A Cause for Concern?

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:16 Pacific Time on Mon Dec 2 2002.

Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (13% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 46
degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the north at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.13 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 44
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Bawn: Western Forest

Tall Sitka spruce and sequoia crowd around and above you. Many of the
trees are old, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, trunks broad
and draped with lichen, mosses and creepers. Tendrils of moss hand down
from them like green spiderwebs, snaring the unwary with cold, ghostly
fingers. The patches of younger growth are dense and pale, needles tinged
with silver. Matted undergrowth huddles sullenly in the occasional small
clearings, clutching with thorns and burrs at the legs of those who would
pass. Deer seldom venture here, but the forest is full of rustlings, and
tiny glints from wary, watchful eyes.

The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road.
From farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of
the town of Kent's Crossing.

Craig grins. "Cool. Just animal spirits, like, or other things?" He peers
at their surroundings almost expectantly. "They ever show up on this
side?"

Renee nods. "Yep and yep. Ya got tree spirits an' sometimes ya even get ta
see things like rock spirits, but they don't tend ta do too much. An' yea,
some of'em can shwo up on this side."

There's little warning, just a quiet rustle in the dense undergrowth
behind the two Bone Gnawers. A black-furred wolf steps out into view a
moment later and regards the pair of them with one baleful golden eye.

Craig looks around them again, just in time to catch sight of the dark
wolf. He pauses, glancing at Renee. "Uh..." He digs his hands into his
pockets, then watches the wolf, waiting for Renee's lead.

Renee is good at noticing things and reactiong to them, something that she
has always been quite skilled at. Her head naps around as the black wolf
appears and she actually takes a few steps back. "Evening, Salem," she
rumbles, then looks over at Craig. "Jus' showin' the new kid around."

The Walker pads a few steps closer, undergoing a swift transformation from
wolf to man-wolf to man; he pushes back the hood of his coat and nods, his
good eye -- now dark brown -- focussing on the cub. "I thought as much."
He glances at Renee. "Shown him the caern yet?"

Renee shakes her head, watching as the wolf turns into a man. "Haven't
gotten that far yet."

Craig's eyes drop. "Hello Salem-rhya," he says. "We haven't gone farther
than this yet," he adds, almost simultaneous to Renee.

"It's an easier run in wolf form," Salem remarks. "Though well worth the
trip either way. Especially if you haven't been before." That dour gaze
falls on Craig again. He's unreadable tonight, though is tone is pleasant
enough.

Renee shrugs. "Came a fair bit of the way on four feet. Figured we'd go
homid fer a bit an' do some walkin' 'round, before headin' inta the
Caern."

Craig glances up again and shrugs. "What she said. I need t'do anything
before I go farther?" He looks between the elder garou again.

There is a shadow that slinks along the edge of the trees, the moonlight
of a shrinking moon occasionally flickering off yellow eyes. The
lupe-shaped Gnawer scents the three gathered together talking.

This wolf appears no different than the average street mutt, perhaps a bit
lighter, more of a greyish tan. Thin, almost to the point of being bony,
gives her the ability of slipping past clutching hands. Usually, if
caught, the ratted fur pulls free, letting her escape. On the whole, she
looks like she just had a fight with a sheepshearing razor and a wildcat.
Golden brown eyes flicker with diamond dust of ice blue, intelligence
hidden within.

Renee shakes her head. "Naw. All is good."

Salem grunts. "There isn't a ceremony or anything. I'm sure Renee's
already told you how important caerns are. No littering." Utterly deadpan,
no trace of humor.

Craig cracks a bit of a grin. "Nothin' t'litter with," he replies. "Could
always run back t'Kent Crossing t'get somethin'...

A low growl ripples the wolf's lips, and fur bristles a tad bit between
the shoulders, before she slinks around, behind Renee and Craig. Blotches'
ears switch back and forth, nostrils flaring to scent the air more as she
slinks nearer.

Salem stiffens, his gaze going down to the bony wolf, lips thinning into a
grim line. His eyes narrow. "Something wrong?" he asks the new arrival,
coldly.

Renee takes a playful swipe at the cub's head, missing him by a fair bit.
Her smile fades and she looks at the other Galliard, eyebrows scrunching
together. "Yo, somethin' wrong?" She asks, crouching down.

Craig ducks away from the flailed hand, grinning as he turns to look at
the incoming wolf. The grin fades as he sees her posture and the bristling
fur on her back. "Hey..." he says a little uncertainly.

Blotches actually shies a bit away from Renee. Smell funny. Sees-True eat
bad food? A quick whoof of greeting to the lad, and a more formal chuffing
to the Walker.

