Story time.
Sunday, 29 May 2016 20:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trace_logs
29 May, 2016
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (44% full).
It's nearing the end of the day. A pleasantly almost-warm day, at least for Washington. There's a lot of life and activity around the caern, but at this particular moment, it happens to be occupied solely by a cougar who's intently staring into the firepit's flames.
Rabbit emerges from the surrounding forest in fox-shape. Alert and wary, she stops there near the safety of the undergrowth and surveys the caern, ears alert and pointy nose tilted upwards, sniffing.
Brings-the-Pack speaks, voice a feline purr instead of the earlier electronic masking. "It is safe, little fox. For now. It was wise of you to run earlier."
Rabbit licks her nose and shifts up and into human form. "Angry wolves," she notes, with some concern. "Always very angry."
There are footsteps coming from the forest before Trace emerges into view. The ahroun looks… cheerful, actually, a stark change from his usual grim mood, although even cheerful there's a level of coiled tension in his posture. There's a wave, given, and a kind of a nod. "Hi," he offers. "I think I almost met you, before, but I had to leave." He looks at Rabbit, for a moment, and offers a small hint of a smile. "I'm Trace Garza. Also called Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, and now packed under Coyote. And Guardian." He did apparently, hear the last bit of conversation, because there is a small nod. "Yeah. Always angry, but most of us do our best to control it."
Brings-the-Pack nods to Trace as he appears and offers an observation, or perhaps knowledge gained from experience, to Rabbit. "Even the ones who do not seem angry at the time often are angry underneath." He inquires of the kit, "Do you also feel the anger of Gaia?"
Rabbit thinks about that; her nose scrunches and the tip her tongue pokes out between her teeth. "Gaia makes Foxes different from Wolves," she says at last, slowly. "Anger, yes, but small. Quiet." She looks at Trace. "Wolves are large, fierce, kill large animals, together in many. Foxes small, one or two, quiet, kill small animals, are killed by larger animals."
Trace walks a little bit further down and into the caern until he finds somewhere, and then sits down, lotus-pose. He considers for a long moment, and nods again. "Sounds about right," he says. "We get killed by larger animals too, though." He pauses, and looks at Rabbit. "I didn't catch your name, last time." It's a polite request though, without much weight behind it.
"There's always someone or something bigger out there," the mage-cat concurs with the Walker. To Rabbit he adds, "It's safe to give your name to the garou here, but be aware that names have power. Be careful when giving out to those you do not know. Especially now that there are Spirals in the area. Many can track you down with nothing but your name."
Rabbit looks at Trace for a long moment after his reply, her expression bemused. She glances at Brings-the-Pack, nods to him, then turns back to introduce herself to the Garou. "I am Rabbit Digs Deep. Fox-kit. Turtle is my father." Polite but a little reserved.
Trace offers another polite smile, and ducks a nod of greeting before adjusting his seated position again, and folding his hands in his lap. "Nice to meet you," he says. Towards the mage cat, Trace asks, "All's been uneventful here, I hope? Didn't run into anything while I was on patrol."
"I've been here most of the day," the cougar returns to Trace. "I have heard no reports of any activity on the bawn. Most of the excitement has been from needless drama generated from within the caern." For Trace's benefit, he offers a little expansion to Rabbit's words. "Turtle is a local Kitsune of some renown who is also an ally of the sept, though typically not a common presence at the caern." His tone indicates Turtle is someone who merits respect.
Rabbit steps closer and hunkers down, squatting on her heels. She's positioned noticeably closer to Brings than Trace, though able to keep an eye on both. To the mage-cougar, she asks, "You tell a story about my father?"
There's a bit of a nod, and Trace huffs a bit. "Well, that would be about usual, ¿no?" he says. There's a slight accent on the last word, making it more Spanish than English although the word is the same in both languages. "And better than the alternative." Another nod. "Yeah, I've heard variously. Glad the Sept has diverse allies, and that we can see past differences and towards common goals and such."
Brings-the-Pack is seated by the fire pit nearer to Rabbit than Trace is, who seems to be giving the non-garou their space. "Let me think a moment on which story to tell," he says to Rabbit, as if, perhaps, he might have many.
