But What About Your Tribe?

[hazlogs]

[12/6/97]

Behind the Falls
Dug by a combination of the wearing down of stone by time and erosion, and the 
  shifting of rock from the water's weight, this cave behind the falls is 
  comfortably roomy. A gentle downward slope leads back from the entrance, 
  perhaps ten or so yards; the cave is about five yards across at its widest, 
  and small juts of rock have created natural shelves and nooks in the walls. 
  Very little light pierces the dark recesses of the cave, hidden as it is by 
  the twists of stone and the flow of water, but one of the nooks along the 
  cave floor has been cleared out and, by its blackened and sooty appearance, 
  used as a fire pit.

It is currently 16:48 Pacific Time on Sat Dec 6 1997.
Currently on this calm and chilly fall late afternoon in the general St. 
  Claire area, it is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3.3 degrees Celsius). The wind is 
  coming from the west at 3.3 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are clear with a 
  possible chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (47% full).

Erik(#2989Pce)
This tall figure, six and a half feet at least, stands out in almost any 
  crowd. His build is skeletal, disturbingly thin and angular, with long arms 
  and legs.  His face is a horror, a living death's head with corpse-pallid 
  skin stretched drum-tight over too-obvious bone. A few wisps of dark hair 
  cling to a miserable existence on his otherwise bald scalp, and his eyes -- 
  brilliant green and raw with undisguised emotion -- gaze apprehensively out 
  from deep-set, misaligned sockets. A number of small, regular scars encircle 
  the left. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, and rather than a nose he has 
  only a pair of gaping holes, a feature which only emphasizes the skull-like 
  appearance.
He's muffled as thoroughly as possible in a couple of blankets. His right arm 
  ends in a stump at the elbow, and a large patch of scar tissue covers his 
  left forearm. His voice is startling, even freakish in its unearthly beauty 
  and purity of tone. It's colored with a faintly Irish lilt, attractive and 
  compelling. 

Only the clicking of the cub's claws signals her passage up the trail and 
  behind the falls. Otherwise her movements are silent as she heads into the 
  cave. Her ears prick forward and her nose works, seeking the scents of those 
  here.

Erik is seated by the fire, his form almost completely muffled up in the 
  blankets, head included; his face is obscured by shadow formed by the folds 
  of the blanket.

As she enters the cave proper and sees him sitting upright, Brightspot 
  freezes. She chuffs a questioning sound, then jumps to a lope in the tight 
  space as she circles behind him, coming as close as she can to facing him 
  without burning herself in the fire. Her ears shift into a hopeful tilt, 
  ~Erik?~

Erik's head jerks up, his shrouded body giving a spasm of startlement as he 
  turns toward her. For a moment, she can glimpse his face under the cowl 
  formed by the blanket over his head, the skeletal features lit by the 
  firelight. Then he hunches his shoulders a bit and lowers his head. "Kasie." 
  It's his normal voice, albeit hesitant, worried, and anxious.

And with that one word, the cub is transformed. Her tail raises high, wagging 
  and her ears prick forward as she sounds an excited bark and rushes at him. 
  You're back? It's you? You're okay? She seems little concerned with worries 
  about bowling him over.

Erik's breath gets expelled from him in a startled 'oof' as the cub knocks him 
  down with her enthusiasm, knocking the blanket askew as he reflexively lifts 
  his left arm in half-hearted defence. "Er, yes, I'm - ack - back."

Tail wagging so fast and hard her whole hind end is wiggling, Brightspot 
  stands over him with a paw on either side of his chest. Starting at his 
  forehead, she starts sniffing her way down his face. And it's you? No more 
  ~machines~ in you?

Erik lies still as the cub examines him, his eyes squinting closed as her nose 
  snuffles at his face, his left hand still lifted and resting lightly against 
  her shoulder. His posture - if one were astute enough to notice it - is 
  submissive. "No machines in me," he confirms, quietly.