Salem's narrowed gaze shifts from Blotches to Renee, studying the latter
rather sharply. "Really? Something wrong, Renee?"

Renee looks up at the cub. "Hey. S'cool. Its just Julie." That statement
from the wolf causes Renee to blink in surprise, then eyes the other
Galliard stangely. "If ya say so." She looks up at Salem and shakes her
head. "Nope. Been stressed outta my mind, but nothin' is wrong." The
Gallaird shrugs her shoulders. "Anyway, Julie, could ya come by the
Junkyard tomorrow? I'm hoockin' up with Yi an' we're gonna try trackin'
down that missin' formor-chick with Questing Stone."

Craig looks as well, somehow managing to look utterly guileless. "Hey
Julie," he adds with a grin, relaxing considerably. "Didn't recognize you.
Got a haircut?"

Blotches shakes from head to tail, relaxing a bit, but she still appears a
bit anxious. Maybe to ease her own nerves, she pads around to the front of
Craig and heaves herself up, paws on his shoulders. Slobbery lick to his
face, and wag of tail, as if in answer.

Renee's mouth quirks upward in a grin, ash she straightens back up.
"Careful Julie. Ya don't want ta drown him."

Salem continues to eyeball Renee for a few more moments, and then shakes
his head slightly. He steps back, shifting back down to wolf form, and
pads a few steps away, scenting the wind. He is after all, technically on
duty.

Craig reaches up to scratch the wolf's shoulder, grinning. "Suits you.
Maybe a little more off the sides next time."

Have to guard Home this Moon, Sees-True, Blotches eventually answers, once
she drops down to all fours, and settles to her haunches, blue-flecked
eyes of gold studying her Elder. A glance toward Salem, before leaning to
chew briefly on Craig's pantleg, at the hem. Too unscruffy, she growls.

Renee laughs. "Yea, I'm workin' on the scruffy factor."

Craig gives a few tugs as the wolf does, ripping a small chunk of the hem
off. "Yeah yeah, scruffy. I get it..." He hops away from the wolf.

Still, smell funny, the mangy lupe growls again, nearing Renee and
sniffing. I smell city, I smell woods, you smell funny. No name for
different, Blotches rumbles, nose wrinkled in puzzlement.

Salem's attention returns to Renee; though he remains somewhat removed
from the trio of Gnawers, the Walker's black nose is moving visibly. His
ears cup forward; he remarks that he noticed, Sees-True, that you were off
your food last night. You didn't finish the ~package~ of meat.

Renee stiffens up a bit, as the wolf sniffs at her again. "Honestly Julie,
I'm /fine/." She is starting to get a little annoyed with the whole, you
smell funny thing. She turns her head and gives Salem a downright nasty
look. "And since when do /you/ car 'bout me?" The Gallaird rolls her eyes,
then throws her hands into the air. "Oh, forget this, I'm headin' inta the
Caern."

Blotches's ears flick back, not quite flat, but definitely not perked
forward. No, Sees-True. Not tonight. And the wolf interposes herself
between Renee and the path the woman is choosing. Blotches does care.
Rest. Bathe. Eat. Most likely a wrong move on her part, but she's just not
/sure/ something is /not/ wrong.

Salem bristles, muzzle wrinkling to show a hint of fang. Smoothly, he
circles around, likewise blocking Renee's path to the caern. His eyes
never leave her. Though he says nothing more, suspicion is clear in his
body language; Julie's concern doesn't cause that to lessen -- quite the
opposite.

Renee's lips thin and she glares at the scruffy wolf infront of her, hands
on her hips. Brown eyes flick to Salem, then turn hard as rock. "Fine,"
she half-growls. "Julie, you can take Craig inta the Caern. Be good fer
the kid ta see it. When yer done, ya can drop him off at the Farmhouse.
I'll take him home from there." Turning heel, Renee starts to walk off.
"Seeya soon Craig. Enjoy yerself."

Blotches whines softly, ears splaying. Her gaze flashes from Renee to
Craig, and back to the departing Gnawer.

Salem stares after Renee, his posture stiff and stony. Then he breaks into
motion, loping forward to catch up to her, the fur along his shoulders and
neck raised, tail and ears imperiously high. ~Sees-True, stop.~ It isn't
phrased as a request.

Renee comes to a stop, jaw tightening. "What?" She snaps.

Blotches growls softly, and steps so she is between the cub and the Walker
and her Elder. She knows there's bad blood between the two, but she won't
interfere, unless totally necessary, or keep Craig safe.

