"Or maybe you are charach and want to mate me. But if you try I will kill you."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:32 Pacific Time on Mon May 3 2004.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 73
      degrees Fahrenheit (22 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
      from the southwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.04 and 
      falling, and the relative humidity is 38 percent. The dewpoint is 46 
      degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (95% full).

Rainbow Lake(#2713RJ)

	Long and narrow, the lake stretches a mile to the north and south, right at
      the heart of the woodland. Tall, silver beech trunks mix with the even 
      taller evergreens and dominate the mountain valley. Where the canopy has 
      been broken by a fallen tree, a riot of brambles and nettles have 
      erupted, clinging to anything and everything and fighting for light among 
      the thick forest. Underfoot there is a deep bed of mulch and last year's 
      leaves, muffling any footfall.

	Other plants have found a foothold where the beeches make way for the line of
      water. The edges of the lake are overhung by a wall of dark myrtle, their 
      scent hanging sweet and heavy in the air, giving the place a dreamlike 
      quality. The waters of the lake itself are a clear, unruffled indigo, 
      dropping into bottomless darkness, with otherworldly reflections of the 
      sky floating above the depths. Rainbow flashes of light play about the 
      reeds and weeds that break the surface here and there, throwing colors 
      into the air.

	Part of the valley around the lakeside to the south is clear of trees, and
      often here in the brush and grass a small herd of three woods buffalo can 
      be seen.

Atcen, naked, has just finished swimming in the lake and now lies in the
      shallows, half-submerged still and in the shade.

The sound of a heavy wolfen sneeze rolls out along the breeze, announcing
      Untangler's entrance. The Ragabash pads through the thick mulch of the 
      forest out into the falling sunshine of the lake, but when he sees 
      someone in the water, he freezes in place, uncertain. After the sneeze, a 
      tentative, curious bark contains his name and the sparce information that 
      he's here.

A small ashen-coated wolf, Untangler is easily overlooked, especially in the
      winter. The sunlight melts through the leaves of trees and flows into and 
      matches with the flecks in his fur, hiding him from view. His skin hangs 
      loosely about him, like it's still waiting to be filled out. Untangler's 
      face presents a strange sight, his eyes are unusually low against his 
      muzzle for a wolf, and his muzzle itself is short and stubby, as if he'd 
      run smack into a wall. Long hairless lines like scars run from the inside 
      corners of his weak watery yellow eyes to his jaws.

Atcen sits up with the sound of splashing water, pale eyes widening. She stares
      at Untangler for a moment, then frowns. "Who are you? Do not know you." 
      The gaunt girl seems unconcerned over being unclothed in front of 
      witnesses. Not that there's much to see except ribs and bone.

Untangler pauses a moment, looking in Atcen's general direction but never quite
      at the naked girl. His paws raise and lower without taking him anywhere, 
      and ears flick in consternation. The small wolf spends another confused 
      moment, before rippling and popping up into his human skin. "I'm Horace," 
      he tries, stumbling only slightly, raising his head but lowering his 
      eyes, embarassment only heightened in this form, "Ragabash Cliath of the 
      Wendigo. He- hello."

Atcen peers at him with greater interest. "I am Atcen. Galliard cub of the
      Wendigo. Jacinta is my teacher." She rattles this off as if by rote, then 
      sinks back into the cold lake-water. "Are you homid or lupus?"

Horace remains where he stands, hands kneaded together awkwardly in front of
      him, looking but not looking down at the girl in the water. "Homid," he 
      answers, slowly and smoothly, embarassment not showing through in his 
      voice at least. "I come from the Old Cone Sept, in Idaho. I hope to join 
      the Hidden Walk, though."

Atcen's brow furrows. "Idaho?"

Horace's brow furrows as well, not understanding the question. "Yes, Idaho," is
      the boy's simple answer. After a brief hesitation and a few false starts, 
      he begins to artfully pick his way down towards the water, stepping high, 
      so that he doesn't have to talk as loud.

Horace's wide eyes droop like soggy flowers, long epicanthal folds drawing
      lines down away from them, as if they were canals furrowed by tears. His 
      nose is flat and thick, and his mouth always seems to hang slightly open: 
      he looks very much like he has Downs syndrome. At 5'6" the muscle which 
      hangs tonelessly from him doesn't do much to cut him as an intimidating 
      figure. Horace is in his late teens but looks years younger due to his 
      stunned, innocent, deer-caught-in-the-headlights face. The clothes he 
      wears tend to be mismatched and poorly fitting, like a hurricane had 
      rolled through a traditional Nez Perce pow-wow and a Gap store, and 
      deposited what it had gathered on his shoulders.

