It is currently 18:46 Pacific Time on Fri May 28 2004.
From afar, to the room, Jacinta notes that we've been longrunning about 10
hours a day for the past week and a half or so to get here. So. Tired is
the word of the hour.
The Yukon and Kuskokwim rivers dominate the landscape of Yukon Delta. The
rivers form a treeless, wetland plain, an intricate maze of lakes, ponds,
and meandering streams. Bordering the expanse of tundra and wetlands are
2.5 million acres of forest and shrub habitat, and uplands sporting
mountains more than 4000 feet high.
At the base of one of these mountains, along its western edge, lies a spring
fed lake of clear water. The mountain itself seems to jut directly
skyward from the edge of the lake, but at the southern end the climb is
more gradual, and a faint, well maintained trail can be found. Most of
the mountain is covered by low growing willow bushes, though about
halfway up these begin to thin. A large clearing sports a cairn of
stones. At the edge of the clearing, almost hidden amidst the willows,
lies the entrance to a small cave.
In a pink flowered brown quspuq stands a woman who may have once been a beauty
among her people. Now her round, flat face is worn and weathered by the
years. Deep wrinkles, and more than one scar, crease her brown skin, but
there is still a strong fire burning in her eyes. Her hair is mostly
white, a stark contrast to her dark skin and eyes, and it hangs loose
about her shoulders. Her right hand is gnarled and twisted, and she holds
it close to her body.
Pierces Ice leads the cubs on the final length of their long-run, panting as
she stops by the side of a large oblong lake, its waters clear and smooth
as glass. Now, as through the entire trip, she does not spare a backward
glance. If the cubs are ready, they are still with her. If they have
fallen behind, they have already failed. She drinks deeply of the water
of the lake, and waits.
Turtle is in the rear. The young theurge was always thin, but after ten days of
long-running she looks even rangier. Threadbare and tired, panting, she
makes the last twenty feet at a walk instead of run when she sees Pierces
Ice stopped at the lake. Only after the ahroun is done drinking does she
make it to the lake to take a drink herself.
Atcen has managed to keep up with her elder, though the semi-feral metis shows
signs of fatigue by now. It's her will that keeps her going as much as
her legs now. All through the run, she's kept an eye on Turtle, and no
matter how far ahead Jacinta gets, the young galliard is unwilling to
pull too far ahead of her theurge 'sister'. Though she has no breath for
encouraging howls, she waves her tail at Turtle as, with her, she
approaches the lake to drink.
Pierces Ice is tired as well, though it was she who set the pace, so has fared
somewhat better. When the cubs have drunk their fill, she gives them each
an encouraging glance and walks around the lake's southern side, back
east toward the small mountain at it's edge.
Turtle, when she'd drunk her fill, had settled to the ground looking weary and
tired. Atcen's encouraging tail garnered a similar one in response--the
theurge doggedly and tenaciously determined. As soon as Pierces Ice
resumes moving, she is on her feet, albeit a little slowly and stiffly,
padding behind the ahroun and beside her 'sister'. There is a curious
flick of the ear as she eyes the mountain.
Pierces Ice pages to the room: For Atcen's benefit, the weather today is mostly
cloudy, 43 degrees. There is no darkness, but the sun officially sets at
midnight and rises at 5. (;
You paged the room with '43 degrees, yay! I like this place already. :P :)'.
Turtle pages to the room: Nice balmy day for the metis. :)
Atcen lolls her tongue and gives Turtle a friendly, if tired, glance. She, too,
seems curious about the mountain but asks no questions. She's pleased to
be walking instead of running, though; that much is clear.
Pierces Ice leads the cubs around to the southern edge of the mountain,
sniffing here and there until she finds the beginnings of the trail
upward. The climb is gradual, but stiff and sore muscles still feel the
ache of the upward travel. It's only a thousand feet above where they
began, perhaps 1500, before they reach the level clearing surrounded by
willow bushes. At the far edge, nestled into the next rise of the
mountain, lies a small cave. Kneeling just within sight, eyes closed as
though in meditation, sits an old woman. Her white hair falls loosely
about her shoulders, and she seems not to have yet noticed the arrival of
the wolves.
Turtle once again brings up the rear. The climb had dulled the theurge's
enthusiasm, but the moment her yellow-gold eyes spy the wizened old woman
she comes alive again. Ears alert and nose working the air, she comes to
a stop even with Pierces Ice. Those curious eyes do not look away from
the woman, however.
Atcen comes along Jacinta's other side, so that the two cubs flank the cliath.
Her ears cock backwards, her tail lowering warily. She glances sidelong
at the Ahroun.
Pierces Ice sits back on her haunches, her tail curling around her side.
Tipping her muzzle back, she howls a warm greeting to one not seen in far
too long. The howl lingers and then diminishes, and Jacinta walks her
forepaws forward until she lies, sphinxlike, at the edge of the clearing.
Agnes Tonuchuk continues to sit with eyes closed. She shows no sign that she
has heard the howl, or is aware of the presence of the others.
Turtle, confused, offers Atcen a glance that seems to ask if the other cub
knows what's going on. Before the other can answer, the theurge decides
to pad forward to where Pierces Ice lies. The theurge chuffs, nosing the
ahroun while her eyes remain fixed elsewhere--on the unmoving old woman.
Is she alright? she asks.
Atcen has no answers for Turtle and seems just as bemused. Lying down next to
Pierces the Ice, she watches the old woman carefully.
Pierces Ice turns her head to look at Turtle, jaw dropping open slightly in
amusment. Wait. She tests your patience.
Agnes Tonuchuk's good hand rests on her thigh. Her right, twisted and withered,
is held close to her abdomen. Watching her with lupine senses, her
breaths come slowly and evenly, but still she makes no move to
acknowledge the cubs.
Oh, is Turtle's response, ears lying back with faint embarrassment. Like Ice
and Atcen, she now settles to the ground as well to continue her watch.
Now, though, she makes no sound or movement, content to wait.
Atcen remarks, quietly but rather cockily, that she can do patience, and she
demonstrates this by laying her head down between her forepaws and
relaxing. Ears and nose remain alert, though the eyelids drift somewhat
closed.
Pierces Ice licks her nose and quirks an ear amusedly. She shifts slightly,
relieving pressure on sore joints, and settles in to wait.
When all has been still for several moments, the old woman's eyes pop open and
with surprising agility for one of her obvious years, she jumps to her
feet directly from her knees. "Nav'pagtuq Evunek! Camai'i! Ciin?"
Turtle's tongue comes out, lolling in amusement at Atcen's cockiness. But even
as it does, the woman comes alive, and the theurge's ears lay flat back
and she skitters backwards a step or two before forcing her sore legs to
freeze in place. Hackles raised, she remains crouched and uncertain, but
at least she's not backing up or running away anymore. She faces the
woman, feet planted, head low, and tail high.
Atcen stiffens, her eyes snapping wide open and her ears going sharply forward.
She sits up quickly, bristling with startlement.
Pierces Ice snorts at the startled cubs, and then rises herself, shifting
upward to Homid as she does. She brushes a hand against the cub on each
side as she stands, and then leaves her hands outward to gesture at them
both. "Waqaa, Teacher. Quyana. These are the cubs in my care. Atcen, born
under the gibbous moon, and Turtle, born under the knife moon."
Turtle recovers her composure, as well as her dignity, and makes her way back
to Jacinta's side. She stands there, remaining in lupus for the moment,
and greets the Teacher with a respectful lupus 'nod' of the head.
Agnes Tonuchuk steps forward, gazing appraisingly at the cubs as Jacinta
mentions each. Her gaze returns to Atcen, eyes narrowing with something
that may be disapproval, but it disappears as she smiles warmly at
Jacinta. "Student," she says, taking Jacinta's cue and shifting to
English. "It is good to see you again, and well." As she walks across the
small clearing, she skirts around the edge of a small cairn of stones and
holds out her good hand to the Cliath.
Atcen pushes to her paws and gives herself a shake; her ears flatten at the old
woman's disapproving look, and though her head lowers, there's a stormy
look in her ice-pale eyes. She slips around the Ahroun in order to come
alongside Turtle, and she brushes against the smaller cub.
Turtle leans in heavily against the galliard, but it's not so much fatigue as
it is reassurance at the other cub's disquiet. Yet those yellow-gold eyes
remain fixed on the round faced old woman, transfixed.
Jacinta catches the look the elder gives to Atcen, and her mouth tightens
briefly, though she says nothing. When the older woman looks back to her,
she also smiles, and the kinship bonds between the two are obvious. She
steps forward and takes her teacher's hand in both of her own, bowing her
head. "They are ready. Will you perform the Rite?"
Agnes Tonuchuk gives each of the cubs another look, lingering again on Atcen.
"She is metis?"
Atcen
This not-quite fully adult wolf bitch is a starved, unhealthy-looking beast,
too tall for her scant flesh. Her dry, unkempt pelt, light gray,
stretches tight over bone and muscle and sinew, showing clearly the jut
of ribs and spine and hip. Large paws, each toe tipped with a blunt,
yellowish claw, suggest that Atcen has yet more growing to do.
Within her long muzzle are needle-sharp fangs that have an unhealthy yellowish
hue, and from deep sockets within her lean wolven head burn pale blue
eyes, cold as the frost.
Atcen touches her muzzle to Turtle's, slightly above, all the while staring at
the old woman, her body language a mixture of rebellion and courtesy, of
defiance and submission-to-elders.
The bond the two cubs share becomes clear when it is Turtle who answers the old
woman's question. She is Wendigo, the theurge says in the lupine body
language, her head lifting up.
Jacinta releases the elder's hand and steps back before answering. Turning away
from the cub, Jacinta smiles at Holly's response. "She is," she answers,
comporting herself more seriously now. "She is also ready to become
adult." Her head is lowered, but her eyes rise to search the face of the
elder. "Will you perform the Rite?"
Agnes Tonuchuk nods once. "Ii," she says to Jacinta. Then, turning to Holly and
Atcen she says, "I am Agnes Tonuchuk, Athro Philodox of the Wendigo.
Yup'ik by birth. My Yup'ik name is Cirraq. My Wendigo name is Old White
Fox, Qiiq Kaviaq, in the language of my people. I was Nav'pagtuq Evunek's
teacher when she was called Seal Mittens. I was her father's teacher. I
fought beside Fancy Tom when the beast came to the Yukon. I fought beside
Long Spear when the qussaq's tried to take the salmon. I am old, but I
still know the ways. Will you have me as your Rite Master?" Any trace of
concern or disapproval about Atcen's birthright have been hidden or
washed away. Now she stands only as the Athro, waiting for their answer.
