Magister gets Cubnapped

[hazlogs]

          Dear Die-ary,
               I stared, motionless, before the mirror. As always, I stayed 
  until I'm convinced that there is no glass, nothing, separating me from the 
  room I see on the other side.
               I imagine that everything is different over there. Better. 
  There are people, in that world, who I would like.
               But, like always, my hand hits that glass.
               I know that if I'd waited just one more second...
                                             -- Johnny the Homocidal Maniac

It is currently 13:50 Pacific Time on Sun Sep 20 1998.
Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (4% full).
Currently on this breezy and crisp summer sunset in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 62 degrees Fahrenheit (16.7 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the northwest at 7.6 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are overcast with no 
  chance of precipitation.

Eastern Shore of the Columbia River, Under Municipal Bridge
Standing here under the shadow of St. Claire's Municipal Bridge, you can't 
  help but shiver just a little. The roadway above casts long shadows down 
  over the river water that flows against the muddy shore; from time to time, 
  it whines with the sound of a passing car or shudders ever so faintly from 
  the weight of a tractor-trailer. The massive steel support struts which hold 
  the bridge aloft disappear beneath the surface of the Columbia not far 
  offshore, the current parting around their rusted bases; the river itself 
  stretches across a wide, watery expanse to the far bank, where the lights of 
  the city waterfront can be seen even from this low position. Large, grey 
  stones, a few sporting enough space for two or three people, sit wedged in 
  here and there amidst the mud and scattered tufts of grass; occasionally, 
  the river will bring a can or bottle by, lodging it in the reeds near the 
  water.
The Columbia river flows on its swift way just to the west, while the steep, 
  muddy bank rises to the highway to the east.

The half-seen stormcrow 'fetch spirit swoops down toward a lone figure on the 
  bank and then vanishes. Magister sits facing the river, hugging his knees to 
  his chest, his expression distant and inattentive.

Moon Otter skulks closer, sticking to the scrub brush and areas providing 
  cover. Watching from a few hundred feet away, the Garou observes the spirit 
  disappear over the brooding and thin teen. The expression 'you've got to be 
  kidding' crosses his features as the spirit departs.
Magister remains unaware of the wolf's presence; who expects wolves in this 
  part of town? As Otter watches, he shifts his position slightly, going 
  crosslegged and resting his chin in the palm of one hand.

Moon Otter's Desc:
'Regal' is the best way to describe this young wolf. His coat is a glossy 
  midnight-black. Whiskers droop in a royal fashion from his muzzle and a 
  whispy tuft of fur, interlaced through with crimson hairs, flows from under 
  his chin. His unearthly green eyes take in whatever draws his attention with 
  a fierce intensity. His high breeding is almost painfully obvious as he 
  seems to almost radiate a tangible aura of confidence coupled with a 
  nobility from ages past.
There are three parallel claw marks scarred into his left shoulder and chest, 
  forming the tribal glyph of the Red Talons. A third set of scars made by a 
  cougar's claws are raked over his right haunch. His scent is nigh 
  undetectable until your muzzle is up against his coat and the smell is 
  strongly masked by the odor of rich earth and the deepest forests.

Moon Otter takes in the area, weighs options, and comes to a decision after a 
  few more minutes of observation and thought. Still within the brush mostly, 
  he huffs in a non-threatening manner towards the brooding one in hopes of 
  drawing his attention.
Magister's head lifts at the sound and then turns toward it. The kid's brow 
  furrows slightly as he scans the area, frowning.
Seeing that the youth has looked up and in the correct general vicinity, Otter 
  turns slightly and begins pawing at the ground. Magister doesn't seem to be 
  of interest to him. The ground, however, is in dire need of pawing.
Magister squints as he catches sight of the half-seen canine shape in the 
  brush. He pushes his glasses up his nose and scoots around until he's more 
  or less facing the animal. Watching.
Moon Otter takes his time, angling his body one way and then the other to 
  scratch at the ground with a forepaw. It takes about a minute until he is 
  satisfied. He looks up from the ground and back towards the youth. Another 
  huff--non threatening--and he waits. Watching back.
Magister startles a bit, perhaps unused to non-cat animals looking back at him 
  so directly. Doubt creeps into his face, and he goes quite still, the way 
  some people do when coming unexpectedly upon a wild animal they don't want 
  to frighten away.
Moon Otter turns away from Magister to scratch again briefly at the dirt. He 
  casts a look over his shoulder. Then, with a sudden move as if startled, he 
  darts back into the brush and seems to be making his way off towards the 
  east.
Magister, moved by sheer undefinable impulse, pushes to his feet, grabbing up 
  his backpack as he does so. Slinging the pack onto both shoulders, the 
  teenager heads toward the place where he saw the wolf last.
As you draw nearer to the place the wolf was earlier, you might notice the 
  scratchings left on the grounds.

|
v

It points in the direction the wolf departed.
Magister pauses as he discovers the markings. "Well, fuck me, Martha," he says 
  under his breath. "Charlotte's Wolf is 'Some Pig'." He gives his head a 
  slight shake and heads into the brush, following the direction of the arrow.
It doesn't take too much travelling through the brush before Otter comes back 
  into view off in the distance. It's almost as if he's waiting for you to 
  catch up. Timmy must have fallen down the well.
"...Except you don't look shit like Lassie," remarks Magister, finishing the 
  thought. He pauses a moment, then hefts the backpack higher onto his 
  shoulders and heads toward the wolf.
Moon Otter waits a bit as the teen draws nearer, having obviously spotted him 
  and probably figuring out he's supposed to follow the wolf. Otter keeps just 
  within sight--sometimes disappearing from it briefly. But always 
  reappearing. His path is mostly eastwards. The path becomes easer once woods 
  are entered as the wolf chooses animal trails rather than scrub brush and 
  whatever cover is offered nearer the city.
Magister trudges along steadily, following the wolf. Every so often, he asks 
  himself, sotto voce, why he's following the wolf, and he never gives himself 
  a satisfactory answer. But that doesn't mean he turns back toward the city.

Windswept Clearing(#3150RJ)
You stand in a small, muddy clearing, high in the foothills east of St. 
  Claire. At first glance, the clearing appears cold and dead, but further 
  examination shows a subtle beauty. The wet rocks that litter the ground have 
  been eroded by wind and rain into intriguing shapes. One looks like a wolf 
  sleeping, another like an old man staring down the mountain side. A small 
  pool, fed by a pure spring, lies clear and still. The rock-face to the north 
  is limestone, studded with veins of quartz. You have rarely seen a more 
  peaceful or pleasant spot.
To the west you see a faint path leading down the mountain. Looking to the 
  north, you see a small cave up the side of the rock-face.

Countless twisting miles through the wilderness pass underfeet. It seems like 
  the journey might never have an end. Then the wilderness opens up into a 
  small clearing. The black wolf is waiting inside the clearing of trees, 
  seated back on his haunches and looking in your direction expectantly.
Magister is no athelete, and it's probably only curiosity that keeps him 
  following the enigmatic wolf. By the time they reach the clearing, the kid 
  is huffing and out of breath, footsteps hitting the ground in a leaden sort 
  of way.
Moon Otter can't help but splay his ears slightly at the youth's predicament. 
  Following this with a wide yawn, he settles down fully onto the ground. 
  Watching and waiting.
Magister pulls himself to a halt a several yards away from the wolf and stands 
  there, catching his breath as he regards the animal from behind his glasses.

(Log cuts off here.)