Rabbit smiles brightly and sits back, butt hitting the ground. "Thank you!"
Brings-the-Pack thinks a moment before he starts spinning the tale. "This was several years ago. There were Spirals in the city and causing problems, as Spirals tend to do. Turtle had captured one of their kin, which he hope to question and learn information from. He had taken the Spiral kin to a warehouse. I cautioned him that he could not take long, as Spirals would likely come looking for their kin sooner rather than later, and the magick I used seem to confirm that suspicion." He asides to Rabbit, reinforcing a piece of advice he gave her earlier, "The Spirals knew their kin's name, after all, which made him easy to track when they noticed he was missing. And so Turtle found himself facing down three Spirals. One with a machine gun that glowed green from the Wyrm's touch. One wearing a mask made of flesh. And a giant one with horns coming from his head." He pauses here. "One kitsune versus not one, not two, but three of the fallen wolves."
Trace settles in to pay attention to the story, leaning slightly forward on his arms.
Rabbit rocks back up onto her heels and hugs her legs to her chest, paying rapt attention to the story.
Brings-the-Pack continues the tale. "The battle that ensued was quick, brutal, and vicious. First, they shot at him, threw a net at him to try an capture him, and started doing a ritual to hurt him. One of the bullets wounded him, but the net missed completely. Turtle worked magic to confuse them. But the big one with the horns? He saw through the illusion— or perhaps just got lucky— and charged blindly. But, as the saying goes, every so often even a blind squirrel finds a nut. This much bigger Spiral hit Turtle hard, knocking him down. But the bull-Spiral let his anger get the better of him and did not stop charging. He ran straight into the wall. WHAM!" The cougar-mage adds in a sound effect. "And one of his horns broke off and he was stunned."
Trace folds his hands, and the ahroun seems just as taken with the story and a rapt audience. There's a moment at the end at the sound effect where it seems like the Walker might ask 'and then what', but he shuts his mouth soon after opening it, rather than interrupting.
Rabbit grins widely, her mouth opening a little. "Ohhh."
Brings-the-Pack continues telling a slightly modified version of what transpired. "Though wounded, Turtle was still full of wiles. He summoned flames," he said, gesturing towards the fire pit, "which lit cans of gasoline." For Rabbit's benefit he adds, "Gasoline is like water that burns." And then continues. "The flames began to spread rapidly across the ground, getting closer to the captured Spiral kinsman who was tied to a chair for questioning. And then Turtle summoned lightning, which disrupted the Spiral working on some Wyrm-inspired ritual. The Spiral with the gun? He tripped on the net, but still managed to shoot Turtle a second time. Turtle fell to the ground, crawling, and looking as if the fight might soon be over. The bull-Spiral got back up, full of rage, blinded by rage, and looking to kill."
Trace takes a breath, looking back towards the mage cat directly for a brief moment, and this time, he does say something. "Then what happened?"
Rabbit sucks in a breath and holds it.
"Things did not look like they were going well for Turtle. After all, one fox versus a pack of three fallen wolves?" Brings-the-Pack lowers his voice and slows his pace down. "But one should never underestimate a fox." His voice returns to normal. "Whoosh. More magic to confuse the spiral with the glowing green gun, making her eyes wide in terror from visions too horrible for even a Spiral to see. The bull-Spiral charged, but banging his head so hard against the wall must have knocked what little sense he had out of it. He missed Turtle, ran right past him, and cracked his skull into a big metal beam. WHAM!" Again, it would seem.
"The Spiral's kin tied to the chair? The flames on the ground reached him, burned him, and he screamed for death. And the fallen wolf who had been trying to work magic against Turtle? She rushed over to her kinfolk and ripped his head right off. And when she looked up to kill the injured fox who could only crawl?" A pause. "Perhaps the fox had been faking his injuries and his inability to do anything more than crawl away. For when they looked to kill him, he was gone. Three Spirals versus one Kitsune, and the fallen wolves had been out-foxed— and humiliated."