Turtle listens to the introduction, her gaze and head lowering slightly with
each named deed. And yet, it's 'Seal Mittens' that she most responds to.
There is a look she shares with Atcen, vast amusement in her eyes as she
glances surreptitiously at Jacinta. Eventually, however, the theurge cub
answers, confidently, in the affirmative. I will.
Atcen cocks her head; she's still rather wary of the old woman and answers with
a huff, echoing her sister-cub. I will.
Jacinta's brow creases, and there is a sharp intake of breath when her cub name
is mentioned. Still, she seems both relieved and pleased when the pair
accept her teacher as Rite Master.
Agnes Tonuchuk smiles, and gestures toward the cave with her good hand.
"Assirrtuq. A meal has been prepared for you. Rest and eat, and this
evening we will begin."
Agnes Tonuchuk turns to Jacinta, then. "You must go see to your own hunting.
You have taught them. You have called them ready. Now you must leave
them. Let them return to you adult or not at all." She gives a vague wave
of her gnarled hand out over the open tundra. "Go. We'll find you when
they return."
Food. The athro couldn't have said anything more welcome. The theurge cub darts
for the cave opening despite sore and weary limbs. Not until she's inside
does she realize Jacinta's been sent away.
Atcen's ears perk up at mention of food, though the fact that Jacinta's going
away dampens her enthusiasm a little. She gives the Ahroun a look, then
as grown-up-brave as possible, wishes her farewell and follows Turtle
into the cave.
Jacinta bows again to Old White Fox, and then turns and offers a warm smile to
Atcen. "Assirpaa. Do well, Atcen." She smiles, too, for Turtle, though
the other cub is far too busy with food to hear her words of well
wishing. Shifting back into lupus, she does as she has been told, and
lopes off down the hill to find her own dinner.
After several hours, and much good food (dried salmon, seal oil, agutaq, moose
stew, fresh berries, fresh salmon, and more) Old White Fox returns to the
cave. The sun has just begun to fall, now sitting about 30 degrees above
the horizon. "Are you ready? Rested? Fed?"
Atcen has ravenously eaten all of her share and whatever of Holly's that the
theurge isn't able to consume, if any. The bottomless stomach as usual,
and as hungry as her namesake. In homid form now, she glances sidelong at
Holly for confirmation and then nods to the athro. "Yes, Old White Fox
Rhya."
Holly finished eating long before Atcen and readily gave up what was left to
the ravenous metis' appetite. When the athro returns, the theurge is
curled up, still asleep, but it only takes a nudge to get her up. She
nods in time with Atcen's response, though her verbal words come late.
"Yes. Ready."
Agnes Tonuchuk nods once and turns away from the mouth of the cave. She begins
walking down the path the cubs came up only hours ago. Under one arm, she
carries a rolled grass mat, which seems to have other items concealed
within.
Holly falls in behind the athro much as she did behind Jactina. As they leave
the cave, she reaches a hand out to find the gaunt, thin hand of the
metis. This time, apparently, it's the theurge who needs the reassurance.
The tuch is brief, and then Holly's chin lifts and she walks on.
Atcen follows, padding along tall and straight on bare feet that have never
worn shoes. Her fingers close around Holly's, and she gives the other
girl a reassuring squeeze and then a brief, sudden, yellow-toothed grin.
Agnes Tonuchuk leads the two all the way down the mountain to the edge of the
lake at which they drank earlier today. Farther east along its shore from
where they were before, there is a wide, flat, muddy beach. Here the old
woman opens her grass mat and places it carefully by the water's edge.
Ever curious, Holly watches the old woman unfold the mat as if she expected
great secrets to fall out of its rolled up contents. Her eyes scarcely
move from the athro's handiwork. "Can I help?" she asks.
Atcen shifts her weight from foot to foot, restlessly.
Old White Fox takes several small items and places them in the pocket of her
quspuq. She smiles at Holly but shakes her head and then kneels on the
woven grass mat by the edge of the Clear Water Lake. "Come children. Sit
with me a while." Her voice, like her eyes, belie her age. It is strong,
with a hint of violence just beneath the surface. In her good hand she
holds a knife carved long ago from bone or ivory. The blade is about ten
inches long, and the entire length shows the imprint of ancient carvings.
The glyphs are not those made common by the Fianna. Still, they tug at
racial memory, and obvious symbols for wolf and man are easily spotted.
Holly moves a bit closer and folds her legs beneath her to sit. She brushes a
bit of the muddy snad of the beach off her hands as she settles, letting
out a quiet breath.
Atcen blinks, peering at the knife with interest as she pads forward to kneel
on the mat. She chews solemnly on her lower lip.
The elder holds the blade flat against the surface of the mud before her, and
shifts slowly, smoothly, into Glabro. ~You will leave here children, and
return, full born, as adults of the Wendigo.~ The knife in her hand
zig-zags across the thick mud, smoothing it almost like icing on a cake.
~Are you ready?~
Atcen's jaw firms. She nods. ~I am ready, elder.~
Holly's eyes also flicker over the dagger, the glyphs studied hungrily. She
adds a nod to Atcen's, her voice joining the galliard's. "I am ready."
With the knife, Old White Fox begins to draw a picture. The drawings are
symbolic, rather than realistic, much of it like the glyphs on the knife
itself. As the figures begin to take shape, she speaks. ~Agupak was the
alpha of his pack. Strong, wise, and full of heart. He had sired many
fine pups, and always there was food and safety for his pack. Agupak
himself was kin to the Athabaskan Wendigo, and in his third season as
alpha one of his pups bred true.~
Atcen leans forward slightly, watching the figures take shape in the mud, the
story immediately catching her interest.
Holly's lips thin into a smile. she too leans forwarded, watching and listening.
Continuing on with the story, the elder smoothes over the drawings and begins
fresh. ~Agupak's pack called home the lands around Kichatna Mountains.
They were the heart of the wolves of south central.~ With one stroke, she
wipes out the previous drawings, leaving a blank slate. ~But, something
had changed. Agupak took his family away from Kichatna, away from the
safety he had known in the qussaq preserve.~
Atcen's brow furrows.
Holly looks from the blank slate to the athro, trying to read in her eyes
what's not in the mud anymore.
Silent for a moment, the elder concentrates on her drawing. A wolf, crafted
with the thin blade of the knife. Unlike the previous works, this is
finely detailed and realistic. When it is complete, she sits back a bit,
resting her knife hand on her knee, and looks from Holly to Atcen and
back again. Suddenly, with a quick strike of the knife, the picture of
the wolf is slashed in half. ~He is no more. Agupak was beyond the
boundaries white men allow, and killed so they could wear his skin.~
Atcen's lips peel away from her greyish gums and yellowed teeth, her nose
wrinkling in a silent snarl.
Holly grimaces, teeth clenched and lips pursed. It's not an unfamiliar story to
any Native American, however, and the anger she expresses is more dull
frustration than anything else.
Once more the woman clears the slate with the flat of the blade. Once more she
begins to draw in the stylized manner. ~The pack survives. Lessened by
the death of the alpha, hungry, and alone. They, too, hunt now beyond the
lines of protection, and soon may be no more.~ The knife cuts a
meandering path behind the glyphs representing the wolf pack. ~But they
are kin to the Athabaskan, kin to Wendigo. They must return home.~
Holly agrees with this sentiment by nodding. Her eyes remain on the knife,
fascinated by the way the old athro so fluidly draws with the blade.
Atcen looks from the mud to the athro. ~Is that our task? To lead them home?~
Old White Fox raises her eyebrows in a quick affirmative gesture familiar to
those who know Jacinta. An arc is drawn, wrapping around the wolf glyphs,
and back behind the deeper cut. ~The Wendigo of Athabaskan lands fight
the Horned Serpent who tries to build a lair within their homelands. They
cannot spare any warriors for this task. So, I give it to you. Bring them
back to their lands, to hunt in the shadows of Kichatna, between the
forks of the Yentna River. Bring our kin to safe lands, and return to us
Cliath.~
Holly's smile redoubles as the athro affirms Atcen's question. "No problem,"
she says, in the way that only the young and untried ever can. Sharing
another confident and eager look with Atcen, she nods.
Atcen nods as well and is also smiling. ~Thank you for this task, elder,~ she
says with pleasure.
The elder nods once, and places the blade at her side. She uses her left hand
and the forearm of her withered right to remove all trace of the drawings
one final time. Then, she casts her gaze upon the still surface of the
lake, staring intently at her reflection until she passes into the umbra.
~Come,~ she says before she moves through the gauntlet.
Holly retakes the four-legged form before following the elder across the
gauntlet.
Atcen shifts to wolf-form, her tail lifting slightly as she moves into the
Umbra.
It never truly gets dark, realmside, in this place, at this time of year. But
the sun has set, and the moon is round. Though the shadows are deep in
this part of the umbra, there is still moonlight enough for clear sight.
The elder stands by the side of the umbral lake, a raven gaffling on her
shoulder. ~This path,~ she says, with a gesture to one of several
brightly lit ways, ~will take you where you need to be. Cimuq will watch
you go. Stay to the path, it is summer, and many things hide along the
way.~
Atcen chuffs assent and starts to go, then stops and asks: Elder, you know this
land and we do not. Is there any advice you would give us?
Turtle gets her bearings once across. The oddly long and deep shadows both
unnerve and excite the young theurge, her attention darting all around so
that the elder's warning is almost unheard. Almost. Ears laid back, she
chuffs her understanding and looks at Atcen before falling in beside the
other cub.
Agnes Tonuchuk smiles at Atcen's question. ~Trust that which you can feel.
Luna's children are fickle, and Cimuq is a child of Raven. He will do his
best to watch over you, but Raven has ever been a trickster.~ She
gestures with her chin, and the raven on her shoulder takes wing,
circling over the heads of the two cubs.
Turtle's ears splay, the elder's words doing little to give her more
confidence. Still, she heads out onto the path without hesitation now.
Atcen acknowledges this, then ducks her head to the elder, glances back at
Holly with a wave of her tail, then sets off down the path.
The deep shadows on either side of the path seem occasionally to shift and
move. Eyes blink from within the darkness, and the breadth of the path
narrows at points such that only one may pass at a time.
