Why are you so _afraid_, full moon?

[hazlogs]

It is currently 11:46 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 30 2004.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (57% full).

Scar lopes down into the caern, moving with relentless grace.

At the center, Just having finished another patrol of the Bawn, the Walker Cub
      was where he always was. The White cub lay sprawled limp over the cracks 
      of the steam vents, basking in the heat without moving.

Scar snorts, then approaches the younger Walker with raised tail. He chuffs to
      catch Josh's attention and asks how he is.

Wrestles-Wolf rolls on his side either consciencely or not, looking up at the
      elder, chuffing back the greeting, before indicating that he is well. His 
      posture and body language seem to indicate otherwise, though.

Scar eyes the cub critically. That form is not good for lying, so don't try.
      What is wrong?

Wrestles-Wolf's head indicates to where the sun is, or would be anyhow, if it
      wasn't obscured by the winter clouds. Two sunrises from now 
      Defiant-Storm-Rhya will come back do make her decision, he replies, 
      terribly matter-of-fact, as if she thinks Wrestles-Wolves should be 
      culled or not. The cub has this day and the next to avoid the knife.

Scar's mismatched eyes narrow. So sure of the result? Deciding to give up?

Wrestles-Wolf rolls back onto all fours, tucking his head against his chest. He
      has not given up, but has not had any success either. Since he came out 
      here, Wolf has gotten nothing but louder, takes control more often. 
      Doesn't want to return to Scab, is afraid of the Stone Hives, and still 
      fears and hates two-leggers.

Scar stares down at the cub, his body language unwolfishly still; he is not
      pleased. How many times must I say it? The wolf is _you_.

Wrestles-Wolf's tail curls behind him as he trys to shy into the ground in
      fright. Yes, Scar-Rhya.

Scar wrinkles his muzzle and snorts. Restless, he paces around the cub and asks
      rather sharply what he's afraid of.

Wrestles-Wolf doesn't budge from his spot as the elder paces around him, eyes
      only flicking momentarily to watch him. He responds that he hopes that he 
      has not angered Scar-Rhya with any of this.

Scar snaps his jaws. He is a Garou. He feels the Mother's rage, and Luna waxes.
      He gets angry, this is a fact. Why are you so _afraid_, full moon?

Wrestles-Wolf's ears cock back pressing against his skull. He responds that
      he's afraid because in two days he will very likely find himself throat 
      up on the stone. He doesn't want to die, but none of the lessons he's 
      gotten have made keeping the blade away more likely.

Scar stops pacing. His nose wrinkles. Then you have not tried hard enough. It
      is not the lessons you are given. It is how you take the lessons and what 
      you do with them. How you face winning. How you face losing. To lie down 
      and give up is not our way. We have a war to fight. We do not surrender 
      because it looks hopeless.

Wrestles-Wolf stands up, keeping his head lowered as he addresses the Elder.
      Yes Rhya. He probably hasn't tried hard enough, but hasn't given up.

Scar looks doubtful. Then what do you plan to do to live, full moon?

Wrestles-Wolf takes a moment to set himself on the ground square, paws evenly
      spaced about him. Pierces Ice Rhya will return tonight, he responds, and 
      she and him will try again until they succeed. Pierces Ice showed him how 
      to bring out feral-mind, so now all he has to do is... the cub pauses, 
      not exactly sure -what- the next step was. ... finish what they started.

Scar's jaws snap shut with an audible >click<. Then we shall see, won't we?

Wrestles-Wolf tells the elder, not so weakly either, that he fully intends on
      living. His ears pick themselves off of his head, alert again. Do not 
      assume he doesn't.

Then act like it, the older Glass Walker tells the cub, brusquely. Then he
      changes the subject somewhat. What else have you been using your time 
      for, out here?

Wrestles-Wolf lists off the list, as if he's been asked this before numerous
      times. He works with Guardians, does patrols through out the day to watch 
      the Bawn. Guards-Flame-Rhya has been teaching him how to listen to 
      earth-mother. Fat-Ripper-Rhya has been teaching him of spirits and the 
      wyrm's spawn and how to fight against them. Defiant-Storm-Rhya has been 
      taught him of the Umbra and the dangers of it. Judges-Souls-Rhya has him 
      thinking deeper of the list-of-garou-rules and how they apply. He has 
      practiced his Mothers Tongue with others as often as he can. 
      Pierces-Ice-Rhya has started Full Moon lessons with him as well, and any 
      time he doesn't spend on the lessons, he spends hunting to feed himself. 
      Lessons and Patrols take up much time.