As Nick finishes the tale, a black furred fox with silver guard hairs slips soundlessly out of the trees, trotting with full confidence toward the small gathering near the fire. It makes some strange noises— fox noises? It doesn't sound entirely right— and is clearly more angled toward Rabbit than anyone else.
At the end of what the cougar is saying, there's a bright, toothy smile from Trace, that lasts a moment too long for comfort before it fades into a more reserved expression. Then the Walker's expression flits to the arriving fox, with a bit of a wave with one lifted hand.
Rabbit, grinning, turns around to look at the black-silver fox that just arrived. "He says the story has a lesson," she tells the other two. "Do not be in that place like that. Use too much magic."
Brings-the-Pack offers another potential moral to the story. "Or do not let strength or numbers lead to overconfidence."
The black and silver fox makes a few more odd sounding chitters, before he slides smoothly up into human form, complete with the old coat and battered hat. "I did end up laying around pathetic-like at Emma's place for days," he points out. "But any fight you can technically walk away from. Happened to your great-grandmother," he tells Rabbit. "Cornered by Wyrm Wolves, that is."
The now-familiar whistling with the aimless melody can be heard from some distance through the trees. At first almost too soft to be heard, it gains volume as time passes, signaling the whistler's approach.
Rabbit tilts her head at Turtle, then looks at Brings-the-Pack with renewed interest. "Thank you," she tells him, presumably for telling such a good story.
Trace listens again, and tilts his head to one side. A moment, and his seated posture relaxes somewhat, to merely crosslegged rather than lotus-pose. "All of which are good lessons," the ahroun says thoughtfully.
"Just don't ask for another story tonight. I am no galliard," the cougar-mage replies to the fox kit.
"From what I heard, you're better'n me," Thomas remarks, as he sits himself down without ceremony and with little grace, then adjusts the brim of his hat. "There was a fun time afore I came up this way the first time, and by that I mean I nearly got myself skinned by a few very, very angry vampires." He looks thoughtful as he palms his pockets, then grunts. "It ended in a lot've fire."
Rabbit scoots over to sit closer to the older Kitsune. "Fire in story that Brings-the-Pack told," she says. "Fire and father are big friends."
The volume on the whistling fades not long after, as the ragabash apparently heads right on by.
Trace looks over at the mage cat, and grins. "Don't sell yourself short," Trace affirms, and claps briefly. "I might have to start asking you for stories more often." Towards Thomas, there's a nod. "Afraid I missed getting to introduce myself to you the other day. Trace Garza, also called Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, packed under Coyote, and Guardian." There's a glance up towards the sound of the whistling then fading, and a slight shrug.
Thomas tips his hat. "Thomas Lee hereabouts, sometimes Turtle, Uktena kinfolk and, well, other things, as you already know." He glances down toward Rabbit with a small grin. "I've got a fondness, it's true. But it's important to remember fire's gotta burn. If'n it ain't wood or leaves or vampires or bad humans, it can be you if you're not careful. Gotta respect it, always. —Which does lead me to something." He looks up. "Was thinking about teaching Rabbit the Paths tonight, if'n you folk won't find that too boring."
Rabbit shifts to a kneeling position, sitting back on her heels. As with the mage-cougar-storyteller, she's all attentiveness.
Brings-the-Pack flicks his long tail about his other side, wrapping it in closely, before responding, "I do not mind. It would be educational for more than her, I suspect."
Trace grins a bit and looks at Thomas, then back over to the fire. "I certainly won't find it boring, if it's not secret fox stuff and such that you don't mind an audience." There's a nod to what Brings-the-Pack says. "I haven't had much chance to get to know more about the other shifters, in the past. And being able to remedy that is pretty cool."