Once again the theurge's hackles rise along her back, but for the most part she
keeps her eyes on the path and stays close to the galliard.
Atcen slips into the lead as the path narrows. Though tense, she manages to
keep some semblence of calm as she pads along.
The path bends and twists, at points climbing steeply, and at others seeming to
almost allow freefall. Still the deep shadows hold menace, and sounds of
chittering can be heard just beyond the light of the path.
Turtle's ears twist and cock at each sound. Her muzzle lifts to the strange
Umbral sky, looking for the raven-guide, on occasion. Chuffing to get
Atcen's attention, she asks, Do you really think this will be as easy as
it sounds?
Atcen snorts. I don't think that _anything_ is ever as easy as it sounds, and
if it was going to be easy, it wouldn't be a good test. The wolves may
not listen to us. There might be humans and we will have to be careful
not to break the Laws.
Right, Turtle answers. Simple. Her tongue lolls at her own joke, determined to
ease the tension as much as she can.
Without warning, the ground begins to shake. It doesn't start out slowly and
build, it jerks with the suddenness of falling out of bed. The chittering
increases, joined by a squeal which was either delight or horror, or
perhaps a mixture of both. Turtle is thrown to the side, her feet losing
contact with the path of light. Atcen, though still on her feet, is
unbalanced as well.
Atcen, snarling, shifts into her birth form, remaining on all fours. Ears
flattening, she peers into the gloom.
Turtle scrambles with the sudden jolt, letting out a yelp of surprise. The
wolf's claws try to dig into the light-path to hold on even as she loses
her balance and falls. With the dark shadows all around now, the theurge
moves as quickly as possible to get back.
Their owner unseen, a trio of sharp claws tears into Turtle's haunch, pincers
grab at her lower leg and pull. Above, the raven spirit caws distress.
Turtle's yelp this time is pain, not surprise. It redoubles and then becomes a
snarl. The pitch of her voice deepens considerably, a clear indication
that the lups has shifted to hispo. While she continues to dig forward
through the dark to once again find the path, her massive wooly head
spins and snaps sharp teeth at whatever deigns to pull at her lower leg.
Atcen, regaining her balance, snaps her head around at the sound of Turtle's
yelp. Plunging into the darkness in that direction, she calls Turtle's
name.
Turtle's teeth find purchas on something that tastes absolutely foul. At once
hairy and chittenous, she pierces an outer shell to release an oozing
fluid. In response, the pincer grasp on her leg tightens, and a high
pitched keening comes from the darkness. Atcen's voice is easily heard,
and the faint light spilling from the path make it possible to pick out
Holly's position.
Turtle does her best to ignore the pain and the foulness of the thing. She
snaps again to get more of a hold and then attempts to wrench the
pinchers free. A growl is all she has time to use to answer Atcen, but
it's loud enough the galliard should hear it.
Atcen snarls. She can't _see_ what's holding Turtle, but she guesses accurately
enough that _something_ is, and with teeth bared she darts forward at it,
claws lashing out at the shadows.
Simultaneously, both cubs strike at the same appendage, already damaged by
Holly's first attack. With a sudden jolt, Turtle falls away from whatever
it was in the darkness, pressure somehow no less on her leg. The keening
becomes a roar of anger and agony, and there is a sense that whatever it
is, is much larger than the parts already encountered.
Atcen wastes no time, then, in grabbing hold of the other cub and pulling her
back toward the path, toward the light. ~Hurry, hurry.~
Turtle, jerked forward by the sudden release, once again throws all her power
into scrambling back to the path of light. Atcen has no need to urge her
to hurry. She pulls, pushes, shoves and yes dragged by the other cub as
fast as she can move.
Back in the light, the cubs can see that the pincers and almost a foot of the
arm to which they are attached remain holding fast to Holly's hind leg.
The roar behind them increases, and above, the caw of Cimuq grows even
more distressed.
Turtle's eyes widen at the sight of the 'hand' still clutching her leg. Ignore
it, she tells Atcen, already moving further down the path. Move now,
release it later. The Wendigo cub would rather be elsewhere, as soon as
possible it seems.
Atcen snaps her jaws in irritation. ~Can you run with that? If not, go wolf and
I'll carry you.~
[...]
Only plants adapted to long, cold winters and short growing seasons can survive
in this subarctic wilderness. Permafrost ground underlies most of this
area, where only a thin layer of topsoil is available to support life.
Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in North America is otherwise known as
Denali, an Athabaskan Indian name meaning the "The High One". The
surrounding peaks of the 600-mile long Alaska Range are no less
impressive than McKinley itself, and provide the scenic backdrop to the
six million acres of pristine wilderness that make up Denali National
Park. From the Alaska Ranges perpetually snow covered flanks glaciers
flow radially, spilling out of the mountains like ribbons of ice.
Descending down from the realm of rock, snow and ice, you encounter open
tundra expanses dotted with small lakes and ponds, remnants of a glacier
covered landscape. Large turbid glacial rivers, run in wide, braided
floodplains with clear water streams flowing in from lower tundra covered
hills north to the Yukon River or south to the Susitna River. At lower
elevations in the park the boreal forest, a mixed spruce forest with
aspen and birch, winds its way up into valleys and along river corridors.
The interior mountains support complex and diverse habitats resulting
from variation in elevation, geology, slope, and exposure.
When last we saw our heros ...
Flying above the fleeing Garou, a raven spirit keeps a wary eye and
occasionally repeats its call, half angry, half distressed. Turtle runs,
but not as quickly as she otherwise would, her hind leg seeming to have
an added appendage, and the wound along her flank, though not too
serious, still causes pain. Atcen keeps close to her 'sister' Garou,
protective even as they run. After an unknown distance, the moon path
seems to become wider and more level, with fewer turns. Cimuq flies
lower, and seems less aggitated.
Turtle slows from her out and out desperate and frantic headlong run to
something more of dogged, determined pace. Then, even that slows. She
favors her injured limb and side, and when it becomes truly clear that
she can stop without being overcome, she does so, lying down away from
the wound and panting.
Atcen lopes along close to Turtle, often giving her a worried look. She stops
when the other does and hunkers down to inspect the pincer attached to
Turtle's leg. ~Got to get this off.~
Turtle turns her head to sniff at it as well, her teeth showing in a display of
distaste. ~Yes,~ she agrees, and while Atcen looks for a way to get it
off, the theurge attempts to clean the wound on her haunch. ~Remind me
not to joke like that again.~
Atcen's ears skew confusedly. ~Joke like what?~ the metis asks.
The pincer is about two inches wide where it closes about Turtle's leg, that
segment about 7 inches long altogether. A joint behind the pincer
connects a length of chittenous 'arm' about a foot long before a jagged
break, still leaking a greenish yellow, foul smelling fluid.
Turtle licks tentatively at her backside. ~Just before I fell. I was joking
about how easy....nevermind,~ she eventually says, ears splaying as she
gives her sister an apologetic look. Her eyes move to the foul yellow
discharge of the severed arm, a growl escaping her throat. ~Can you pull
the pinchers apart?~
~Oh! That!~ Atcen had, apparantly, forgotten in all the excitement. She grins
toothily and then focusses on the pincer. ~I think so. If not, I bet I
can break the joint and _that_ should get it off.~ That said, she does
indeed try to pull the pincer-claws apart.
Atcen, after a moment's study, grumbles. ~Stupid Wyrmthing.~ She glances at
Holly. ~Lie still. This might hurt, though I hope not.~ Gritting her
teeth, she takes hold of the pincers and pulls. It takes some effort and
the teeth on the inside bite into the Galliard's hands, but eventually it
cracks apart and the Theurge's leg is free.
Turtle grimaces with the effort, but when freed offers a grateful whine to her
sister. The leg is inspected, and licked clean as much as possible before
the theurge tries to stand again. Stiff, sore, and limping a bit, she
tests it by walking.
Atcen throws the offending Wyrm-limb off into the darkness with a snarl and
licks the bleeding punctures on her hands. The wounds don't seem all that
serious, though, and she's more concerned with Turtle's health. ~How is
it?~
Turtle looks down at the leg. She can move well enough--if not nearly as well
as before. ~Hurts,~ she tells Atcen, and then promises, ~But, I'll keep
up.~
Atcen nods and glances up, looking for Cimuq.
Cimuq circles ahead and gives an impatient caw. Just beyond where he waits, the
moon path forks. A smaller, though brighter path lies off to the right,
and that seems to be where Cimuq is leading.
Turtle dips her head and is the first to head for the new path, following the
bird as if she felt she needed to prove what she had just said.
The path doesn't extend much beyond the fork itself. It turns once, or twice,
but not long after the fork is out of sight behind them, the path ends
and the young Garou are left in the deeply shadowed umbra. Cimuq sits on
a branch nearby, and there is a sense of rigidity about this place, very
different from the umbra of the caern. Trees seem almost to grow in rows,
branches forming at right angles to the trunks and to each other. A
narrow dirt pathway runs north to south not far away, a wooden bridge
along it's course crossing a slow moving stream.
Turtle doesn't seem to want to walk off the end of that lightpath. Her ears lay
back on her head as if to suggest just that. And yet, there is
determination in her eyes as they search the deep, shadowed land before
them.
Atcen
This dire wolf bitch's appearance harkens back to the Ice Age, to a time of
endless ice and snow and famine. Around five feet tall at the shoulder,
Atcen is a whip-thin killing machine with a dry, unkempt pelt of light
gray that's stretched tight over bone and muscle and sinew; she's a
creature without spare flesh or fat. Huge paws, each one armed with
viciously sharp claws, suggest that she still has more growing to do.
Within her long, powerful muzzle are needle-sharp fangs that have an unhealthy
yellowish hue; her claws are the same color. From deep sockets within the
brutish wolven face burn pale blue eyes, cold as the frost.
She's winter's own pup -- a gaunt, hungry beast of winter.
Atcen cautiously prowls forward to sniff at one of the strange trees. She peers
at the path and the bridge, then at Cimuq, then back at Holly. ~Is this a
Weaver place?~
Turtle says, ~Certainly doesn't seem..natural,~ Turtle answers with a shake of
her ruff. Still, the theurge takes a step off the light path and toward
the dirt path leading to the bridge.~
Cimuq preens. Though he keeps one eye on the garou, he makes no other sound or
gesture.
Atcen huffs and trots after Turtle, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.