Atcen sits up again, watching the boy with intent, curious blue eyes. "Where is
      that?"

Horace comes to a quick halt when he hears the splashing which accompanies
      Atcen's change of position, and he freezes a moment, like he's been 
      caught. "It's ah," he says, slowly, taking his time over each word, "it's 
      east." He lifts his gaze off away from the low-hanging sun, as if to 
      check to make sure his sept's still that way, somehow. "Holly's told me a 
      lot about you," Horace says, delicately, quietly as the distance will 
      allow.

Atcen pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them. Her expression is still
      brow-furrowed-confused as she watches Horace. "What did she say?"

Horace considers for a long time how to answer that, turned mostly away from
      Atcen and looking into the breeze. "She speaks really highly of you," the 
      Ragabash finally confides. "She looks up to you a lot. I've been looking 
      forward to meeting you."

Atcen grins, showing off yellowish teeth. It's a rather ghastly expression in
      her gaunt face. "She did?" The grin the fades. "Why do you look not at 
      me? You act like I am your alpha, not looking at me."

Horace artlessly explains, sounding very young indeed, "Well, you're naked."
      After a few seconds of hesitation though the boy stoically raises his 
      placid face to Atcen's, across which a small shudder flits as he does so. 
      He plants his feet down, looking quite determined not to close the 
      distance any further.

Atcen's frown deepens. "Is that wrong? You are not _human_. Holly told me that
      you cannot go naked with _humans_ but you're _Garou_."

Horace answers, "It's not wrong, it's just weird." He's looking Atcen full in
      the face, now, not knowing where else to put his eyes. There's little 
      challenge there, though, not with the awkward and uncomfortable way his 
      sagging skin's all pulled up.

"Why?" the cub demands, standing up now and dripping. Oh, look. There's grass
      in the field. Though if Atcen _was_ a field, she'd be the kind of dusty 
      wasteland that causes farmers to flee in rickety Model-T Fords, a la 
      _Grapes of Wrath_. Great if you like Kate Moss, but generally... well. 
      Not appealing.

Horace's eyes go up quickly when Holly stands, just about the only thing the
      boy's been able to do with any sort of speed since he got here. They 
      wander now vaguely over the sky. "Well," he says, rusted gears turning, 
      the Ragabash putting serious and visible effort into his answer, "well, 
      because - just because. Because - because that's not the way it's 
      _done_." All in all, once he finally gets it out, he seems rather pleased 
      with his answer, though he still remains with his head straight up.

Atcen folds her arms across her chest. "When Leonard tell me and Holly to get
      stones, I take off clothes so I can carry rocks. Leonard did not say it 
      was wrong. No one say it was wrong."

Horace's clunky mind struggles to come up with some sort of retort for this. He
      stands firmly planted a ways off from Atcen, looking up into the sky to 
      avoid seeing her, looking something like a sunflower, an ugly, ugly 
      sunflower. "It's not _wrong_," he returns to. "It's just _weird_. I'm not 
      saying you shouldn't; just, I can't - just, you know."

Atcen snorts. "I think you are stupid," she says, sitting down in the water
      again. She hugs her knees to her chest and scowls at Horace. "Or maybe 
      you are charach and want to mate me. But if you try I will kill you."

Kills-Wisely comes loping up from the direction of the cave on the bluff, his
      intent becoming quickly apparent as he runs up to drink from the cold 
      waters. He apparently finds nothing wrong currently, as he makes no 
      comments, verbal or otherwise.

Horace stands very still for a few moments, head moving slightly; but when he
      finally lowers his head most of his former embarassment is gone, or at 
      least pushed aside. "I think," he answers her slowly, "you forget your 
      place, cub."

Atcen's scowl deepens. With a swift, abrupt movement, she gets up again, takes
      two or three leaping steps deeper into the water, and then dives, 
      disappearing under the surface. The metis swims like an otter, appearing 
      briefly before diving down again, heading for the center of the lake.

Horace returns Atcen's scowl in kind, though it sits oddly on his face, making
      him look somewhere between pathetic and silly. He watches her until she 
      slips underwater and then he collapses onto the grass like a puppet whose 
      strings have been cut. He slips his hands under his head and looks up at 
      the sky.

Atcen surfaces again, now close to the center and deepest part of the lake. She
      can be seen floating there, heedless of the cliaths on land.