Scar quirks an ear, his eyes narrowed. He huffs acknowledgement and paces away
      restlessly; if he was a cat, his tail would be twitching. After a moment 
      he turns away and stares at the cub without saying anything.

Wrestles-Wolf's legs bend under the stare, lowering his head and ears again
      submissively. He doesn't look back at the elder directly, instead just 
      looking in his general direction until he is addressed again.

Scar does so, after a moment or two. What are your plans, full moon? If you
      were adult, Cliath, what would you be doing?

Wrestles-Wolf responds that he would do what the tribe always has done. Ward
      men, watch over them and combat the Wyrm among them. He saw the torment 
      that the Wyrm can inflict on others, even past death. No one deserves it.

Scar bristles, looking dissatisfied. That's not an answer. Every Garou does
      this. Every Glass Walker does this. What are your _plans_? If I brought 
      you back home, to the House of Cockroaches, what would you do?

Wrestles-Wolf thinks this over for a long moment, before finally making an
      attempt at a responce: Wyrm is strong in Umbra, and breeds there. But few 
      Garou he's met tend to the Umbra, much less any who tend to the Umbra of 
      the city. If he where Cliath, he would learn until he could fill this 
      role. No one else is. But if this is something that would be acceptable 
      or not, he really doesn't know.

This answer seems more acceptable, though not entirely so. Better, Scar tells
      him. Though you are not a Theurge. And there _are_ such in the city. I 
      will be packing with two of them. And there is Cat as well.

Wrestles-Wolf blinks, unable to take Scar seriously at the mention of Cat. But
      while he does give the elder a quick dubious glance, he doesn't respond 
      to the last comment. Wrestles-With-Wolves was just trying to answer 
      Scar-Rhya's comment, he responds, and that was all he could think of on 
      short notice that would intrest him.

Scar bristles again, uttering a short, thinly-pitched snerl. He cuts it off
      abruptly. _Cat_, he tells the cub darkly, has given me barely _half_ the 
      headache that _you_ have... and that's _with_ him trotting off into the 
      Umbra without permission.

If the Walker Cub had something to say about Cat, it was definitely not going
      to be said now. Considering how his posture could not be any more 
      submissive to the elder, he instead backpedals a pace, giving Scar more 
      room. Yes Rhya, he whimpers out.

Scar glowers at Joshua for a moment, then turns away in disgust and starts
      heading out of the caern.

Having perhaps secured his elder's undying hate, Wrestles with wolves Stands
      stock still, not moving or saying anything as the Scar takes his leave.

[...]

Around the Story Tree

This quiet little clearing is home to soft grasses and bright flowers almost
      year-round.  Near the center stands the Story Tree.  The squat pine has 
      broad branches for sitting under, and a thick, climbable trunk for a 
      Garou to sit in.  Sharp, green needles can be found buried in the grass.
A pathway leads out to the northwest toward the Caern, and a much less-worn
      path leads into the forested foothills to the east.

Signe and Emma stand to the side while Taslyn and Dale prepare to fight out a
      challenge. The Get Jarl has the Get cub's hand held in hers, but for now 
      at least it's just a casual grip.

The fight is, as are all such donnybrooks between Garou, brutally short: while
      the pair of Garou are evenly matched insofar as agility is concerned, 
      it's quickly evident that Dale is both stronger and hardier. The pair of 
      combatants effectively trade blows, with the Fenrir weathering the 
      exchange better but not without suffering a badly broken nose that 
      showers blood all over one side of his face, and angry bruising along his 
      left ribs. The struggle ends, though, with Taslyn knocked senseless by 
      one particularly vicious punch, and though Dale stoops briefly to touch 
      fingertips to her throat, it's then that he relents, backing off to let 
      her heal, and to do the same.

Emma is doing her best to not watch, and the grip the other has on her hand is
      returned with a fierce tension. Her jaw remains clenched as she bobs one 
      of her feet against the ground in an angry fidget. When the Get has to 
      check the other for a pulse, she loses it, tugging hard to be freed from 
      her Elders hold - whether to run to the Fianna, or run away from the 
      whole thing, is unknown.

