The First Law

[hazlogs]

[1/28/98]

Blue Mountains, Northern Extreme(#2521RAJh)
The tops of the mountain peaks are shrouded clouds, and snow dusts them until 
  late in the spring. Though still thick in places, the treecover thins as one 
  climbs in elevation. Still, some few evergreens clump together in isolated 
  copses even near the rocky summits. Streams run through this area in 
  abundance, cutting deep gullies in the mountainside and rushing down to feed 
  the thick forest below.
To the east, the mountainous terrain continues, eventually merging with the 
  Rockies many miles from here. To the north, things smooth somewhat into the 
  collection of foothills and rough land that makes up the highlands of the 
  Columbia basin. Nothing of interest is visible in either direction. To the 
  south lies the main branch of the north range of the Blue Mountains, while 
  to the west the trees thicken and a forest spreads out over the feet of the 
  peaks.

Erik pushes his way slowly through the wilderness, hiking up the mountains as 
  he probably has been for quite some time. He's well bundled up against the 
  cold, hat pulled down low and scarf wrapped around his face. Plus at least 
  one extra jacket. Even so, his mood doesn't seem good.

Currently on this calm and cold winter dusk in the general St. Claire area, it 
  is 27 degrees Fahrenheit (-2.8 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming from the 
  east at 4.4 mph. The ground is normal. Skies are clear with a probable 
  chance of precipitation.

Wolf-Dancer is having a drink at one of the small streams that run down the 
  side of the mountain, seemingly oblivious to the freezing cold. Finishing 
  her drink, she raises her muzzle and sniffs the air.

Erik finally stops in a small clearing only a short distance from the stream 
  Wolf-Dancer drinks from. He cups his gloved hand to his wrapped face, near 
  mouth area and utters a remarkable accurate wolf howl, far too accurate for 
  human-shaped vocal cords, though the message is simple enough: I'm here, 
  where are _you_?

Wolf-Dancer turns, and answers the call with a howl of her own, stating her 
  presence. She then pads towards the sound of the howl, apprehensively. Her 
  ears are flattened, her head down, and her tail low. As she enters the 
  clearing Erik howled from, she avoids his gaze as she whuffs softly: This 
  one is here.

Erik's hand is shoved deeply into the pocket of his outer coat. Sunken eyes 
  regard his tribesmate from under the brim of the woolly hat and over the 
  looped layers of scarf. "Next time," he says quietly, the lilting voice 
  marred by a shiver of cold, "we meet someplace _inside_. A motel or cottage 
  on the edge of Kent bloody Crossing."

[Wolf-Dancer]
A lithe, red-furred wolf, delicately boned, stands before you. She is slender, 
  long in the body, and has long, slim legs. Her tail stands erect curled 
  above her back, the feathers trailing. Her green eyes sparkle with obvious 
  intelligence, marking her apart from a normal wolf. She is a very attractive 
  young she-wolf, some might say achingly beautiful, but her lush, reddish 
  coat is marred slightly by two patches of white fur, from healed scars on 
  her left side, and two smaller matching patches on the right.

Wolf-Dancer cocks her head, looking Erik up and down, unable to conceal her 
  morbid fascination, but careful to avoid his face. This one may soon have a 
  place to call her own, there. She could meet you inside, perhaps, next time. 
  This one will get word to you. Her howls can be heard for miles, so you will 
  know when.

"Fine." Erik's tone is uncharacteristically curt. He moves to one side, 
  brushing snow off a fallen tree-trunk and gingerly taking a seat. "Recite to 
  me the first law of the litany," he says. "And take homid form. _You_ might 
  as well be cold too."

Wolf-Dancer bows her head, and slowly assumes the homid form. She hugs her 
  arms to herself, shivering slightly. Kathryn's expression becomes blank as 
  she complies with Erik's orders. "Garou shalt not mate with Garou," she 
  says, "and at least ye has a coat."

"You don't know what cold is," the metis snaps. "Not until you get a chill in 
  the middle of summer while covered from head to foot. Now." He shifts his 
  weight on the tree trunk, body hunched over slightly. "Tell me _why_ we have 
  that law."