~Trees shouldn't grow like that,~ she remarks, muttering.
Jacinta pages: Crawling along the bark of the tree you sniffed at, you saw
little teeny tiny bugs. Maybe spiders.
Turtle couldn't agree more, and that's why she continually and warily keeps an
eye on them and all the surroundings as she approaches the bridge. Her
first pawtouch to it is not her full weight, either, as if testing the
wood's truth.
The wood of the bridge seems solid enough, the path itself well groomed.
~They're covered in bugs, too,~ the Metis adds, as Turtle tests the bridge's
strength. ~Like spiders. Yes, must be a Weaver place. Hey.~ She's got an
idea. ~We can use the water to look through at the other side, can't we?~
Turtle moves out onto the bridge. Atcen's idea stops her, and she leans her
hispo head over the side to look at the water and see if she can find a
calm place where a reflection might be had.
Atcen sits back on her haunches and watches the Theurge with perked ears and
alert blue eyes.
Turtle explains what she sees. ~There's a road on the other side. Freeway
across the river, and an exit to a town. Old town, been here a long time,
but with lots of new buildings. So, yeah, lots of weaver around. Shall we
cross?~ she asks as she breaks with the pool.
Atcen indicates agreement and gets up to head to the edge of the bridge. She
lets Turtle cross first before following.
Turtle decides to take a more normal form before crossing, choosing lupus
instead of hispo. Her eyes then concentrate on her reflection.
Atcen blinks. ~Oh, cross _Gauntlet_,~ she huffs, shifting downward as well.
~Thought you meant cross _bridge_.~ She snorts, irritated at herself.
Finishing her trek across the bridge and down to the edge of the river on the
far side, Holly stares at her reflection. The gauntlet here is thicker
than it was at Clear Water, but within a few moments, Turtle's form
shimmers and is gone.
Atcen, still grumbling at herself, follows suit.
The banks river on the realmside are overgrown, and, this time of year,
flowering madly. The river is broader, here, and flows more swiftly.
Turtle backs away from the torrent and climbs the bank for the cover of trees.
No matter what, this close to a busy road and a town, a wolf out in the
open would seem unnatural. Once hidden, she gets a better look at her
surroundings and asks Atcen, when she appears, Do you remember from the
elder's drawings which way this pack was and which way we needed to take
them?
Atcen flattens her ears, not liking the area much, and at the question, she
lifts her nose and scents the air. I think so.
Turtle will let you lead, then. The theurge falls in line with the galliard.
Atcen starts at a walk but soon increases her pace to an easy trot, a good,
ground-eating gait.
It doesn't take the two long to find the signs of recent wolf activity. And not
terribly long after that, they catch the scent of wolf upwind and not far
away.
Turtle hurries to follow, still limping. she ignores it, concentrating on the
scent once it's found. The theurge becomes excited. What do we say when
we find them?
Atcen stops and stands still, ears up and head lifted. She seems troubled. We
say the truth, that we are here to lead them to safe land. If they know
about Garou, it will be easier. If not... I don't know. We will have to
become their alphas so they will follow us.
Atcen shakes herself and looks at Holly, admitting that she's never met _real_
wolves, though her mother was wolf-born.
Turtle cocks her ears thoughtfully. Hmm. Guess we'll have to wing it. The
theurge raises a howl that is certain to get the attention of any pack in
the area. Long and haunting, it carries over the trees.
Moments pass with only the sound of the wind through the grasses and the
branches of the trees. Then, an answering howl. Uncertain, and filled
with a sense of loneliness. It is joined soon after by a stronger howl,
farther to the north and west, and then two more, one north of the first,
and one south of the Garou.
Turtle listens, ears cocking at each added voice. They have separated, she
says, though her expression is questioning.
Atcen lifts her muzzle and lets her own voice rise into the air and be heard,
letting the wolves know that the strangers are two, not one. Then she
answers Holly. Separated and spread out. Let us find the first one, the
lonely one.
Turtle agrees, already moving northwards when Atcen's call dies out. She
follows a path towards where the first voice came from as best as she can
remember.
It doesn't take long to cross the distance to the first wolf, the one scented
and first to answer their howl. He stands by the skeleton of a long dead
tree at the edge a small bowl-shaped depression. Signs of fire activity,
probably two or three years ago, are evident here, and succession has
begun. Small, yearling trees are just beginning to poke above the
flowering grasses at the center of the bowl, and brambles fill the
western edge.
Atcen steels herself and approaches with a confident, amiable manner that's at
odds with her starved and unhealthy appearance. Hello, hello.
Turtle approaches the wolf cautiously but confindently. She too greets the
other wolf even as she takes in his health and appearance.
This wolf's grey-brown pelt resembles Atcen's in that it seems he has not eaten
well of late. He backs up a step as the two approach, but does not run.
He gazes at them warily, one ear twitching backward repeatedly.
Won't hurt you, Atcen tells the wolf reassuringly, with a friendly wave of her
tail. We're friends. Want to help.
Turtle lets the other wolf know she is no threat, though she moves in close to
inspect and get to know him, as a wolf would. Circling around, she echoes
Atcen's reassurances, adding the promise of food. We can hunt together.
That might help him. I could use a meal myself, she tells Atcen.
The wolf sniffs toward Turtle as she approaches. With a lowered tail and turned
back ears, he allows her to inspect him. Help? Hungry. Hunt?
Yes, Turtle promises. All of the above. First. Find the others? This time, when
the theurge raises her voice, it's a call, designed to draw the others to
where they are.
Apparently the others had already decided to come, because even as Turtle's
voice is raised, there is movement in the bushes beyond the bowl. A proud
greyish white female pushes past the others to raise a challenge. Of the
four you now see, she is the strongest, the healthiest, and the most
self-assured. My pack. My land. No you hunt.
Atcen glances sidelong at Turtle and then steps forward to stare at the female.
This land is bad land. Human land. We will lead you back to good land.
Turtle leaves Atcen to face the dominant female. The theurge is content to let
them hash out dominance, confident in Atcen's ability. Meanwhile, she
takes stock of the pack.
The other two, who seem to be of an age with Atcen and Turtle, step out from
the brush to stand beside the first wolf, leaning against him for
reassurance. They grey-white female stands firm, tail upraised. My land,
she repeats.
Atcen's tail is raised, too. This land is _bad_, she insists. You must go back
to your old land. Where you hunted before. Not here.
Turtle steps up behind Atcen. It's a human thought that puts her there--back
up--even though this is something that can only be handled one wolf to
one wolf. Still, the theurge's eyes look between galliard and white wolf
speculatively.
Atcen's communication gains her a speculative, wary look, and the female backs
up a step, ears flattening, though her tail does not waver. Before land
bad. Here land hard.
Turtle looks to Atcen, a little confused. I don't remember Her saying anything
about the before land being bad, her expression seems to say.
Atcen also looks confused, one ear going askew. The before land was bad? How
was it bad?
The female alpha's body tenses, hackles coming up. Land shake. Land shake. Land
shake. Bad land.
Atcen stiffens and looks at Holly. ~Remember when we ran here in the Umbra?~
The other wolves also grow tense as the old land is discussed. The brownish
grey male sinks down beside the tree, the two adolescent wolves join him.
Turtle snorts. You're asking me? Her expression seems to ask, even as she gives
a furtive glance to her wounded leg and haunch. she looks back to the
wolf. Land shake is bad, but better than what lies here.
The alpha stamps with one forepaw, ears pulling forward and her tail gives a
swish before returning to the flag of dominance. No. Here land.
Atcen looks doubtful now, though. ~Maybe there was a _reason_ the old alpha led
the pack away.~ She turns back to the new alpha. How much land shake? How
long?
The elder said to bring them. It must be safe. Right? Turtle speculates, her
faith in that simple mantra cracking a bit. She waits to see if Atcen can
learn anything more from the wolf.
The wolf glances between the two garou, her ears twitching at the strange
sounds made by Atcen. Still, she turns her body to face directly at the
metis. Shake. Land shake. Shake again. Not safe. Not good.
Atcen thinks that we should find out why the land shakes. The elder said they
were busy with fighting, too. Maybe they didn't know. But. I think this
pack will not go if the land shakes, and if we try to make them it will
be bad, and anyway they will leave again.
Turtle looks torn. What do we do with the wolves in the meantime, leave them
here? she asks.
The alpha continues to watch the conversation between the Wendigo, but moves
toward her packmates. The position she takes beside them is protective.
Atcen looks at the alpha and the rest of the pack, then shakes herself and
turns to Holly. Yes, let them stay here. We can't take them with us even
if they would follow. Let them stay while we find out why their land is
bad and fix it.
Turtle noses her sister in the lupine way, turning away from the pack without
further explanation.
Atcen gives the pack a final glance, then lopes off back the way they came.
Turtle looks more nervous now than she has the whole rest of the trip, even
when she fell off the umbral path. Whatever makes the earth shake can't
be good, she says. And I have a bad feeling. She follows alongside the
galliard, head down.
The trip is uneventful, and Turtle's injuries have even begun to heal by the
time they make the journey to the place the forks of the river meet. For
the most part, the land around them seems pristine, untouched. Though
this is an illusion. Scent tells them that humans have traveled almost
every inch of this place, and the young garou even spot signs of human
trash. Not far from the center of the wolves' former territory, a new
road cuts through the wilderness preserve from the part to the north.
But, as they get within a few miles of their destination, they can feel
the rumble of the earth beneath their paws.
Atcen's hackles rise with each sign of human waste, and she growls softly. Is
this not protected land?
Turtle thought it was, from what the elder said. But, as you reminded me, they
are busy fighting. The theurge is more cautious now than she was on the
umbral path, crouched so the moving earth does not throw her around so
much--hopefully.
Atcen sniffs at the edge of the new road with distaste, her muzzle wrinkling.
We need to go where the shaking is coming from. Find out what they do.
As the pair come within sight of the fork in the river, the rumble ceases. This
area is dominated with black and white spruce, and some alder and birch
in the lower areas. Higher up, as where they stand just now, the trees
thin out to almost nothing, and tundra grasses dominate. Flowering berry
plants are also common beneath their feet. Then, without warning, the
rumble begins again, and down in the valley by the river, the trees can
be seen to sway with the force of it. There have been no signs of birds
or mammals for quite some time.
Turtle agrees, attempting to move in a direction where the shaking grows
stronger in a hopes to find the cause.
