flatly, "Don't thank me; I wouldn't have put up with anyone else
taking care of it." The strain of the evening shows briefly in her voice.

Rina nods minutely, pressing her lips together hard.

Salem nods once. He glances down at Rina again, then turns back to Sepdet.
And pauses, as if thinking of something else to say.

Sepdet walks along with them quietly, bracketing Rina on the other side in a
mutely defensive gesture. She raises a thin eyebrow at Salem, although her
attention is more squarely on the woman.

Rina's dark stare fixes on the ground ahead, as dimly apparent as it might
be. She says nothing, but from time to time the raggedness of her breathing
betrays her, or the glimmer of wetness on her cheek in the moonlight.

Salem stalks along wordlessly at Rina's other side, his mouth set into a
grim line.

Sepdet sets a hand on Rina's shoulder, not bothering with empty platitudes
just now.

Rina ducks her head, hard, and says nothing. In mute rebellion, she keeps
walking, heading west along the banks of the creek, back out the way they
came in.