Scar pauses at the edge of the clearing as the two trade blows, watching with
      perked ears and a grim countenance. Only when things seem to be settling 
      down does he pad further in, circling around toward Signe.

Signe lets Emma go the moment Dale draws back. She takes a deep breath, as if
      the fattening mood has her easily riled up and she needs to make an 
      effort to calm herself after such a display. Shifting her weight, she 
      seems to succeed, glancing Dale's way. Scar's entrance goes unnoticed 
      until the Walker is almost directly in front of her. "Salem," she says, 
      somewhat surprised.

Taslyn is bloody as well, a rivulet coming from her mouth and puddling next to
      her. She's bruised up as well, purple showing around her eyes and on the 
      side of her head where Dale gave her a good hit. She still lies unmoving 
      on the ground.

Scar has to look up at Signe in this form, but still his posture and body
      language are dominant. He greets her with a high-pitched curtness and 
      then tells her that he needs to speak to her about the cub.

By the time Dale's stepped toward the tree, toward Emma and Signe, the bruising
      along his ribs has disappeared, and the bones in his nose have begun to 
      knit back together with a series of sickening pops. The young man touches 
      fingers to his face just to ensure that everything's still where it 
      belongs, and after another moment or two, lets his body dwindle back 
      towards his breed form. "She's got a good left," he remarks, idly, and in 
      oddly better humor.

Signe lifts her chin, seeming unsurprised. "Yeah, I thought you might," she
      grumbles out, jaw tightening for a moment. Looking past the Walker to her 
      own cub, and tribemate, she says, "Em, we'll do the ritual later. I 
      expect you'll---well, I'll be back later. Play nice, everybody." With 
      that, she gestures for the Walker to lead the way.

Emma moves towards the fallen Fianna once she is freed, dropping down and
      looking over her. Signe's voice gets a quick nod before she turns back to 
      her friend, letting out a heavy sigh through still clenched teeth.

Scar glances briefly toward the others, then stalks away from the Story Tree.

Bawn: Central Forest

The forest is dark and quiet. No, not quiet. Listening. The ancient firs rear
      up all around, branches interwoven in a dense roof of dark green. Fallen 
      needles lie in a thick carpet on the ground, heaped up around the drifts 
      of undergrowth clinging to the scarce patches of light reaching the 
      forest floor. Every sound seems muffled, and the sharp scent of pine 
      hangs in the air like the clouds of midges that swarm ceaselessly beneath 
      the branches. Even the many deer who roam here seem to step more quietly 
      than usual, and the songbirds seldom sing.
The forest spreads out around you in all directions.

Scar stops short once they're some distance from the tree and turns to face the
      Get; the Walker's in a piss-poor mood, restless and irritable. As usual, 
      he comes to the point quickly. You've seen more of him out here than I 
      have. What is your opinion?

Signe picks up on the mood quickly enough. It's not hard, and frankly Signe's
      not far behind him in mood anyway. With a sigh, she says, "Honestly? Just 
      a couple hours ago, he really pissed me off. Seems somebody gave him a 
      fat lip in a dominance squabble, and he was walking around her playing 
      'woe is me, I'm the Omega of the World." After a pause, she narrows her 
      eyes. "I hate whiners."

Scar snorts. That explains the mood I found him in a moment ago. Though he
      denied it.

Signe nods. "Yeah, he denied it to me, too. I asked Em if I was wrong. Not that
      I doubt myself, but sometimes--maybe--I'm a little quick to judge. She 
      agreed with me, though. For whatever it's worth." shrugging beneath her 
      jacket, she lifts her chin questioningly. "What did he say to you, 
      though? What's up?"

Scar snorts again. He's decided that he's definitely going to be killed in two
      days, that you're going to decide it and there's nothing he can do. Yet 
      he claims he's not giving up. Also, he says that his wolf problem is 
      getting worse, not better.

Signe's annoyance jumps a notch to moderately pissed off. Resting her hands
      briefly at her hips she says, "Fuck, Jack, I never said anything like 
      that to him. I just said I didn't like his whining like same spanked 
      whelp."

Scar's growl is thin and raspy, too high-pitched for the beast that it's coming
      out of. One step forward, two steps back. _Still_.

Signe doesn't argue the point, but she at least seems relieved the Walker's
      anger is not aimed at her. It's not fear that motivates that relief, but 
      comradary and respect, which becomes clear when she adds in a softer, 
      more sympathetic tone, "Maybe he's not meant to."