Stealthy, stealthy, Atcen 'murmurs', as much to herself as to Turtle. Quietly,
the metis slips down into the valley, taking advantage of any available
cover.
The valley seems to be the epicenter of the quake, it's felt more strongly here
than elsewhere, though there is no immediately apparent cause.
Turtle takes the absence of bird or mammal as an ominous sign, but it also
makes her more determined. Their absence confirms for her they are on the
right track. She, too, stealthy creeps into the valley. When no cause
presents itself, the theurge looks more closely. Water. If we could find
a pool, perhaps the other side will show us what we need to see.
Atcen agrees to that and sniffs the air, casting about for the scent of water.
Turtle tracks down to the water, following the rushing water until a quieter
pool is found. She looks to Atcen. Let me see if I can just peek. I don't
want to cross when we don't know what we'd be walking into. If that
doesn't work, and we have to go, shift soon as we get there?
Atcen agrees again and, while Turtle does that, listens and sniffs the air. The
rumbling's making her uneasy, and the lack of fauna doesn't help.
Turtle shakes her head, looking slightly frustrated. I see nothing on the other
side that might cause this. We'll have to cross to be sure, I suppose.
Atcen chuffs. Let me go first this time, she says, and focusses on her
reflection.
Turtle settles to follow after, shifting to crinos once on the other side.
The gauntlet is strangely thick, here. Not as thick as it was near the town,
but not as thin as one would expect for a nature preserve. The shadows
are deeper now than earlier, but it's early evening and the moon is fat,
so it's not pitch black.
Turtle has a sickening thought once she gets across. She grimaces, showing
teeth to Atcen. ~No animals. The earth moves more consistently than an
earthquake would warrant, probably. And the smell of man is everywhere. I
think I know what the problem is.~
Atcen, in Crinos, grumbles something about the unnatural trees and peers at
Turtle. ~You do?~
Turtle's fur bristles. ~Men, digging deep into the ground. Mining. Stripping
the earth. Tunnels. We must see if we can find where this new road leads.~
The ground does not rumble here at all. But it is also strangely quiet.
Atcen growls. ~Stupid humans. No. Stupid _whites_, I bet. Yes, we go... but we
keep close to each other. Watch for things with pincers.~
Turtle does not need to be told to watch out, but the fact that the earth
doesn't shake on this side puzzles her even more. She nods and moves to
see if they can find where the new road leads.
Heading toward the position of the road, realmside, it quickly becomes apparent
that something is wrong here as well. The newly formed road in the realm
has a counterpart here. It's not well formed, nor finished, but a regular
swath has been cut between the trees, and sounds of metalic chittering
are everywhere, now.
Atcen's claws twitch, and her pale eyes gleam with icy anger.
Turtle's anger is more like fire--the opposing match for Atcen's. Crinos claws
flex and bend as she lopes a bit closer, stealing up in bits and pieces.
The ground of this new 'road' is covered with many of the tiny spiders seen on
the trees near the town. But once the pair come close enough that they
can see down its length, the sight is far worse. Several large spiders
are at work. One is carefully clearing the path while another smooths the
way behind it, laying webbing down to surface the new road. And farther
on, another of these giant spiders lays down layer upon layer of webbing
over the trunk of an ancient black spruce. Only a moment later, it's
fervent call comes across. ~HELP ME!~
You paged the room with 'How big are these spiders?'.
Jacinta pages to the room: Oh, hispo sized.
Jacinta pages to the room: In diameter. Their bodies are smaller.
Jacinta pages to the room: But, ya know, big.
Atcen's steady snarl erupts into a roar of anger. Unable or unwilling to deny
the cry for help, she charges forward toward the nearest of the spider
'attacking' the ancient tree. ~Leave it ALONE!~
Turtle leaps forward right behind Atcen. Her growl accompanies Atcen, but the
theurge doesn't use words. Instead, she concentrates on taking a bite out
of the closest spider's backside.
Consumed in their work, and almost unaware of even the arrival of the garou,
the spiders are taken by surprise. While Atcen's claws pierce the
chittenous armor of her quary, Turtle's teeth sink deeply into the
spinnerets of the nearest one. Metalic chittering increases in the
shadows to the sides, and both injured spiders rear upward and attempt to
fling their attackers away. A sound so high it almost pains the ears is
emitted now by all three of the giant creatures.
Turtle battles weight with weight to bully the spider and keep from being flung
off. Tenaciously, she attempts to sink her teeth in further and shake her
head violently from side to side to wrench and shred the spider's
spinneret to itty bitty pieces--and hopefully the rest of the spider as
well. Knowing the two garou will most likely be set upon quickly, she
intends to kill this one as quickly as possible.
The pain in her ears makes the young Galliard snarl again, and she lays into
'her' spider with greater enthusiasm, clawed hands seeking to rip and
tear and break. ~BAD spider!~ she growls in time with the blows. ~Die die
die DIE!~
The third spider now turns from its work to join its kin, and finding Holly the
nearest target. While she is busy making piecework of the spider before
her, the third casts its webs in her direction. Atcen has now made a good
sized hole in the spider's carapace, it's delicate innards vulnerable to
attack, though it is now facing her. One clawed arm slashes through the
fur on Atcen's arm, cutting deeply like a knife.
Atcen yelps at the wound and retaliates with a savage attack at the spider's
exposed guts, tearing and ripping with supernatural speed.
Turtle yanks back with powerful shoulder muscles. Her muzzle covered in sticky
spinner-web goo. Teeth gnashing, she tries to chew through it even as the
second spider's web comes at her. Leaving the first spider, she attempts
to dodge the cast of web, loping away (if possible) and hopefully drawing
that spider toward her.
Holly does indeed get a mouthfull of webbing, even as she does massive damage
to the body of the spider. Her movement, however, does not evade the
sticky webs from the other beast. Both spiders follow her, trying to stay
out of range of her claws while throwing still more silk in her
direction. Atcen's furious storm of attack cracks open the front of the
spider's carapace. It's scream of pain yet louder than before. Still, it
manages to hit her thigh with another knife-like thrust.
Turtle works furiously just to move, and finds it difficult. She lets loose
with a frustrated snarl, and as the spiders get near she tries to strike
them. If they fail to stay far enough away and get anywhere near her, her
teeth or claws move with blurring speed to try and take hold of them.
Atcen yelps loudly and pulls back from 'her' spider, trying to circle around
it. She's not unaware of her sister's predicament and this only
frustrates the metis more.
Turtle's already injured spider makes a mistake and comes in too close. Her
claws find purchase and do further damage to it's abdomen. Like the one
fighting the metis, it is now obviously seriously damaged. The third
spider, however, remains out of range, and continues its tactic of
webspinning. Holly is now glued solidly in place, though her upper body
remains free, at least for the moment. Atcen disengages from her spider,
which seems well pleased with that. Her attempts to get past it, however,
are not easily allowed. If Atcen wishes to be on the other side of it, it
would have easy access to her unprotected back.
Atcen growls, spitting out a vulgar term in the Mother Tongue that she must
have learned from other Garou; it's certainly not a word _Jacinta_ would
have taught her. Giving up the idea of flanking the spider, Atcen blurs
forward, pouncing the beast to finish it off.
Turtle clings to the unfortunate, injured spider. Using the strength of her
claws, she tries to pull it even closer, using her teeth to end its life
by ripping at its head if she can reach it.
Turtle's claws dig into large spider eyes. Strength of will alone brings the
head of the spider within range of her jaws. Then, biting down, she
splits the carapace, and spider brain combines with webbing as her upper
body becomes bound in the third spider's webs. Atcen quickly dispatches
her victim, but not without a final knife-like wound to her abdomen.
Atcen spares no time gloating over her kill, and though bleeding in three
places now -- not counting her hands -- she doesn't seem to care. Silent
and teeth-bared, she charges the third spider, the one that had enwebbed
Holly.
Even as Atcen charges, the final living spider attempts to throw its webs at
the metis. Sticky white silk clings to Atcen's arms, but do little to
hinder her progress. For the first time, this spider feels the sting of
Garou claws. It is not happy.
Atcen isn't happy either, and is intent on making sure that the spider is made
even less happy. It gets the same treatment as the first one did as,
ragefully, the metis beats and tears at the thing, telling it to die,
die, die, die!
Giving as good as it gets, the spider seems to realize that the webs which
worked so well against the other are not effective against this one.
Instead, it lifts itself up, balancing on just four legs, to attack with
each of the others. Atcen is pierced between the ribs on either side,
though two of the legs miss their mark. At the same time her own claws
begin to dig into the belly of the spider. Blow for blow, their varied
claws dig through fur and flesh, armor and tissue. Within seconds the
spider has lost two limbs, and wobbles as it attacks. With what is left
of its strength, it takes a deep breath and blows hard at the Metis,
thousands of tiny spiders fly out with the breath and bite at open wounds.
The spider falls, legs crumpled beneath it, unmoving.
In Crinos, Atcen is nearly nine feet tall, and she still looks more starved
than brawny; she's a whip-thin killing machine with a dry, unkempt pelt
of light gray that's stretched tight over bone and muscle and sinew, a
creature without spare flesh or fat. Large hands and hindpaws, both armed
with viciously sharp claws, suggest that she still has more growing to do.
Within her long muzzle are needle-sharp fangs that have an unhealthy yellowish
hue; her claws are the same color. From deep sockets in the lean wolven
head burn pale blue eyes, cold as the frost.
She's winter's own pup -- a gaunt, hungry beast of winter.
Atcen, very badly wounded, collapses on top of the dead spider, her pale fur
streaked with blood and tiny versions of the things she killed attacking
her injuries.
Turtle begins wiggling, and squirming, and shoving, eventually digging. The
theurge knows it will take time--minutes, hours, however long--but she
doesn't give up until she can free herself.
Atcen makes a half-hearted attempt to get up and then lies still with thousands
of tiny little spiders making her flesh and fur, literally, crawl.
Eventually, Turtle manages to free herself. The thousands of small spiders,
including those on the road, have gone. Whether they left or died or
dissipated is unclear. But they are no longer here.
Turtle raises her voice and issues a small whine to see if Atcen can hear her
as she deals with the last of the spider's nasty webbing. Once free, she
makes her way to the guant galliard's side and investigates her wounds.
~I wish I knew how to heal,~ she says, worriedly. ~Can you get up?~
The Metis doesn't respond, and after some examination it becomes clear that
she's not breathing, either. Lifeless, she lies sprawled over the carcass
of the dead Weaver spirit.