Thomas leans over and selects a stick from the firepit that's been away from the flames for quite some time, with almost the whole of its length ash darkened and burnt. He begins by drawing an 'X' on the ground in front of himself, within easy sight of everyone. "Nah, ain't secret if I'm teaching it out here. Now, the Wolves, they got what're called Auspices." He draws a circle around the 'X', just large enough to encompass it, and then begins carefully sketching glyphs in each of the four sections this creates within the circle. "Auspices are more'n jobs, Mastincala, they're basically life devotions. These get decided by what the moon looked like when they were born. Every now'n then there's a Wolf that doesn't feel right with his Auspice, and he'll switch, but this is rare and the Wolves usually don't like it when it happens." The glyphs he's drawing quickly become recognizable as Garou, the basic element: Earth, Air, Fire, Water. "Other folk, Cats, Dragons, Spiders, Rats… they do things differently. Foxes though, we've got Paths, and we're the ones who pick them for ourselves. There's no changing it once we do. Our Paths are what we're best for, inside. No need to worry about choosing wrong; you won't."
Rabbit watches and listens carefully, no more smiles.
Brings-the-Pack cranes his neck to get a better view and cants his ears to better catch Turtle's words. He, too, seems intrigued by this lesson.
Trace leans forward to watch this, though he's quiet while he listens. One finger, though, moves to the dirt to retrace the glyphs in the dirt next to him.
"These are Wolf marks," Turtle continues, and uses the stick to point to each glyph in turn. "They represent words and ideas. This is peta, fire. Mni, water. This one is oniya," he lifts his other hand to his mouth and puffs. "Breath, or thate, the wind. And this last one is makha, the earth, the dirt, all the land. Many humans and all of the Bete and the Wolves know these four as the elements, though there are sometimes five, and sometimes they change the names to look at it differently. There are many spirits of these four things that you will come to know."
Rabbit's lips move as she repeats the various terms under her breath.
Trace watches and listens, fingers tracing out a few more glyphs idly in the dirt next to him. But the Walker is definitely interested in the different outlook this is providing.
"Between these four thing are the Paths," Thomas says, indicating the lines of the 'X' he initially drew. "Wakhangli, lightning, fire of the air. Inyanslo, lava, the fire in the earth. P'o, fog, water in the air, and finally makhasan, clay, water in the earth. Our Paths align with these, so that we are of two of the elements, not just one. Doshi are Wakhangli, our sorcerers. Eji are inyanslo, our warriors. Gukutsushi are p'o', our illusionists and healers, and the Kataribe are makhasan, our bards and builders. Those are all big words that won't make much sense yet, but before you choose, I will tell you all about each."
Rabbit echoes these new words, too, both the Lakota ones and the stranger English ones. She stares down at the diagram and nods slowly.
"Duality as such, a bit?" Trace's question, such as it is, is barely audible and more along the lines of filing it away for later, as the Walker ahroun is clearly trying not to interrupt.
"Harmony," Turtle replies, seemingly unbothered by the question; quite the contrary. "It's a different perspective, and it's got other benefits besides. Eji," he says, perhaps to both of them, "is my Path. Warriors, but not Ahroun." He gestures toward Trace. "The Wolf Warriors. We're very different, so we do things differently, but we're also similar in other ways."
"Wolf different from Fox," Rabbit says, and then yawns hugely.
Trace tilts his head towards Thomas a little bit, curiosity evident in his expression still. "How did you know what Path to choose, when you chose?" Trace asks Thomas.
Thomas reaches over to fondly ruffle Rabbit's hair. "I saw a bowl and reached," he says. "Seemed like the only one I could've reached for. And then," the corners of his eyes crinkle, "I burned my fingers badly enough I couldn't feel anything for a week. Now," he looks down at Rabbit, "Should we be getting back to the boat, cikala? The time is good for it."
Rabbit yawns again and nods. "Two-foot or four-foot?"
"Gaia watch," the Ahroun offers, seemingly directed at both Thomas and Rabbit. There's a slight yawn from Trace, too, and he adds, "Thank you for letting me listen in." And that said, he shifts into his lupus form, before proceeding to sprawl out in place with a slight wag of his tail, eyes shutting halfway.
"Four-foot," Turtle replies. "Our enemies aren't looking for foxes, but they will eat us if they can. We'll go quietly, and you can show me how quiet you can be." He returns to the silver and black fox todd, and leads the way out of the Caern.