Scar's growl fades away; he looks in the direction of the caern, displeased,
      troubled. And we needed an Ahroun, too. ~Dammit.~

Signe follows Jack's gaze toward the caern, another long drawn breath let out
      in a sigh. "Have you talked to him about it? He doesn't want to give up, 
      but maybe we need to make the decision for him. OR, we could send him 
      somewhere."

Scar huffs. Like the Sept of the Green sent that bumbling Ragabash to _us_? No.

Signe isn't sure what the Walker is talking about, but also isn't sure it's
      relevant. she shakes her head. "No, I meant, send him somewhere to take 
      care of the problem. there's a right, to take the wolf from him, yes? 
      Just get it done, let him play kinfolk. Or something."

Scar glances at Signe, his eyes narrowed. He considers this, then chuffs. A
      possibility. Perhaps.

"Not an easy decision," The Get adds with a simple nod. "I know. Frankly,
      though, I'm not sure what else to do with him. The whole idea of...of not 
      figuring out the wolf is alien to me. Maybe I'm a freak, but I welcomed 
      it." Voice quieting, Signe adds, "Maybe a little too much."

Scar gives her an intent, curious look at the quiet tone of that last remark,
      and then he chuffs a dour kind of agreement. I know what you mean.

Signe clears her throat. "Figured you might," she says, more matter of factly.
      She returns his poignant look. "You may be a philo, but you weren't 
      /born/ one, were you?"

Dale, wearing the tattered remains of a white tee-shirt, heads out of the
      little clearing near the story tree and heads north across the bawn.

Scar watches Dale go by, then turns back to the Get. One ear quirks sideways.
      You know I wasn't.

Signe flashes a small grin. "Yeah. I know. So. What do you wanna do, Boss?"

Scar gives himself a brief, vigorous shake. Talk to the Wendigo bitch. Then to
      the cub himself. Then... we'll see.

Signe listens, then she nods. "The Wendigo chick? You still think she can help?"

Scar has no idea if she can help or not. Considering what's on the line, I'm
      willing to consider the idea that she might. As strange as it is to think 
      of a Wendigo being so helpful to a Glass Walker.

Signe laughs. It's a short little grunt, followed by a wipe across her mouth to
      hide the smirk. "Yeah, well, I think of it more like he's an ahroun, 
      she's an ahroun, and I'm an ahroun. Together, maybe, we can do something."

A flicker of -- envy? regret? -- passes briefly through the Walker Elder,
      almost too quickly to notice; if he'd been in a less-transparent form, 
      like homid, likely it wouldn't have been readable at all. More visibly, 
      he gives a dour snort and states that he hopes so.

Signe's not oblivious, but she does her best to hide the flicker of a wince in
      her expression. She and Salem are simply standing, talking quietly.

Scar rumbles again, the sound as gruff as the Jackal Voice allows, a kind of
      lupine clearing-of-the-throat.

Wrestles-Wolf near-silently pads his way along his usual patrol, quietly making
      his way through the Central Bawn. At the scent of the two elders he 
      stops, quite some distance away, before heading that direction instead. 
      He makes sure to stay clear of the two, hanging far back.

Signe catches sight of the cub, not allowing him to remain back. She gestures
      to him, waving him over. "Josh."

Scar turns around, spotting the cub as the Get calls to him. A grim stillness
      comes over the scarred Glass Walker; his mismatched eyes are so intent 
      that even the blind one seems to stare into the Ahroun cub.

Wrestles-Wolf paces over to the pair, making sure to hold himself deferantly.
      He's careful not to get too close to either, though. Yes, Storm-Rhya? He 
      questions as politely as he can muster.

Signe nods curtly to the cub. "Hey," she says, glancing quickly at Salem.
      Seeing him stoic, she pipes up, "Feeling better?"

Scar says nothing, though he continues to watch Joshua like a hawk.

Wrestles-Wolf chuffs slightly, looking to the elder curiously. Well enough,
      yes. His eyes start to wander to his Tribal elder, but stop short.

Signe can't help but look between both, brow furrowing as she tries to think of
      a way to facilitate more talking. "Salem tells me you think you're 
      problem--wolf problem--is getting worse. Is that true?"