Turtle refuses to believe it. The scrawny theurge giving the gaunt galliard a
violent shake to wake her up. ~We don't have time for games, Atcen!~ she
says, voice rising as the realization settles into her like a cold
breeze. For a while she sits there, unmoving, keeping her hands on the
galliard. Only the gnawing knowledge that things are left undone, unsafe,
forces Turtle to her feet. EAch step away from the galliard takes an act
of will equivalent to moving with lead shoes, but she moves to where the
spiders where 'paving', and begins to rip the webbing from the ancient
aspen.
[...]
When last we saw our heros: Turtle had managed to pull herself away from the
corpse of her fallen tribesmate and was beginning to remove the massive
webs encasing the ancient black spruce.
Turtle continues in silence, though the way she rips at the encasing web-stuff
is brutally violent. The theurge is careful not to hurt the true, but she
shows no mercy to the Weaver stuff. When she gets enough of the ancient
black spruce free, she looks it over, and asks it, ~Is that better?~
~You came,~ the spruce sighs relief. ~My roots can feel the life of this place
once more.~ There is a feeling of being watched, perhaps examined, by the
spirit without eyes. ~I thought, when first I sensed you, there were
more. You came alone?~
Turtle's voice is thick with emotion, but gruff and resigned as well. ~I was
not. But I am now,~ she answers, looking around. ~The spiders. Where they
alone? What made the ground on the other side shake?~
The tree seems to sag, it's communication etched with melancholy. ~The children
of the Weaver came. They find the strength to encroach upon this place...
So long since we have felt her touch. I tried to make them go, but they
were too strong, their webs held me fast. It was the only strength I had
left, to call for aide.~
Turtle lays a hand on the great ancient tree as if to reassure it. ~She?~ the
theurge asks. ~She who? Who's strength?~
The trunk shudders slightly, and several needles fall to the ground. ~Weaver.
She has never before had the strength to bind this place.~
Turtle's fur bristles. ~And now she does. So something's changed.~ The theurge
looks back down the road from where they came and up the road past the
ancient spruce, looking for any further sign of Weaver activity.
Weaver activity seems abated, at least for now. There are no further signs of
spiders, small or large, though the scar of the newly created road
remains. The tree spirit seems to agree that something has changed, but
it has nothing to add about what that change might be.
Turtle thanks the tree for its help before turning away from it. The theurge
seems determined to find the source of the Weaver influx, and starts by
moving back down the road toward where the spiders had come from.
The road winds upward into the mountains and toward the heart of the park and
preserve. Eventually, it can be seen to join another, older road, and
spiders by the dozen are at work, here.
Turtle has no desire to be caught in more webbing, the taste of it still foul
in her mouth. She does her best to stay hidden from the spiders, going no
further. She stays to watch, hoping to see if there's anything other than
spiders at work, and then makes er way back to find a place to cross over
again.
If the spiders are aware of her presence, they make no sign. They work
ceaselessly, and with an organization that is so fluid as to be almost
beyond comprehension. Build, connect, define, control. When Turtle
returns to the tree spirit, it offers her a warm greeting filled with the
sense of gratitude.
Turtle seems grateful, too, and once again lays her hand on the tree spirit.
~There are more. Dozens. The Weaver is well entrenched back that way. I'm
not sure there's anything I can do about that--not alone.~ There is a
despondent look, back towards where Atcen lies. Then the theurge turns
away again. ~I have to cross back to the Realm, and either find help or
find a way to stop them, myself.~
There is concern in the subtle shiver that runs up the trunk. ~Take care, young
wolf. The Weaver grows unaccountably strong.~
Turtle thanks the tree again with a nod and makes her way back to the river
where they crossed. she shifts to homid, this time, before crossing the
gauntlet.
The most obvious difference when Turtle crosses back to the realm is that the
shaking has stopped. Moments after that, bird song can be heard not too
far away.
Turtle looks up to spot the bird, and there's a sense of relief and pleasure
that makes her smile. "It's stopped," she says to herself, still puzzled.
After a bit more thought, she makes her way to the woods and retakes the
wolf using that cover. Loping as best she can given her prior wounds, she
works her way back to where Atcen and she had left the wolf pack. Her
call goes up once more when she gets close, calling them to her.
Almost immediately, but from a fair distance, comes an answering howl in the
strong voice of the female alpha. Not too long after, she appears in the
brush at the edge of the bowl. Behind her are not three, but 7 more
wolves, three of whom are scrawny, underfed yearlings. The dark furred
'babysitter' eyes the stranger warily, but the female alpha steps forward
with a decisive movement. You back. The backturned ears and lifted muzzle
show less than warm greeting.
Turtle's manner has changed some as well, and there's very little that's
friendly about it. The theurge's tail is held dominant, and she faces the
white alpha with an equal's eyes. I am back, she says, and the shaking in
the old land has stopped. The animals are returning. You will go back
too, now.
The grey-white wolf holds her dominant stance for a second, then two, and then
her eyes drop away as her body lowers. Crouching forward, she lifts her
muzzle with her tongue flicking out toward Turtle's chin, accepting her
as alpha, and asking acceptance in return.
Turtle's tail remains raised, and she reaches out, hovering over the other wolf
to accept her offer. She includes the others, making sure they follow
suit before she begins the long trek through the woods towards the
protected lands.
Each of the other wolves come forward to accept Turtle as their new alpha,
though there is some jostling amongst the pack as new positions are
taken, challenged, and solidified. The dark furred 'baby sitter' soon
comes forward as the new male alpha. Though he defers to Turtle's
leadership, he follows closely at her side and spends a great deal of the
journey learning her scent.
Turtle tolerates the male wolf's presence and interest, but she does not show
much in return. Her mind remains on the task of getting the wolves back
to their old land. It takes time, however, and in the meantime she stays
among them, lives as one, hunts with them, and eats with them.
It does take time, but the wolves respond well to Turtle's leadership and
presence, and eventually the pack is within sight of the Yentna River
where it forks.
Turtle, when she catches sight of the Yentna River forks, ticks her tail with
relief and pleasure. It's a lovely sight for the Wendigo theurge. She
nonetheless looks at her pack with a bit of sadness, knowing what comes
next. Then, padding toward the water, she looks for a likely way to cross
the swift water and lead them deep into the lands between the two
forks--into the shadows of Kichatna and the protected Athabaskan lands.
It isn't hard to find. In fact the wolves seem to know the way. Without the
shaking of the earth, they seem well pleased to be going home.
Turtle lets the male lead til the crossing is spotted, and even then since they
seem to know the land much better than she does, she is content to let
the wolves pick their route back to their old hunting lands. Once they
were deep into the woods, well past the river fork, Turtle falls even
further behind.
The dark furred male leads with upraised tail and a happy lope, the rest of the
pack following closely behind. The yearlings, occasionally falling behind
in their playful toussling, are watched over and nudged along by the
brownish-grey male who first responded to the garou howl.
Turtle lets even the playful yearlings pass her, and eventually she slips off
alone and makes her way out of the area by herself, leaving the pack to
work out their new life in their old lands. The theurge picks her way
back toward where the journey began--where Jacinta lead them--to the lake
and mountain where the Athro hopefully still waits.
At first there is no sign that anyone remains nearby, but as Turtle comes
closer, there are more obvious footprints in the mud by the shores of the
lake.
Turtle's a little muddy, herself. She hasn't stopped, or eaten or fed since she
left the pack in their old lands--determined to get back as soon as she
can. And because of it, she looks ragged and a little thin. She's weary,
too, and her disposition somewhat unpleasant. After a drink from the cool
lake, just as she took the day Jacinta brought her and Atcen here, she
begins to track the footprints, offering up a small howl to let whoever
it is know she's there.
The footprints lead around the edge of the lake, past the path up the mountain,
and to a spot by the edge of the lake very like the place from which she
and Atcen began their journey. The grass mat is laid out, the knife at
the center of one edge, a small woven grass basket on either side of it,
each covered with a lid of the same design. But, the footprints
themselves lead the water's edge and then vanish.
Turtle pads close to the grass mat, her nose taking in the scent of the curious
baskets. Not seeing the athro, she lets out a weary chuff and follows the
footprints until they disappear in the water. Tired, the theurge decides
to be patient and wait. She settles to the ground there near the mat, but
facing the water, and rests.
It is hard to tell how much time has passed, more than a minute, less than a
day, but eventually there is a shimmer by the edge of the water and the
old woman steps through from the other side. She says nothing to Turtle,
acknowledging her presence only with a slight glance in her direction,
and then moves to the mat to kneel upon it in much the way she did before.
Turtle says nothing either. At first, even, the theurge might have been asleep
and the woman part of her dream. But as she lifts her head, she realizes
the Athro is real, and then she gives a small tap of her tail as a
greeting. I've brought the wolves home, she states. But there is a
problem.
Old White Fox picks up one of the baskets and removes the lid. She pours a
small amount of white sand into her hand and then spreads it evenly over
the mud in front of her grass mat. Replacing the lid and then the basket,
she picks up the other. This one appears to have a waxy, fatty, white
substance within, and she scoops out a dollop with two fingers. This she
smears on the blade of the knife before holding the handle out to the
wolf. ~Tell your story, beginning to end,~ she says simply, still not
looking directly at Turtle.
Turtle doesn't seem to want to tell the tale. Her ears lay flat on her head,
but she relents. Lifting herself with some effort, she blurs and changes,
body slipping into a form designed more for talking and telling tales.
"I'm not the galliard," she begins with, "But I'll try. We set off,
following the bird. I fell off the light-path when the earth suddenly
shook. Something bit me while I was in the darkness. Atcen helped me get
back. We ran ahead, again following the bird. When we stopped, Atcen
helped me get rid of the nasty, bug-like arm and pinchers that still
clung to my legs. It had broken free from whatever had attacked me. Once
disposed of that, we set off again. The bird lead us to a place where the
trees grew strangely--oddly even like they were made of some metal, or
something artificial."
Holly continues, "Neither Atcen nor I liked it, but we couldn't find a source.
there was a bridge. We went to it, and then Atcen suggested we look
through the water to see the Realm. I did. There was a town springing up
there. New road. New buildings over a smaller settlement. We crossed to
the Realm, then, went to the woods and found the wolves. They told us
they left the old lands because of the earth shaking. Shaking all the
time."
