07-16-2013, 10:04 PM
How much fatty bone barrow has this hulking beast gnawed, cracked open, and suckled upon? One might imagine that around Law in War not a scrap goes to waste, from prickly avian filaments to clear the intestinal tract on to heftier elk bones and everything in between. Deli meats. Candy bars. Moldy cheese. It's equally difficult to imagine he has seen lean times, but maybe it's only because when they were, he made due and didn't turn up his nose at a rotten piece of grub riddled roadkill.
This mottled John Deere tractor of muscle and fat trudges forward and up to mount the penumbral reflection of Earth's sandstone spine. And it has managed to preserve one bone. His plump and saggy jowls in this lupine form wrap around it. Each breath whistles wetly between teeth, labored as he moves his boulder form to the center, grunting and growling for attention.
Law in War places the mule deer femur with all the reverence he can summon onto the ground, sacred ground still thrumming with the awakened earthly energies of the Caern from the Calling of the Wyld. He speaks first to the bone, in the growls and huffs, yips and barks of their tongue, though loud enough for those around to hear.
“A bone to bear the brunt of disputes, to soak up malice and leave brother and sisterhood, to judge claims, and drag the weight of our concerns,” turning to the crowd arrayed around, hips and hind quarters bucking bullishly as his front paws remain spread in a strong stance.
“Give air to cool hot blood as the stones and highways cool from day's baking heat. Settle wrongs and disputes with claw-cut or bruise or broken bone; with a smart mouth or a sharp mind; be told to shut your muzzle, ain't your place. Claim with piss or words or title, however your tribe's way tell you. Challenge others; hold-throat and win or show-throat and submit. Give a name to your new face,” continuing to circle as he gives his direction, slower as he rounds on the bone. Sniffing the assembled scents of all these warriors of Gaia.
“Threats? Concerns? Wyrm or Weaver or even Wyld? If the Warder should've known about it already it's your tail, but pipe up now. Plan hunts and call claws and teeth against the Wyrm-enemy? Speak now while the Warders and Wyrmfoe listen,” nosing the bone again, its white lost in the bulk of his shadow.
“Do-what-will with this bone, by right of rank or right place, right time, but always speak truth,” finally picking it up as he falls quiet, Law in War brings it first to the Elders for them to speak.
Then to an Athro, and the next, on to any Adren that will question or challenge to speak amongst them.
Then to an Adren, and the next, on to any Fostern that will question or challenge to speak amongst them.
Then to a Fostern, and the next, on to any Cliath, and by now the picture should be clear, because finally...
To the Cliaths, from one to the next, as they step forward to claim it and their right to speak, even if last.
This mottled John Deere tractor of muscle and fat trudges forward and up to mount the penumbral reflection of Earth's sandstone spine. And it has managed to preserve one bone. His plump and saggy jowls in this lupine form wrap around it. Each breath whistles wetly between teeth, labored as he moves his boulder form to the center, grunting and growling for attention.
Law in War places the mule deer femur with all the reverence he can summon onto the ground, sacred ground still thrumming with the awakened earthly energies of the Caern from the Calling of the Wyld. He speaks first to the bone, in the growls and huffs, yips and barks of their tongue, though loud enough for those around to hear.
“A bone to bear the brunt of disputes, to soak up malice and leave brother and sisterhood, to judge claims, and drag the weight of our concerns,” turning to the crowd arrayed around, hips and hind quarters bucking bullishly as his front paws remain spread in a strong stance.
“Give air to cool hot blood as the stones and highways cool from day's baking heat. Settle wrongs and disputes with claw-cut or bruise or broken bone; with a smart mouth or a sharp mind; be told to shut your muzzle, ain't your place. Claim with piss or words or title, however your tribe's way tell you. Challenge others; hold-throat and win or show-throat and submit. Give a name to your new face,” continuing to circle as he gives his direction, slower as he rounds on the bone. Sniffing the assembled scents of all these warriors of Gaia.
“Threats? Concerns? Wyrm or Weaver or even Wyld? If the Warder should've known about it already it's your tail, but pipe up now. Plan hunts and call claws and teeth against the Wyrm-enemy? Speak now while the Warders and Wyrmfoe listen,” nosing the bone again, its white lost in the bulk of his shadow.
“Do-what-will with this bone, by right of rank or right place, right time, but always speak truth,” finally picking it up as he falls quiet, Law in War brings it first to the Elders for them to speak.
Then to an Athro, and the next, on to any Adren that will question or challenge to speak amongst them.
Then to an Adren, and the next, on to any Fostern that will question or challenge to speak amongst them.
Then to a Fostern, and the next, on to any Cliath, and by now the picture should be clear, because finally...
To the Cliaths, from one to the next, as they step forward to claim it and their right to speak, even if last.