Salem stares up at Renee, wholly unconcerned with the fact that their
respective forms puts her head higher than his; his body language is all
alpha. Tell me, on your honor, with complete _truth_, that there is no
reason you know for your scent to be strange, or for your appetite to be
bad.

Craig watches the entire exchange with a mix of caution and apprehension.
When Julie moves between himself and the others, he seems to 'wake up'. He
focuses on Salem more than Renee.

Renee's teeth clench and you can almost hear them grinding together. "On
my honor, there is nothing /wrong/ with me. Happy?"

Salem accepts this, though still looks dubious. ~That you know.~ He huffs,
then gestures the Gnawer back in the direction of the farmhouse. With that
same note of command -- and there's a definite arrogance about the
unhesitating dominance in his manner, like there's no question which of
them is superior -- he tells her to have someone check her for Wyrm. As a
precaution.

Blotches keeps still, but her nose is twitching. Yes, do, she rumbles
quietly, with a bob of head. Concern darkens her eyes even more in the
night.

Renee seems to have had quite enough of the black wolf's arrogance. "Fuck
you," she snarls, flipping up her middle finger. "There isn't anything
fuckin' wrong with me." Her eyes snap to Blotches. "Now, don't you start
gettin' on my case," she snarls, before turning and stomping off. "Check
for Wyrm taint my ass," she grumbles to herself, shaking her head.

Salem snarls quite loudly, blurring upwards into Hispo as he bounds after
her, one massive forepaw sweeping out to hook her legs and knock her down.

Craig's eyes leave Salem as Renee walks away. Instead, he chooses to focus
on Julie/Blotches. That doesn't last long, however. The dark wolf's sudden
burst into Hispo draws the cub's attention back. "Oh shit..." he mutters
under his breath.

Blotches growls, and while she can understand the snappiness to Salem, for
Renee to be biting her head off is a different story, altogether. When
Salem changes, she bristles more. Stop this arguing. Let her go, she
suggests to the Walker with an exhasperated whine.

Renee yelps and hits the ground hard, as her feet are knocked out from
under her. She growls and starts to lift her grass stained face off the
ground, when Salem pins her to the ground.

Huge and bristling, the Glass Walker presses his forepaw against her
chest, claws pricking through the cloth to her skin. He looms over her,
fangs bared. ~Have someone check you for Wyrm. This is not a request. If
you are clean, then no harm done. If you are _not_... better you know
_now_, before you fall and drag others down with you. Like that cub.~

Craig takes a few steps towards the confrontation, stopping just before he
passes Julie. He's silently mouthing words, as though he's translating the
garou and wolf words to himself.

Blotches swings her head around to look up at Craig, teeth bared in a
warning growl. Even if he is only trying to learn to translate, she isn't
going to let him move any nearer.

Renee breathes carefully, the weight on her chst making that simple action
a little difficult. "I am /not/ fuckin' tainted! For Gaia's sake, get the
fuck off me an' take yer paranoia down a few notches."

Maybe you are sick, then. Still get checked. Good idea? For Blotches? For
Cub? she rumbles, swinging her head, and attention, toward Renee.

The huge jaws snap together just inches from Renee's face. ~Get yourself
checked!~ Then he steps off her, rising onto his hind legs. For a moment,
he towers over her in Crinos, nine feet of pure breed and cold rage, then
shrinks back down to human form, his face like granite. "Listen to your
damned tribemates, if not to me. Get yourself checked. I'll be asking you
about it next time I see you."

Salem turns and starts to head off once he's said this, his back to the
trio.

Renee coughs and sits up, keeping her eyes lowered as she brushes bits of
dried grass from her clothing.

Craig stops short at both Julie and Salem's displays, hands clenching into
fists. Otherwise, he stays put.

Blotches trots over to Renee, and presses her nose against the woman's
cheek. Thanks. Now ~I~ have to patrol with him, she rumbles quietly. A
wolfish grin then shows itself, before she licks at Renee's nose. Do as he
says? Same as any would say. Ears, Shadow Eyes, and more, the lupe Gnawer
explains, in that same low rumble.

[...]

Barnyard

The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it
widens into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which
encircle it on three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the
landscape: an open-sided structure which serves as a garage and the big
barn, empty of livestock, to the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb
garden furrows the land south of the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of
rocks, of similar consistency to the gravel of the lane, rests a few yards
south of the garage.

North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a
conversion from farmland to natural prairie. A sliding glass door allows
admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds
in a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the
southwest. The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a
faint path into the woods towards the southeast.

