errin
08-09-2013, 09:52 AM
More than a month ago Ingrid Kim, Dances With the Hurricane, Cliath Shadow Lord Ragabash and Daughter of Crow, arrived in the city of Denver with an Ahroun of her tribe and a Silver Fang Theurge. In the time since she hasn't made much of a presence of herself in the city. Usually that's because she's not in it.
That's changing.
And since that's changing, Ingrid has decided that it's well past time to make her formal introductions to the spirit of Forgotten Questions. It's time to dig in, throw down roots, brace herself so that she can make a stand.
She makes her way through the park, her clothing simple for her: dark colored exercise gear and a pair of purple running shoes, dedicated clothing to replace those that were shredded the other night. Someone finds her, a Guardian of this Sept. When she tells them her purpose, they give her directions to the Caern's heart.
Ingrid kneels close to the space wherein the heart lies, head bowed, respectful. In a low voice she tells the spirit an early memory, some dreamlike half-remembered images of a street in New York, where she lived as a child. Not that many will understand the language of her parents' people, or hear her voice which never rises above a whisper.
When she's finished, she rises, sweeps her hair back from her face with a flick of her hand.
Then she goes in search of the Master of Challenges.
That's changing.
And since that's changing, Ingrid has decided that it's well past time to make her formal introductions to the spirit of Forgotten Questions. It's time to dig in, throw down roots, brace herself so that she can make a stand.
She makes her way through the park, her clothing simple for her: dark colored exercise gear and a pair of purple running shoes, dedicated clothing to replace those that were shredded the other night. Someone finds her, a Guardian of this Sept. When she tells them her purpose, they give her directions to the Caern's heart.
Ingrid kneels close to the space wherein the heart lies, head bowed, respectful. In a low voice she tells the spirit an early memory, some dreamlike half-remembered images of a street in New York, where she lived as a child. Not that many will understand the language of her parents' people, or hear her voice which never rises above a whisper.
When she's finished, she rises, sweeps her hair back from her face with a flick of her hand.
Then she goes in search of the Master of Challenges.