Rabbit shifts down as well— a more common orange color fox— and follows after.
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (44% full).
It's nearing the end of the day. A pleasantly almost-warm day, at least for Washington. There's a lot of life and activity around the caern, but at this particular moment, it happens to be occupied solely by a cougar who's intently staring into the firepit's flames.
Rabbit emerges from the surrounding forest in fox-shape. Alert and wary, she stops there near the safety of the undergrowth and surveys the caern, ears alert and pointy nose tilted upwards, sniffing.
Brings-the-Pack speaks, voice a feline purr instead of the earlier electronic masking. "It is safe, little fox. For now. It was wise of you to run earlier."
Rabbit licks her nose and shifts up and into human form. "Angry wolves," she notes, with some concern. "Always very angry."
There are footsteps coming from the forest before Trace emerges into view. The ahroun looks… cheerful, actually, a stark change from his usual grim mood, although even cheerful there's a level of coiled tension in his posture. There's a wave, given, and a kind of a nod. "Hi," he offers. "I think I almost met you, before, but I had to leave." He looks at Rabbit, for a moment, and offers a small hint of a smile. "I'm Trace Garza. Also called Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, and now packed under Coyote. And Guardian." He did apparently, hear the last bit of conversation, because there is a small nod. "Yeah. Always angry, but most of us do our best to control it."
Brings-the-Pack nods to Trace as he appears and offers an observation, or perhaps knowledge gained from experience, to Rabbit. "Even the ones who do not seem angry at the time often are angry underneath." He inquires of the kit, "Do you also feel the anger of Gaia?"
Rabbit thinks about that; her nose scrunches and the tip her tongue pokes out between her teeth. "Gaia makes Foxes different from Wolves," she says at last, slowly. "Anger, yes, but small. Quiet." She looks at Trace. "Wolves are large, fierce, kill large animals, together in many. Foxes small, one or two, quiet, kill small animals, are killed by larger animals."
Trace walks a little bit further down and into the caern until he finds somewhere, and then sits down, lotus-pose. He considers for a long moment, and nods again. "Sounds about right," he says. "We get killed by larger animals too, though." He pauses, and looks at Rabbit. "I didn't catch your name, last time." It's a polite request though, without much weight behind it.
"There's always someone or something bigger out there," the mage-cat concurs with the Walker. To Rabbit he adds, "It's safe to give your name to the garou here, but be aware that names have power. Be careful when giving out to those you do not know. Especially now that there are Spirals in the area. Many can track you down with nothing but your name."
Rabbit looks at Trace for a long moment after his reply, her expression bemused. She glances at Brings-the-Pack, nods to him, then turns back to introduce herself to the Garou. "I am Rabbit Digs Deep. Fox-kit. Turtle is my father." Polite but a little reserved.
Trace offers another polite smile, and ducks a nod of greeting before adjusting his seated position again, and folding his hands in his lap. "Nice to meet you," he says. Towards the mage cat, Trace asks, "All's been uneventful here, I hope? Didn't run into anything while I was on patrol."
"I've been here most of the day," the cougar returns to Trace. "I have heard no reports of any activity on the bawn. Most of the excitement has been from needless drama generated from within the caern." For Trace's benefit, he offers a little expansion to Rabbit's words. "Turtle is a local Kitsune of some renown who is also an ally of the sept, though typically not a common presence at the caern." His tone indicates Turtle is someone who merits respect.
Rabbit steps closer and hunkers down, squatting on her heels. She's positioned noticeably closer to Brings than Trace, though able to keep an eye on both. To the mage-cougar, she asks, "You tell a story about my father?"
There's a bit of a nod, and Trace huffs a bit. "Well, that would be about usual, ¿no?" he says. There's a slight accent on the last word, making it more Spanish than English although the word is the same in both languages. "And better than the alternative." Another nod. "Yeah, I've heard variously. Glad the Sept has diverse allies, and that we can see past differences and towards common goals and such."
Brings-the-Pack is seated by the fire pit nearer to Rabbit than Trace is, who seems to be giving the non-garou their space. "Let me think a moment on which story to tell," he says to Rabbit, as if, perhaps, he might have many.