It's rather incongruous, the picture she makes--walking the edges of the
wood, a cellphone to her ear. Calling his number, of course. She moves
with the same wary tension that she has in the city.

Salem is stalking through the western woods in the rough direction of the
farmhouse, making no effort at stealth, when her call comes through. He
stops short, frowns, and takes the cellphone out of his inside coat
pocket, calling himself an idiot in Serbian before he answers it. "Salem
here."

"Hey." Wry humor--she is almost laughing, a lightness in the sound of her
voice that he hasn't heard there in a long time. "I think I just heard ya.
I'm on the edge of the farm."

Salem blinks. Then, dryly, he says, "Ah, coincidence." He starts walking
again, heading for the farmhouse grounds. He keeps talking. "You, ah,
doing all right?"

"Yeah." Embarassment? "I, ah, brought some stuff, put it in the fridge."

"Oh?" His curiosity is clearly audible. "What kind of, ah, stuff?"

"Food, dumbass," she says dryly.

There's a pause, then a snap of dry twig somewhere behind her. "Yes, food,
of _course_," Salem says, and now she can hear his voice from that
direction as well as in her ear. "I was wondering what kind." There's no
hint of anger in his voice; there's even the faintest hint of amusement.

Rina glances toward it, and there's the faint sound of laughter. "Fine
French cuisine."

Salem replies, desert-dry, "I'm sure the rangers will appreciate that."
Then, "Ah, there you are," and the phone clicks off as he moves toward
her, a darker shadow. "Good evening." His expression's hard to read in the
near-darkness, but he certainly _sounds_ pleased to see her.

Rina flips the phone closed, and pockets it. There is an unsteadiness
about her, a nervousness in her smile. "Hey. How was y'weekend?"

Salem turns his off before slipping it inside his coat. "Not bad. Gave
Rhiannon a visit on Saturday and gave her your keys. Lyra stopped by..."
He grimaces. "She's had some trouble, but nothing that can't be handled by
her tribe. Or even herself, if she chooses to." He shakes his head, coming
alongside her. "Moved in on Sunday and finally got Andrea to tell me a bit
about how to perform the Rite of Passage."

Rina's eyes narrow slightly, and she glances over. "Lyra's... that Gnawer,
yeah?"

Salem nods. "Philodox. Quentin's friend." He leans against a tree nearby,
arms folded across his chest. "And you? How was _your_ weekend?" His head
cocks slightly.

Rina lifts a shoulder, standing with her weight on one leg. The farmhouse
and its light are behind her, leaving her expression in shadow. "Fine."

Salem considers that for a moment, then straightens up and moves closer.
"Really?" Then, before she can answer, he asks, "Would you like to go
inside? It's damned cold out here."

Rina wraps both arms around herself, and shakes her head quickly. "Nah.
Rather not. Hate that place." Turning on one heel, she starts walking, a
vague meander southward along the edge of the field road.

Farmhouse: Fields

What once was worked cropland has been, over the last several years,
allowed to go to seed, and the result is the natural prarie which has
developed, enclosed on three sides by the forest. It covers several acres
of land with grasses as high as a person's waist, large enough to be out
of earshot of the barnyard but uniform enough that anyone in bipedal form
could be seen approaching through it.

Salem simply nods. He follows her, long strides letting him catch up
quickly; he falls into step with her easily, gloved hands buried in the
pockets of his coat. "I'd forgotten how quiet it was, out here," he
remarks after a few moments. "And dark."

"Crickets gettin' on y'nerves yet?" Her voice is soft, touched with
hoarseness--and something awkward, a hint of discomfort perhaps.

Salem grunts. "Something like that, yes." He's walking with his good side
toward her, and keeps glancing sidelong at her face, but there's almost no
moonlight; Luna's hiding, like She was on the night the Sept Gathered for
John and Chaser.

"I don't mind the dark," Rina says dryly, "but it's the fuckin' /crickets/
that make me crazy. Car alarms, no problem. But somethin' about those
crickets... I just stay up and /listen/."

From a distance, an oddly familiar voice can be heard, high-pitched and
excited. It's words are muffled, but the call is insistent and becoming
clearer, moment by moment. "Miz RI-na!" Cat calls out, sketchbook held
tight to his chest as he looks around wildly. He saw her bike- she must be
here! "Miz RI-na!"

Salem nods, mouth twisted wryly. He's about to answer when Cat's voice
makes itself heard; he pauses and glances back, then looks over at the
kinswoman. "Ah, now _there_ is someone who's missed you quite a lot..."

Rina turns, looking over her shoulder. She cups a hand to her mouth and
yells. "Over here! Just follow the... the dirt road thing!"