The elder's eyes remain on the knife in her hand, and she gestures with the
handle again to Holly, opening her hand so that the other might take the
knife.
"We argued," Holly goes on, "With the alpha female, to come back with us. but
when she.." the theurge trails off as the elder offers her the knife.
Frowning slightly, and uncertain, she reaches out to tentatively take the
weapon in hand by the handle. "When she talked of the earth shaking, I
remembered my fall. Atcen and I decided to find out why the earth was
shaking."
Eyes on the sand-sprinkled mud, the Athro listens silently.
Holly's voice grows a bit quieter. "We left the wolves where they were and
found our way back to where the earth was shaking, but found no immediate
cause in the realm. Crossing the gauntlet, there were spiders building
webs, forcing paths into the deep woods and binding up an ancient black
spruce. The tree called for aide. Atcen and I sprung to defend it. Atcen
attacked the one by the tree, I chose the two closer. I bit one in the
spinner and tore it up, but the other began to capture me. Eventually, I
could not move. Atcen killed the one by the tree, then came to save me.
She died saving me. When I eventually freed myself, I went to her, but it
was too late."
The elder shows no emotion during the telling of Atcen's death, no surprise or
sadness. Her face remains impassive, but her good hand gestures downward
toward the mud. ~Draw.~
Holly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before going on. The
instruction to draw makes her blink, and it takes her a moment to figure
out how to go about it. Eventually, she makes a crude cut in the mud that
takes the form of a stylistic tree. "After that, I went to the tree,
unbound the webbing on it, and it told me that it had tried to keep the
weaver back. But it was too strong. Encroaching. It thanked us." the tree
is erased, the way the elder had done during her story, and in its place
Holly draws many little spiders. "I left again, still unconvinced that
all was well, and after backtracking the spiders' progress, I found an
older road, where dozens of the Weaver's servants still dwell and work at
your land. I could do nothing but watch. There were way too many of
them." the drawing is once again wiped out.
Old White Fox gives the smallest nod of approval as the drawings take shape.
The air becomes charged, growing, now, as Turtle's story continues.
Holly becomes more deft with the knife, but her drawings remain little more
than barely recognizable stick figures. "I left them, skulking back to
the tree, then across the gauntlet." she draws wolves now, seven of them,
one female in front. "The ground no longer shook," she starts, that
uncertainty in her voice again, "and I heard a bird fly over. There were
no animals before. I took this as a good sign, and so returned to the
pack. The alpha female did not want to return. I dominated her, and told
her the shaking had stopped, and they would be safe. They followed me
back to the fork, where I left them in their old lands. Then, I came
straight here." The scene before the athro now is the meandering image of
the Yentna River forks. The knife wipes it clean, and the theurge lays
the weapon down on the grass mat. "I am not sure how killing a few of the
spiders stopped thed the earth from shaking, White Fox-rhya, but it seems
to have. The wolves are home, but I'm afraid the Athabaskan still have a
Weaver problem to go along with their Wyrm war."
The Athro picks up the knife from where the Thurge placed it, wipes it clean,
and smears it again with the opaque substance. That done, she sprinkles
it the sand and places it before her. The charged air nearly crackles as
she reaches out with her good hand for Holly's.
Holly offers the hand without hesitation, her eyes remaining on the knife and
the charged air.
Turning Holly's wrist upward, she rests the back of the girl's hand upon her
knee and pushes the blouse sleeve upward. Then, holding the wrist in
place with the pressure of her gnarled hand against the open palm, she
retrieves the knife once more. With the tip of the blade she carves three
glyphs into the flesh of Holly's forearm, deep enough to bleed a bit, but
not to scar unless other measures are taken. ~You have done well,
"Kegguulluten Ciisiq Aqsaq". You have completed your task, and return to
us adult. Be known now as Bites the Belly of the Spider, Cliath Theurge
of the Wendigo.~ As these words are spoken, the charged air crackles once
more and a flicker of flame seems to dance along the open wound. The air
becomes still quite suddenly, but not far away a wolf begins to howl. The
voice is familiar, and it is soon joined by several others at various
distances and directions. The howl is one of celebration, at least for
most. But from the first wolf, it is tinged with sadness, or regret.
Holly doesn't smile, and there's a mirroring sadness in the theurge's eyes. She
doesn't flinch from the knife, or grimace, but watches the glyphs being
cut into her with fascination. When the athro is done, the theurge's
shoulders seem to slump a little, give way as if a weight has been
released. "Thank you, White Fox-rhya," she says in an ever so small voice.
"Ii," replies the elder, sliding down into her birthform. "It is sad that
Qerruuq Al'a could not return with you. Her strength will be missed by
the Wendigo."
Holly suddenly wants to be somewhere else--anywhere where the athro can't see
her, because the tears start coming quickly. Turning away, she gets to
her feet, one hand absently wiping at her dirty, drawn face. "Excuse me,
White Fox-rhya," she says, "I'm tired. going to go rest now." The new
cliath blurs quickly back to four legs and lopes off past the shore of
the lake for the trees--to be alone for a while.
Old White Fox nods once to herself and watches the Cliath go. She sits silently
for a moment before beginning to pack up her equipment, and then she
starts the trek up the side of the mountain.
Holly finds some place in the deep part of the woods, under a great tree where
the forest litter is thick, and she lies down down and curls up nose to
tail, to sleep.
Jacinta gives Holly a good long while to be on her own before coming to look
for her. She approaches in homid, easily avoided if the wolf-formed girl
still wishes to be alone.
Turtle startles awake with a small yelp and whine. She looks embarrassed when
she sees Jacinta and knows the her elder was there to see her wake from
the nightmare. But, she gets to her feet and chuffs a greeting. The wolf
brushes against the homid's legs with affection, her expression stating,
Atcen is gone.
Jacinta crouches down beside the wolf, hand drifting to her ruff. "I know. Gaia
has called her home for her service. We will sing her praises to the
ancestors, and they will welcome her spirit home."
Turtle is grateful for the wolf form, so the tears don't show as they might in
her birthform. She simply nuzzles against Jacinta a little more closely
and remains quiet. After some time, she asks, We're going home now?
Jacinta nods. "Ii. Tonight, my teacher and the others will open a moon bridge
for us, save us much running. Do you feel adult now, Bites the Belly of
the Spider?"
Turtle has to think about her answer to that question. I feel different, she
finally settles on.
Jacinta watches the new cliath for a while before nodding to herself,
satisfied. "Ii. You are Cliath, now. Adult, ready to engage the Horned
Serpent in his lair."
Turtle's only reaction to that is eagerness. Yes, she says, agreeing. He'll
taste my teeth again, and often.
Jacinta smiles warmly at Holly, an edge to her posture, despite the welcome of
her smile, that shows that she, too, is eager to do battle. Then the
smile fades and she says, "When you are ready, come back to the caern on
the mountain. Others would meet you, and there is feasting."
Turtle lets the ahroun go, content to stay by herself for at least a little
while longer. It's no more than a couple of hours, though, before the
young new cliath makes her way up the mountain to the others.
At the clearing on the mountain two younger garou and the six member guardian
pack who have chosen to remain at the small caern are currently enjoying
a celebratory atmosphere. There is much food, just as when the cubs first
arrived, but now there are already 9 other people sharing stories and
songs and eating what has been provided. On a ridge just above the mouth
of the cave sits an obviously elderly wolf. Her face is scarred, and her
right foreleg is twisted and bent. Other scars cross her body, her tail
is missing its tip. She watches the others with a lolling tongue and
slightly amused expression.
Bites-The-Belly thinks she recognizes the wizened old Athro. Expression
pleased, she dips her head to White Fox and then blurs upward to her
human form to join the party. Quiet and still reserved, she is
nonetheless polite in her associations, eating and listening to stories.
The new cliath is asked repeatedly for retellings of her adventure. Agi Aumaq,
Fostern Ahroun of the guardian pack seems terribly pleased, and asks for
the story several times, himself. Stranger to Thought, Allaneq Il'quq,
listens carefully every time the tale is told, but never asks for it
herself. Later, though, she is seen performing an Eskimo Dance with Moose
Foot and Jacinta doing the drumming, and the gestures look very familar.
Bites-The-Belly retells the tale each time it's asked for, but each time it
takes a toll on the teller, especially when it comes to Atcen's death. By
the end of the feast, the young new cliath is eternally grateful to be
away from those who still ask for it. The glory and triumph have a bitter
taste to them, and she prefers, now, the quiet serenity of a view of the
lake below. She sits, just to look at it, by herself.
As the evening wears on, and the other Garou continue their celebration, an old
wolf with a gnarled foot makes her three legged way to the edge of the
water. And have you eaten well? she asks the younger werewolf.
Holly is brought from far off thoughts as the wolf approaches. she nods in
answer, offering a smile she only half feels to go with it. "I have,
elder. More than I should have, probably. I'll have a tummy ache tonight,
no doubt."
The old wolf grins and deftly flows upward to match forms with the Theurge.
"Good. Then there is one more task to which I must put you before you
return to your qussaq caern."
Holly's smile falters. "Another task?" she asks. Though she does not look
daunted, there is puzzlement in her eyes. "What task is that, elder?"
A smile quirks at the corners of her mouth. "Have you yet found your gifts? You
are now adult, and Luna will favor you with her light."
Holly had not thought to ask and so shakes her head. "N-no," she answers. "I
haven't. I know some of the gifts usually weilded by theurges, but I have
none of them. that I know of, anyway."
Old White Fox retrieves a small grass basket, similar to the ones she had
earlier, but this one is woven with a moon design in black and
pale-yellow grasses around it's circumference. As the basket turns,
different phases of the moon become visible. From within, she pulls a
handful of dried herbs. "Chew these. Then you will feel sleepy. Relax,
and let Luna guide you."
Holly takes the dried herbs, running them over in her hands with her fingers.
she nods obediently to the Athro and lifts them to her nose, then her
mouth. Tentatively, she tries chewing them.
There are several flavors and textures competing for attention among the
different herbs. An almost minty, light flavor, seems attached to the
somewhat pine-needle textured pieces, and it wars directly with the
heavy, earthy taste of the broader leaves. Surrounding it all is the
sharp tang of sea salt, crystals disolving where they meet moisture. As
the old woman said, very soon the weight of the day falls squarely on the
girl's eyelids, and a thickness seems to fill her skull.