Rabbit smiles brightly and sits back, butt hitting the ground. "Thank you!"
Brings-the-Pack thinks a moment before he starts spinning the tale. "This was several years ago. There were Spirals in the city and causing problems, as Spirals tend to do. Turtle had captured one of their kin, which he hope to question and learn information from. He had taken the Spiral kin to a warehouse. I cautioned him that he could not take long, as Spirals would likely come looking for their kin sooner rather than later, and the magick I used seem to confirm that suspicion." He asides to Rabbit, reinforcing a piece of advice he gave her earlier, "The Spirals knew their kin's name, after all, which made him easy to track when they noticed he was missing. And so Turtle found himself facing down three Spirals. One with a machine gun that glowed green from the Wyrm's touch. One wearing a mask made of flesh. And a giant one with horns coming from his head." He pauses here. "One kitsune versus not one, not two, but three of the fallen wolves."
Trace settles in to pay attention to the story, leaning slightly forward on his arms.
Rabbit rocks back up onto her heels and hugs her legs to her chest, paying rapt attention to the story.
Brings-the-Pack continues the tale. "The battle that ensued was quick, brutal, and vicious. First, they shot at him, threw a net at him to try an capture him, and started doing a ritual to hurt him. One of the bullets wounded him, but the net missed completely. Turtle worked magic to confuse them. But the big one with the horns? He saw through the illusion— or perhaps just got lucky— and charged blindly. But, as the saying goes, every so often even a blind squirrel finds a nut. This much bigger Spiral hit Turtle hard, knocking him down. But the bull-Spiral let his anger get the better of him and did not stop charging. He ran straight into the wall. WHAM!" The cougar-mage adds in a sound effect. "And one of his horns broke off and he was stunned."
Trace folds his hands, and the ahroun seems just as taken with the story and a rapt audience. There's a moment at the end at the sound effect where it seems like the Walker might ask 'and then what', but he shuts his mouth soon after opening it, rather than interrupting.
Rabbit grins widely, her mouth opening a little. "Ohhh."
Brings-the-Pack continues telling a slightly modified version of what transpired. "Though wounded, Turtle was still full of wiles. He summoned flames," he said, gesturing towards the fire pit, "which lit cans of gasoline." For Rabbit's benefit he adds, "Gasoline is like water that burns." And then continues. "The flames began to spread rapidly across the ground, getting closer to the captured Spiral kinsman who was tied to a chair for questioning. And then Turtle summoned lightning, which disrupted the Spiral working on some Wyrm-inspired ritual. The Spiral with the gun? He tripped on the net, but still managed to shoot Turtle a second time. Turtle fell to the ground, crawling, and looking as if the fight might soon be over. The bull-Spiral got back up, full of rage, blinded by rage, and looking to kill."
Trace takes a breath, looking back towards the mage cat directly for a brief moment, and this time, he does say something. "Then what happened?"
Rabbit sucks in a breath and holds it.
"Things did not look like they were going well for Turtle. After all, one fox versus a pack of three fallen wolves?" Brings-the-Pack lowers his voice and slows his pace down. "But one should never underestimate a fox." His voice returns to normal. "Whoosh. More magic to confuse the spiral with the glowing green gun, making her eyes wide in terror from visions too horrible for even a Spiral to see. The bull-Spiral charged, but banging his head so hard against the wall must have knocked what little sense he had out of it. He missed Turtle, ran right past him, and cracked his skull into a big metal beam. WHAM!" Again, it would seem.
"The Spiral's kin tied to the chair? The flames on the ground reached him, burned him, and he screamed for death. And the fallen wolf who had been trying to work magic against Turtle? She rushed over to her kinfolk and ripped his head right off. And when she looked up to kill the injured fox who could only crawl?" A pause. "Perhaps the fox had been faking his injuries and his inability to do anything more than crawl away. For when they looked to kill him, he was gone. Three Spirals versus one Kitsune, and the fallen wolves had been out-foxed— and humiliated."