The calling stops, and the rustling of a young boy running through grass
takes it's place. It takes a minute for him to find them, but he does. Oh,
he'd be out there for hours if that's how long it took. Cat skids to a
halt, breathless and still clutching the sketchbook- he never puts it
down. "Miz- Rina- Sa- lemrhya-"

Rina turns when the noise reaches them, to wait for the boy. Her smile is
faint but genuine. "Everything aright?"

Salem folds his arms across his chest. "Deep breaths, Cat," the halfmoon
says dryly. "Inhale, exhale."

Cat sounds oddly like a dying fish, clear bright eyes watching Rina
unblinkingly as he breathes. Then he does blink- and he flings his arms
about Rina's middle, nudging his way underneath one of her arms and
hugging her tightly, despite the biker jacket. "I missed y'a lot," he
mumbles, like a child greeting a parent come home. Maybe that's what it
is.

Rina blinks, all expression wiped from her face. She looks over to Salem
with a trace of panic, and swallows; then she lets her arms settle around
the boy's shoulders. An uncertain, worried smile touches her lips. "Missed
you too, kiddo," she says quietly.

Salem returns Rina's look, his own expression unreadable -- not because
he's turned it stony, as usual; it seems more a study of mixed emotions.
"Yes... you haven't seen each other since you came to stay that night,
true? Before..." He trails off, grimacing, and looks away, toward the dim
lights of the distant house. "Hmn."

The hug, on Cat's part, lasts a good ten seconds, before he slowly slips
his arms away. He still hovers close to her side though, with a slight,
determined frown on his face. He's making sure she won't leave again. Now
the Kin has -two- Walker guard-dogs...a Great Dane and Golden Retriever
puppy. "Are you going to stay long?"

Rina swallows, and shakes her head. Her smile is uncomfortable. "Not
around here, hon. I don't like the farm much."

"Too many Garou live here, Cat," Salem explains quietly. "It's not a...
comfortable place for kinfolk to be around for long."

The boy blinks in a mixture of extreme disappointment and
noncomprehension, frown etching a bit deeper. It's more of a pout, really.
"C'n I stay up until Miz Rina has to go, Salem-rhya?" Cat asks hopefully,
fingers tapping on the spine of the sketchbook.

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Since when have I enforced a bedtime for you?"
he asks, with a hint of exasperation. "Of course. Stay up as late as you
like."

Rina combs a hand through Cat's hair absently. "I won't be stayin' too
long," she murmurs.

For once Cat doesn't protest the molestation of his hair, but both Salem
and Rina get rueful, unhappy glances. "Will you come visit again soon?" is
the relentless questioning, although spoken softly.

Salem tilts his head slightly, turning a curious eye to Rina.

Rina nods, meeting the boy's eyes with seriousness in her own. "As much as
y'want," she says.

Cat considers that, tilting his head a bit...and then the pout lessens,
turns into childish satisfaction. "'kay," he murmurs, wrapping both arms
around the sketchbook and hugging it tightly. "I made a friend here," he
announces, about to leap into a recitation of everything that's happened
to him since he got to the farm- but old habits die hard, and he sneaks a
glance to Salem, uneasily. "I'm not, um, interrupting, am I?"

Salem shakes his head slightly at the boy. "You're fine. Go ahead. In
fact..." He pauses, then sighs. "In fact, I really should get back to
patrolling." His expression turns wry.

Rina glances to Salem, and then looks back to Cat with a faint smile, a
shake of her head. "Not at all," she says. "Who'd you meet?"

"A Fianna ragabash named Rusty," Cat tells Rina with a quirky sort of
pride. As if he had some hand in Rusty being Fianna or ragabash. "We made
sandwiches, and he gave me pickles, and said I could come with him to a
party sometime." Pause. "But not a drinking or smoking kinda party."

Rina grins, laughing a little. She turns her dark, smiling eyes to Salem.
"G'ahead. I'll make sure he gets back to the house okay."

"People all ovah'deh world, join hands! Start a love train, love train!"
Sings Alicia as she strides through the field, her voice ripping through
the night clear and crisp.

Rina winces, her smile evaporating like rain in the desert.

Salem quirks a faint half-smile at the two. "Excellent. Be seeing you." He
glances over in the direction of the Gaian's voice, then shakes his head
ruefully and heads off for the woods, dropping back into wolf form once
he's gotten some distance away.

Cat jerks back, sketchbook cradled protectively, head whipping around
towards the source of the...singing. "What's that," he murmurs, with a
touch of dread.