Kathryn rubs her arms, trying to get some warmth into them. "We have this law, 
  as if Garou were to just lie with their own, no _real_ garou would be born, 
  to continue the line. We'd die out, if we only slept with each other, 
  eventually."

Erik watches her with eyes that are both angry and tired, disgusted and 
  disappointed. "And why do you think Gaia made us, the Garou, this way?"

Kathryn furrows her brow. "To make sure we did not lose our connections with 
  both wolves and man? I never really thought about it much." Her accent seems 
  to be fading slightly. At least it is not as strong as it once was, and much 
  more understandable.

"You never thought about it." The Metis repeats those words in hollow tones. 
  Too cold to sit still, or too agitated, he rises and begins to pace back and 
  forth. "Kathryn, would you fuck your father? Your brother? Your son?"

Kathryn loses her blank expression, and her face contorts in disgust. "Of 
  course not, what made you think I would?"

"You fucked Quaid, didn't you?" Erik puts unnatural emphasis upon the word, as 
  though it were one he doesn't use often. "Though being Garou, he is your 
  brother, you _fucked_ him. Why?"

Kathryn runs her fingers through her hair, a nervous gesture. "Quaid isn't my 
  brother. _Not_ my brother. He may be Garou, but we are _not_ related." 
  Kathryn takes the copper clip from her hair, and shakes it out, rubbing at 
  her scalp. "He's _not_ my brother, dammit."

Erik's voice hardens, takes on a snap that rivals the cruel winter air. "He 
  _is_ your brother, because he is Garou, and you are Garou, and you have one 
  mother, Gaia. The Black Spiral Dancers screw each other blind in their 
  underground hives, but _we_ are Gaia's. We do not commit... incest."

Kathryn shies away from Erik, trying to hide behind her hair. "I wouldn't feel 
  for a brother the way I _felt_ for Quaid. I've told everyone I have no 
  intention of lying with him again, so you can get off my case now, Erik." 
  Kathryn's tone, although soft, is starting to get a little edge to it now. A 
  little steel creeping in, slowly.

Erik hesitates, a lifetime of learned responses almost causing the too-tall 
  metis to flinch at the other's tone. But he takes a breath and steels 
  himself. "No. I will not get off your 'case,' Kathryn Wolf-Dancer. Because 
  the Righ instructed me to teach you about the law that you broke, and I 
  damned well will do that. I don't give a bloody damn if you never intend to 
  _fuck_ him again." Again that word, nearly spat out. "The fact is that you 
  _did_. _Why_? You _knew_ the law, and yet you broke it. Why?"

Kathryn pushes her hair back out of her face, her eyes flashing angrily. "You 
  want to know why? The whole reason? I'll tell you why, Erik. I loved him. 
  Hear me? I _loved_ him. Something _you'd_ not know about, I suppose, and 
  yes, I _fucked_ him, okay? I did it. I confessed. I told _everyone_ what I 
  did at the Moot. I didn't try to hide it. I knew I'd done wrong, and I want 
  to put it right. If you want the whole reason, the all inclusive, every 
  little bit reason, I can give you it. I _loved_ him, and when Harmony told 
  me I was to leave him alone, and never see him again, I got angry. I thought 
  I could spend time with him and not do that. But I failed to stop myself. 
  I'm sorry, but I failed. Now I'm trying to put things right, so stop 
  throwing it back in my face, Erik."

Erik moves toward her without warning, startlingly graceful despite his 
  awkward-looking frame, long legs crossing the distance between them in a few 
  steps as he reaches out to grasp her shoulder. "Don't talk to me about 
  love!" The freakishly perfect tenor voice has turned to the thunder of an 
  angel of wrath. "What the hell do _you_ know about living your entire life 
  in the burning hell of your own body, always a bloody outsider, waking from 
  nightmares because you _know_ you're weak, going sick with horror that you 
  might fall, might turn. Look at me!" He shifts forms in a sickening blur, a 
  twisted, skeletal Crinos ten feet tall, bones all but bursting from the 
  pale, ghastly hide, bald but for scattered, thin patches of dull black fur, 
  one arm ending in a stump, eyes sunken, the green orbs burning, more like a 
  monster, a starved corpse, than a real Garou. ~Look at me!~ the Metis 
  thunders. ~Every day I sweat and work to be even a _fraction_ of what you 
  had by birth! I've bled for the laws, sweated for the ways and traditions, 
  and you treat them like shit!~