As Nick finishes the tale, a black furred fox with silver guard hairs slips soundlessly out of the trees, trotting with full confidence toward the small gathering near the fire. It makes some strange noises— fox noises? It doesn't sound entirely right— and is clearly more angled toward Rabbit than anyone else.
At the end of what the cougar is saying, there's a bright, toothy smile from Trace, that lasts a moment too long for comfort before it fades into a more reserved expression. Then the Walker's expression flits to the arriving fox, with a bit of a wave with one lifted hand.
Rabbit, grinning, turns around to look at the black-silver fox that just arrived. "He says the story has a lesson," she tells the other two. "Do not be in that place like that. Use too much magic."
Brings-the-Pack offers another potential moral to the story. "Or do not let strength or numbers lead to overconfidence."
The black and silver fox makes a few more odd sounding chitters, before he slides smoothly up into human form, complete with the old coat and battered hat. "I did end up laying around pathetic-like at Emma's place for days," he points out. "But any fight you can technically walk away from. Happened to your great-grandmother," he tells Rabbit. "Cornered by Wyrm Wolves, that is."
The now-familiar whistling with the aimless melody can be heard from some distance through the trees. At first almost too soft to be heard, it gains volume as time passes, signaling the whistler's approach.
Rabbit tilts her head at Turtle, then looks at Brings-the-Pack with renewed interest. "Thank you," she tells him, presumably for telling such a good story.
Trace listens again, and tilts his head to one side. A moment, and his seated posture relaxes somewhat, to merely crosslegged rather than lotus-pose. "All of which are good lessons," the ahroun says thoughtfully.
"Just don't ask for another story tonight. I am no galliard," the cougar-mage replies to the fox kit.
"From what I heard, you're better'n me," Thomas remarks, as he sits himself down without ceremony and with little grace, then adjusts the brim of his hat. "There was a fun time afore I came up this way the first time, and by that I mean I nearly got myself skinned by a few very, very angry vampires." He looks thoughtful as he palms his pockets, then grunts. "It ended in a lot've fire."
Rabbit scoots over to sit closer to the older Kitsune. "Fire in story that Brings-the-Pack told," she says. "Fire and father are big friends."
The volume on the whistling fades not long after, as the ragabash apparently heads right on by.
Trace looks over at the mage cat, and grins. "Don't sell yourself short," Trace affirms, and claps briefly. "I might have to start asking you for stories more often." Towards Thomas, there's a nod. "Afraid I missed getting to introduce myself to you the other day. Trace Garza, also called Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, packed under Coyote, and Guardian." There's a glance up towards the sound of the whistling then fading, and a slight shrug.
Thomas tips his hat. "Thomas Lee hereabouts, sometimes Turtle, Uktena kinfolk and, well, other things, as you already know." He glances down toward Rabbit with a small grin. "I've got a fondness, it's true. But it's important to remember fire's gotta burn. If'n it ain't wood or leaves or vampires or bad humans, it can be you if you're not careful. Gotta respect it, always. —Which does lead me to something." He looks up. "Was thinking about teaching Rabbit the Paths tonight, if'n you folk won't find that too boring."
Rabbit shifts to a kneeling position, sitting back on her heels. As with the mage-cougar-storyteller, she's all attentiveness.
Brings-the-Pack flicks his long tail about his other side, wrapping it in closely, before responding, "I do not mind. It would be educational for more than her, I suspect."
Trace grins a bit and looks at Thomas, then back over to the fire. "I certainly won't find it boring, if it's not secret fox stuff and such that you don't mind an audience." There's a nod to what Brings-the-Pack says. "I haven't had much chance to get to know more about the other shifters, in the past. And being able to remedy that is pretty cool."