Inspection completed, Brightspot lowers herself down, half on top of him as if 
  to hold 'Erik' here with her weight alone. Behind her her tail has yet to 
  still. Knew you'd come back.

Erik's expression flickers in shame, and, uncomfortably, he shifts forms, 
  passing quickly through the spectrum until he reaches Lupus. He remains, 
  then, mostly on his back, his ears turned backwards and down.

Brightspot lets herself slide off his bony chest, leaving only her head to 
  rest there. Silly, she calls him, though there's deep caring in her posture. 
  Then she sits up and asks, Did they bring you anything to wear?

Sings-in-Shadow remains sprawled in that defenseless, submissive pose, 
  watching her out of the corner of his eye. With a slight gesture of ear and 
  muzzle he answers her question with a negative.

Brightspot does not take his muzzle into her jaws, instead she runs the side 
  of hers along it. Do you have some at the farmhouse? And are you hungry, too?

Sings-in-Shadow's emotions are clearly mixed. With a faint whine of 
  consternation, he begins trying to extract himself from under his former 
  student. Apologetic, he answers both questions with a negative.

Silly, silly, the cub repeats happily , nudging him to urge him up. I'll go 
  get food, and maybe there'll be something that'll fit. She takes a step 
  towards the exit, then turns to look back at him, worry edging back into her 
  posture. You'll be here?

Sings-in-Shadow heaves himself to his feet, awkwardly due to the 
  mostly-missing foreleg, and then sits down. His ears remain canted 
  backwards, his head lowered. I will be here, he affirms.

For the second time since she arrived, the cub freezes. Her tail is drawn to 
  one side in mid-wag as she spots his leg. Her posture changes to one of 
  apology before she trots out of the cave.

Sings-in-Shadow watches her go, and then sighs quietly and stretches out 
  slowly on top of the tangled blankets.

Sometime later the cub returns, her jaws stretched wide by the bundle in them. 
  The leg of the pair of pants flaps lose as she trots, and she seems more 
  than ready to drop the package once she arrives. There!

Sings-in-Shadow sits up again and then stands, muzzle lowering to sniff at the 
  bundle of clothes. He glances up at her, embarrassed. Then he grabs the 
  bundle's edge in his mouth and starts dragging it toward the darker end of 
  the cave, the ratlike tail lowered.
As the bundle is dragged, a can of soda rolls free and across the cave. A
  pile of plastic-wrapped sandwiches travels less far. The cub turns her
  back and lowers her head to bite at what must be an itchy spot on her
  leg.

Awkward sounds from the back of the cave can be heard as, awkwardly, Erik 
  shifts to human form and dresses himself one-handed. After many minutes, 
  though, he reseats himself by the fire and clears his throat.

Brightspot turns back around at the cough. Her tail starts moving again, 
  though slower. At least it's better than the blanket, she offers almost 
  questioningly.

Erik ducks his head and smiles, but faintly, eyes lowered. "Yes," he murmurs, 
  taking the blanket and dragging it back over himself as he sits close to the 
  fire.

Brightspot flops down next to him, her eyes raised towards his face. Glad 
  you're back, she tells him before admitting, I was worried.

Erik huddles in the blanket as if cold. His eyes shift toward her and then 
  skitter away. "Worried?"

Brightspot settles her head down to her paws. Yes. Now her eyes shift away, 
  too. Everyone said they wouldn't be able to fix you.

Erik pulls his knees to his chest and hunches over, his eyes riveted on the 
  flames. His expression is pained. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, softly.

With small shifts and movements of her ears and body, she tells him that it's 
  not his fault. She presses her head against his leg, Just glad you're okay.

Erik's body tightens as she touches him, his eyes squeezing closed as he 
  lowers his forehead to his knees. After a moment, he whispers, "It is."

Brightspot maintains the contact, not looking much like she believes him but 
  offering to listen.

Erik remains silent however, his forehead still pressed against his knees.