Wrestles-Wolf doesn't say it, but his body language says it for him: he really
      doesn't want to talk about this. The cub hesitates for a moment, before 
      responding that wolf-heart was always stronger when he was in wolf. This 
      was expected, yes?

Scar utters a thin snerl, which he cuts off abruptly. What was expected is that
      time in this form would allow you to get used to it. To bring it into 
      your self, as other Garou do.

Signe's matching reaction is a bit less violent, at least. "No," she says to
      Wrestles, and then nods to Scar. "We thought it would help. You're the 
      only one who seems to think you're going to fail. Maybe that's your 
      problem."

Wrestles-Wolf replies that he is comfortable as wolf, and used to it being on
      four legs. He doesn't think the time was poorly spent, and while he is 
      nervous about two sunrises from now, he doesn't think he is going to 
      fail. He then adds that he still is all too aware of the consequences for 
      failure, and that is not a light thing to think of.

Scar's eyes narrow. Not long ago you were saying how the Wolf is getting
      stronger and hates two-leggers and the city.

Wrestles-Wolf's head ducks for a moment, before he bobs it back up: No point
      lying to a half moon. Yes Rhya, he agrees quietly, wolf-heart does not 
      much like the stone hive. He's quick to add after saying this that he and 
      Pierces-Ice-Rhya are not done yet.

Signe clears her throat, offering, "Bringing you out here was supposed to fix
      this dual personality of yours, not betray your tribe, Josh."

Scar makes a lupine gesture of agreement, displeased.

Wrestles-Wolf looks between the feet of both of them. Wolf-Heart did not like
      Stone-Hive before he was even out here, he attempts, and he has done 
      nothing to betray his tribe.

Scar snorts. To reject the city _is_ to betray your tribe, when you are a Glass
      Walker.

Signe smirks. "If I remember correctly, he liked his laptop well enough.
      Didn't, Salem?"

Wrestles-Wolf grows even more nervious, aware what was at stake. He doesn't
      hate the city at all, he tries with a little desperation, and wants to 
      return to cockroach place very badly.

Scar, already restless with the waxing moon -- _his_ moon, since he's no longer
      an Ahroun -- grows moreso. Make up your mind.

Signe steps back away from the pair, sensing the mood Scar is in. Her only
      addition to the conversation is to tell the cub, "You're not making a lot 
      of sense right now. Let me ask you one thing, has being out here helped 
      you with your control any? If we did take you back, could you handle it?"

Wrestles-Wolf scoots back as well, as Signe asks her questions. He doesn't
      stare at the Philodox, but is more than well aware of his presence. Yes, 
      being out here has helped. Finally the cub does afford Salem a quick 
      glance, before answering the second question very carefully: He's not 
      sure right now. If she asked in a day or two, he could say for sure.

Signe glances at Salem, shrugging one lifted shoulder.

Scar gathers up the reins of his temper and speaks again to the cub. There is a
      thing that can be done, instead of culling, should you turn out to be 
      unsuitable. We can take away your rage, your ability to shapeshift. You 
      will be like kinfolk in everything but who you can mate with.

Wrestles-Wolf scoots even further back away from the pair, head jerking from
      one to the other. He would have to consider this. It would be... not 
      something he would ask casually.

Scar huffs, breath puffing out in the cold air. I would have to consider, too.
      You could do much for the tribe in that way... _if_ you chose to. Rather 
      than spend days howling grief over your fate.

Signe folds her arms across her chest. The Get seems uneasy even talking about
      the idea, but she nonetheless nods to Scar, agreeing with him. "We'll 
      wait. See if you and Pierces Ice have any more success. We can talk more 
      about it then."

Wrestles-Wolf indicates once more that he would think about it to the two once
      more, before looking over his shoulder into the forest. If Scar and 
      Storm-Rhya would permit him, he needs to finish his patrol before he goes 
      back for lessons, so might he be dismissed?

Signe leaves that up to Scar completely. She looks to the Walker, letting her
      arms fall to their sides.

Wrestles-Wolf swiftly takes off on his path, heading along through the bawn to
      finish his patrol, not looking back to either elder.

Signe purses her lips. "I dunno about you, Jack, but I been out here almost all
      day, and I'm freezing my ass off. What say we poor Urrah head back to the 
      city?"

Scar agrees with the Get. Do you need a ride?

Signe gestures back toward the farmhouse. "I left my bike up at the lane. But,
      thanks. you want me to come to the mansion?"