Kathryn, fearing the worst, also takes the war-form, but more slowly than 
  Erik. Kathryn's form stretches and grows, the muscle piling on until she has 
  become a broad shouldered Crinos with thick reddish fur and piercing green 
  eyes. ~Take your hand off me, Erik. I do _not_ treat the laws the way you 
  say. I made a mistake, and I am paying for it. I pity you, Erik. I know you 
  resent me, for having the weak will that your mother obviously had, but I am 
  not bringing another Metis into the world, to suffer like you do. I have 
  never hurled insults at you, spat on you or struck you. I do not hate you, 
  Erik. But I pity you. Now remove your hand from my shoulder, Erik, and 
  continue my damn lesson.~ Wolf-Dancer wakes no move to remove Erik's hand, 
  letting him decide on that matter for himself, and stares up into his eyes. 
  'Dancer does not quite reach the same height Erik does, but she tries to 
  make up for the difference in pure attitude, growling softly. ~Remove your 
  hand, Erik.~ she repeats, a hint of menace crawling into her voice.

Sings-in-Shadow moves his hand, yes, and appears about to take a step back, 
  his ears turned backwards and flat against the horrificially skull-like 
  lupine-shaped head. Already, the knifing wind stabs mercilessly against the 
  near-hairless hide. A moment later, though, without warning in fact, the 
  hand lashes out, claws striking out at the other's muzzle, the blow aimed to 
  draw blood, but not cause serious injury.

Wolf-Dancer pulls away, swiftly, but not fast enough. Sings-in-Shadow's blow 
  catches her soundly on the muzzle, leaving bloody trails behind it. 
  Wolf-Dancer yelps in pain, and suprise, raising her clawed hand to her face, 
  touching the wound. Seeing the blood on her hand, she growls loudly. ~You 
  cut me, Erik. Not a good idea.~ Wolf-Dancer steps backwards, bracing herself 
  for a rush.

Sings-in-Shadow himself looks vaguely ill, but forces himself to keep his 
  posture tall, his head above hers. ~Strike me back, then, if you will,~ he 
  says, and even in this form, his voice still has a striking beauty to it 
  that's in complete opposition to his grotesquely ugly appearance. ~But it 
  will change nothing. I came to teach you, but you refuse to believe the 
  things I say.~ He lowers his bloody claws and turns away, shifting back 
  downwards; the outermost coat mere tatters now, though the other clothes are 
  more or less intact. "This lesson is over. I will speak with the Righ."

Wolf-Dancer's expression changes, to one of dismay. She takes a few strides 
  towards Erik, and grabs his shoulder, turning him around. ~I am sorry, 
  Erik-rhya. I was blinded by Rage. Please, stay, and I will listen. You may 
  strike me again, in punishment. I deserve no less.~ Wolf-Dancer hangs her 
  head in shame, and reverts to her homid form. "Please, Erik. I want to learn 
  the error of my ways. I promise I'll not lose my temper again. I promise."

Erik turns his head away, pulling his shoulder from her grasp as though even 
  being touched makes the sickness worse. His face, visible clearly now, is 
  twisted with nausea. "No. Next time. The lesson is over for tonight."

Concern crosses Kathryn's face as she sees the pain in Erik's visage. "You 
  sick, or something? Look, come back to my room, at the motel. I'll make sure 
  you are comfortable. And I'm sorry for my quick temper. I didn't mean to say 
  those things, really."

Erik starts heading back down the mountain, looping the scarf back around his 
  face, one-handed. "I'm fine," he says, hoarse now. "When you're ready to 
  hear another lesson, contact me again. Good night."

Kathryn bows her head. "Fine, then. I'll let you know. Soon, too. Like 
  tomorrow." She hugs her arms to herself once more, feeling the cold, and 
  dwindles down to her Lupus form, thick fur acting as a shield against the 
  elements. This one shall be waiting, tall one.

Erik vanishes back down the trail and is soon lost to view.