Thomas leans over and selects a stick from the firepit that's been away from the flames for quite some time, with almost the whole of its length ash darkened and burnt. He begins by drawing an 'X' on the ground in front of himself, within easy sight of everyone. "Nah, ain't secret if I'm teaching it out here. Now, the Wolves, they got what're called Auspices." He draws a circle around the 'X', just large enough to encompass it, and then begins carefully sketching glyphs in each of the four sections this creates within the circle. "Auspices are more'n jobs, Mastincala, they're basically life devotions. These get decided by what the moon looked like when they were born. Every now'n then there's a Wolf that doesn't feel right with his Auspice, and he'll switch, but this is rare and the Wolves usually don't like it when it happens." The glyphs he's drawing quickly become recognizable as Garou, the basic element: Earth, Air, Fire, Water. "Other folk, Cats, Dragons, Spiders, Rats… they do things differently. Foxes though, we've got Paths, and we're the ones who pick them for ourselves. There's no changing it once we do. Our Paths are what we're best for, inside. No need to worry about choosing wrong; you won't."
Rabbit watches and listens carefully, no more smiles.
Brings-the-Pack cranes his neck to get a better view and cants his ears to better catch Turtle's words. He, too, seems intrigued by this lesson.
Trace leans forward to watch this, though he's quiet while he listens. One finger, though, moves to the dirt to retrace the glyphs in the dirt next to him.
"These are Wolf marks," Turtle continues, and uses the stick to point to each glyph in turn. "They represent words and ideas. This is peta, fire. Mni, water. This one is oniya," he lifts his other hand to his mouth and puffs. "Breath, or thate, the wind. And this last one is makha, the earth, the dirt, all the land. Many humans and all of the Bete and the Wolves know these four as the elements, though there are sometimes five, and sometimes they change the names to look at it differently. There are many spirits of these four things that you will come to know."
Rabbit's lips move as she repeats the various terms under her breath.
Trace watches and listens, fingers tracing out a few more glyphs idly in the dirt next to him. But the Walker is definitely interested in the different outlook this is providing.
"Between these four thing are the Paths," Thomas says, indicating the lines of the 'X' he initially drew. "Wakhangli, lightning, fire of the air. Inyanslo, lava, the fire in the earth. P'o, fog, water in the air, and finally makhasan, clay, water in the earth. Our Paths align with these, so that we are of two of the elements, not just one. Doshi are Wakhangli, our sorcerers. Eji are inyanslo, our warriors. Gukutsushi are p'o', our illusionists and healers, and the Kataribe are makhasan, our bards and builders. Those are all big words that won't make much sense yet, but before you choose, I will tell you all about each."
Rabbit echoes these new words, too, both the Lakota ones and the stranger English ones. She stares down at the diagram and nods slowly.
"Duality as such, a bit?" Trace's question, such as it is, is barely audible and more along the lines of filing it away for later, as the Walker ahroun is clearly trying not to interrupt.
"Harmony," Turtle replies, seemingly unbothered by the question; quite the contrary. "It's a different perspective, and it's got other benefits besides. Eji," he says, perhaps to both of them, "is my Path. Warriors, but not Ahroun." He gestures toward Trace. "The Wolf Warriors. We're very different, so we do things differently, but we're also similar in other ways."
"Wolf different from Fox," Rabbit says, and then yawns hugely.
Trace tilts his head towards Thomas a little bit, curiosity evident in his expression still. "How did you know what Path to choose, when you chose?" Trace asks Thomas.
Thomas reaches over to fondly ruffle Rabbit's hair. "I saw a bowl and reached," he says. "Seemed like the only one I could've reached for. And then," the corners of his eyes crinkle, "I burned my fingers badly enough I couldn't feel anything for a week. Now," he looks down at Rabbit, "Should we be getting back to the boat, cikala? The time is good for it."
Rabbit yawns again and nods. "Two-foot or four-foot?"
"Gaia watch," the Ahroun offers, seemingly directed at both Thomas and Rabbit. There's a slight yawn from Trace, too, and he adds, "Thank you for letting me listen in." And that said, he shifts into his lupus form, before proceeding to sprawl out in place with a slight wag of his tail, eyes shutting halfway.
"Four-foot," Turtle replies. "Our enemies aren't looking for foxes, but they will eat us if they can. We'll go quietly, and you can show me how quiet you can be." He returns to the silver and black fox todd, and leads the way out of the Caern.
Rabbit shifts down as well— a more common orange color fox— and follows after.