Brightspot raises her head up, bringing it a bit closer to his knee, and his 
  face. Not your fault, she repeats. I know.

Erik stands up abruptly, a violent motion that barely keeps him from banging 
  his head on the roof of the cave.

Though now the cub turns her face away from him, that stubborn streak that has 
  been coming to light in the time he was away makes itself known. It wasn't, 
  I know.

Erik doesn't answer, his eyes tightly shut and his face tightened as though in 
  pain. The blanket hangs from his shoulders like a makeshift cape, clutched 
  to his chest with his left hand. "Please don't, Kasie."

Brightspot's ears twitch in confusion, but she drops the subject. After an 
  uncomfortable silence, she asks, ~Shoes~ didn't fit? They were the biggest 
  ones I saw.

Erik continues to stand with his back to her and his head slightly bowed. 
  "They... no." He seems to be speaking with some difficulty, struggling with 
  mixed emotions of shame and despair.

Brightspot rises to her paws and crosses the distance between them, sitting at 
  his side. I'll go look again later. She doesn't look up at him or say 
  anything further, she just sits there, lending him support with her presence.

After another long moment, Erik asks, "What date is it?"

Brightspot snorts softly in mild surprise at the question. Don't know, she 
  finally says. Don't even know the ~month~. A stronger surprise is reflected 
  in her posture at that realization. Doesn't seem important anymore.

Erik is startled enough by this to turn and look at her, his brow slightly 
  furrowed and his eyes worried.

Brightspot looks up at him, then away before their eyes can meet. Doesn't 
  matter, I don't care about that anymore.

Erik shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Definitely worried now, he 
  asks, "What... what _do_ you care about?"

Brightspot seems more sure of her answers now. Learning more, learning to track 
  better. ...Though Moon Otter-rhya said it'd be better if I didn't hunt till 
  it gets warm again, so I practice on other things.

Erik's relief is only mild. Looking away, he asks, fearing the answer, "And... 
  your tribe? Your auspice?"

Brightspot doesn't seem unaware of his worries. I... haven't worked on those 
  things for a while.

Erik's shoulders sag. His back to her, he grips the blanket in his pale, bony 
  hand. "Kasie," he says, and then stops, in despair.

Now the cub does look up to him, her own eyes reflecting his pain. Sorry...

"I failed," the tall Metis says in a quiet, broken whisper. "Kasie, I'm sorry."

Brightspot's shoulders tighten, hardening her posture a touch. You didn't. I 
  can fight. I can hunt. I learned.

Erik turns slightly, just enough to watch her out of the corner of his eye, 
  ashamed. "You're a Galliard, Kasie," he says softly. "And a Fianna."

Brightspot turns her head to look out the exit. We fight to protect. I can do 
  that. I was even going to go help when they got you, but the plans changed. 
  That's what I'm learning to do.

"But, Kasie, your _tribe_." Erik's voice is insistant, desperate, pained.

Brightspot looks back towards him. My tribe hates you. They hate everything 
  that's not just how they like it.

Erik's face contorts, his eyes squeezing shut and his lips peeling back in a 
  grimace of pain. He stumbles forward a few steps, toward the exit, and then 
  sinks to his knees, hunching over.

Brightspot moves with him, step for step. Sorry, she repeats. But I won't be 
  like them.

Erik shivers violently, still clutching the blanket, his breathing labored. 
  Sensing her near, he says hoarsely, "Kasie, get away from me."

Again comes that confused twitching of the cub's ears. Go?

Erik says, pained, "_Leave_, Kasie. Please." The last word comes out broken, 
  his voice out of control and staggering toward a sob.

The very opposite of the cub who arrived, Brightspot makes her way out of the 
  cave and back to the grotto, so low at his disapprovial that she almost 
  seems to be dragging herself.

Brightspot slips back around the jutting cleft of rock, out towards the niche, 
  and is lost from view.
Brightspot has left.