Holly allows it too, unwilling even as she is unable to keep her eyes open or
herself upright. she lies down, right there where she'd been watching the
lake, and lets herself fall into sleep.
Holly's sleep is deep and dreamless, all thought halted by the herbs. But after
a while, awareness returns. Holly finds herself awake, sitting by the
edge of the lake. She is alone, and it is as if the Athro had never come.
Minutes pass as Holly stares out at the open land across the lake. Then,
coming over the water, an Eskimo man padles a qayaq. He raises a hand in
greeting to Holly, silent as is boat skimming through the surface of the
water.
Holly lifts a hand in return. Curiosity compels her to move down to the shore
of the lake to meet the Eskimo man's qayaq. She ignores the cold sting of
the water--welcomes it, actually--as she steps in to catch the head of
the thin boat, greeting the man with a smile.
Stepping out of the boat, he places his paddle within and smiles his thanks to
the girl for her help. Pulling the boat onto shore, he speaks in the
language of his people, "Elpet ikika kaaka." But even so, Holly
understands the meaning of his words. He says, "You, listen to me."
Holly's amusement at the strangeness of the words coming to her clear as a bell
manifests in a twinkle of her eye. She nods, simply, and watches him come
out of the boat.
The young man continues to smile at the girl, one hand brushing long bangs out
of his eyes. "Assirrtuq," he continues on in the Eskimo langauge. "Good.
You are adult, now, and it is time for you to know a thing. There are
times when we must convince others of things they do not wish to hear.
You made Kuk'uq listen, brought her and her family home when they did not
want to go. Sometimes, you must call on the Sister to aide you in making
others listen. You already know how." He thumps against his bare chest
with a closed fist. "Feel it here."
Holly's eyes go down to the man's chest where he thumps it. Then she looks to
her own. After a deep breath, she nods to him, but her eyes show her
uncertainty.
The young man's eyes do not miss the uncertainty and he holds out his hand,
palm up, toward her. "Feel the power within your heart, to touch the
heart of another. Sister Luna will guide you when you need it, but the
power is in you. Take my hand, and I will show you."
Holly holds her hand out, hesitating only once before she takes hold of the
young Eskimo's, clasping it tightly. she moves to follow ihm, uncertain
where he might lead her.
The hand is soft and warm, the touch gentle yet firm. He draws her hand toward
him, but when it would touch his chest, there is only the faintest
sensation, like passing through a rice-bead curtain, and then her hand is
entirely within his chest. "Here. Feel it." His head tilts forward
slightly, eyes showing intensity of purpose which is reflected in a
strange, physical sensation emanating from where his heart would be.
"When you need this power of persuasion," he says, pulling her hand back
towards her own chest, "you will make your heart feel like this, and
Sister will guide your will."
Holly's eyes widen with disbelief. Her first instinct is to pull back, but all
she manages before her force of will stops her is a tightening of muscles
in her arm. she stares at her hand, at the man's chest, and begins to
concentrate on what the Eskimo man says. slowly, with certainty, she
begins to nod.
Releasing her hand, the young man smiles again. "Good." Returning to his qayaq,
he retrieves several arm-length pieces of driftwood, which he sets on the
beach. Again he returns to the boat, this time returning with a sealskin
wrapped bundle, and a drum much like Jacinta's. Unspeaking, he sets the
drum aside, and unwraps the bundle by the driftwood. Shortly thereafter,
there is a fire burning. He sits by the fire and, still silent, chews on
a piece of dried salmon. Finished, he tosses the skin into the fire and
watches as it curls into nothingness and the smoke rises into the sky.
Holly watches her hand while the man moves away. She's still a little taken
aback by the feeling he had shown her. she touches her hand to her own
heart, noting its rhythm and strength. when he returns and builds a fire,
she joins him, simply watching. The smoke catches her attention.
The man sits, silent and still, simply watching the point where flames give way
to rising smoke. Time passes with nothing said. Then, there is motion in
the near distance behind the young man. A large brown bear, grizzly,
maybe kodiak, lumbers toward the fire from behind the brush on the side
of the mountain. The young man remains still, seemingly unaware.
Holly seems entranced by the smoke, but the sound and movement of the bear
stirs her. When she realizes what it is, she gasps and stands up. she
looks to the man, hoping he knows why a bear would come to a fire--such
an unnatural thing. When he doesn't move, she backs away from the
encroaching beast, uncertain.
When Holly begins to back away, the young man turns to glance behind him.
Rising, he gives the bear the same raised hand of greeting he offered
Holly from his qayaq. The bear pauses and lifts a forepaw in response. It
turns its gaze to Holly, and there is the sense that it smiles at her,
amused by something she does. The young man waves the bear closer, and it
continues toward the fire. Turning back to Holly, the young man gestures
her to sit once more. He speaks again in the words of his language, and
still Holly understands without question. "Our guest arrives."
Holly's mouth slips lose, hanging open as the young Eskimo and the bear act as
old friends. She looks between them, incredulous, but makes no move to
come closer. She shakes her head, too, stubbornly unwilling to returns
and instead holds her ground. As the bear sits and gets comfortable,
however, her amazement turns to laughter. Eventually, she takes a couple
of steps back. All the time she eases forward, wary and still amazed, but
eventually sitting.
While Holly deals with her own inner battles, the young man passes a large
piece of dried salmon to the bear, who holds it between his paws and
pulls it appart. By the time Holly is ready to sit again, the bear has
finished his snack, skin and all, and turns his large, shaggy head to
regard her. He grunts and huffs and grunts once more, and again, Holly
has no difficulty understanding the meaning carried in the massive
animal's wordless sounds. "You are adult, now, and it is time for you to
know a thing. There are times when we must give aid to the fallen, when
injuries are too great to go untended, but there is still fight left in
the warrior. Qerruq Al'a was injured beyond healing, but there will come
times when your packmates will need you to call upon the Sister for help.
You already have this power." The bear sits up, almost like a person, and
brings one large paw toward his chest. "Feel it here."
Holly feels the sting of a tear again. she fights it back this time, her eyes
on the massive chest of the bear in front of her. She has to look up to
see it, when the beast stands. Without fear, she rises up and settles her
hand there in the middle of the bear's chest, not afraid this time.
The fur is soft and warm and thick, and as Holly's hand reaches the point where
it would touch skin, again it passes through with the sensation of
passing through the beaded curtain. Within she feels a warming glow, and
the rhythm of the massive heart beating steadily. There are pinpricks
though, along with the warmth, and the bear grunts this to her. "Healing
is not without price. There is balance in all things. When you call upon
the Sister to fill the injured with her light, a shadow falls elsewhere.
It takes a part of your spirit to fill that void." The massive paw moves
to pull Holly's hand away, but the touch lingers upon her arm. "Pain is
something we must all face, and to be willing to bear that of another for
the sake of the whole is a thing to be honored."
Holly's face and muscles tighten at the odd, prickly sensations. she listens to
the bear spirit, a sobering expression filtering into her already awed
one. She offers another, silent nod to the spirit. "I'm...ready," she
tells the spirit, "To face that pain. Unafraid."
Through all this the young man is silent, but as the bear sits back by the
fire, seemingly satisfied, he picks up his drum and what looks, at first,
like a simple piece of driftwood. Upon closer inspection, however, the
wood is actually a carved mask. Long, and not immediately obvious in
form, it is carved with two faces - a more human one at the base, and a
long-beaked bird at the top of a long neck. The man places the mask on
the beach between himself and the bear and begins to drum. As he drums,
the bear sings, wordless, a flowing melody which changes in both pitch
and volume at odd intervals.
Holly retakes her seat, joing the odd couple of drumming man and singing bear.
Unsure if she should add her voice to the chorus, she allows her instinct
to decide. Still riding the strange euphoria of the feeling of the warm
pulse of the great bear's heart, her voice lifts up with the creature's
in a softer echo.
Both bear and man seem to smile at Holly. After a while the column of smoke
rising from the fire shifts and seems to dance as if blown by a breeze.
The smoke flows almost horizontally, and now the wind that moves it can
be felt by those nearby, though not nearly as strongly as it should be.
The smoke drifts to, and then under, the mask before returning to a
vertical column above the fire. But, as it floats upward, the mask seems
to come alive, dancing along the rising smoke, at about the height of a
man.
Holly has seen to much to be shocked at seeing the mask come alive, but that
does not mean she's not once again awed and thrilled. with a heady little
laugh, she watches the carved image come alive, unwilling to take her
eyes off it.
The whistle of air passing the open mouth of the carved human face reaches
Holly's ears, but she understands the meaning behind the sounds. "You are
adult, now, and it is time for you to know a thing. There are times when
we must ask the winds to blow for us, to change their course, turn a foe.
When webs came upon the air to bind you, such a breeze might have pushed
it back. The Sister will guide you when you need it, but the power is
within you to channel the winds."
"Within me," Holly repeats, nodding even as she remembers the encasing webs.
She nods with a firm understanding, her hand held out like it was for the
bear and the Eskimo man. It mingles with the moving smoke near the mask.
The rush of upward air, the warmth of the fire, and the small sensation of
small particles of ash hitting flesh fade once her hand is fully within
the column. Passing beyond the invisible barrier of rice-bead curtain,
the air is almost cold. The living breeze moves quickly, up and down past
her hand, and the rhythm of Holly's own heart is felt within its passage.
"Sister Luna will guide you, but the power comes from the wind within
your own heart," the whisting winds seem to say.
Holly accepts the wind's wisdom, closing her eyes and lowering her head. Her
hand returns to her own chest, feeling for the welcome rhythm of her own
heartbeat.
While her eyes are closed, Holly feels a slight pressure on her shoulder, a
gentle shaking.
Holly's eyes flutter open, disoriented, and she looks about.
From where she is lying on her side, Holly can see the old Athro kneeling
beside her, her good hand just pulling away from Holly's shoulder.
"Assirrtuq. And did you sleep well? Are you rested and ready to your
qussaq-filled home?"
Holly blinks again. "Slept?" she says, unsure. "I...I suppose I did." there's a
small laugh. "Or maybe I danced with the wind, and a bear, and a nab from
the past."
Old White Fox nods and turns away to hide her grin. "Then come. Your elder is
waiting, and the moon bridge is almost prepared."
Holly pulls herself to her feet, completely ignoring the soreness in muscles,
and bones--happy for the first time, perhaps, since getting back. "Ii,"
she says, quietly in response, and follows.
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