07-18-2013, 10:17 AM
The Truthcatcher's pack, though he is only the omega amongst two Galliards of higher tribal birth, has been addressed. As with all that speak, Jack watches the speaker, the Silver Fang this time, though the lupus' ears are always turning independent of one another.
Flicking this direction and that. Great funnels atop his crown, taking in the sounds on the Umbral winds, twister still twisting away across the landscape, rats at the periphery of the gathering skittering in the dark hollows beneath the crags, the General Lee doing donuts before tearing down some rocky straightaway.
Taking in other sounds as well. Not as much looking for words or interruptions, but instead gauging the breaths and sentiment of the Garou who made their pilgrimage from near and far for the moot. Maybe one or two restlessly shift here. Maybe another sighs there. Or one chooses a particularly grave exchange to relieve herself. It all has as much meaning. Breath not used for words, movement that is not the wrapping of lips around rhetoric, could be just as telling as to consensus and emotion. Perhaps even more so.
And when Reverence of Dawn is finished and holds out that bone, though he leaves it to his Alpha to accept (or deny) her contrition, his own sentiment is made plain. As his maw opens to accept the bone, the Bone Gnawer's tongue flicks out the slightest bit to lick the first knuckle of one – the closest – finger before closing around the femur and carrying it on to the next who will claim it.
Flicking this direction and that. Great funnels atop his crown, taking in the sounds on the Umbral winds, twister still twisting away across the landscape, rats at the periphery of the gathering skittering in the dark hollows beneath the crags, the General Lee doing donuts before tearing down some rocky straightaway.
Taking in other sounds as well. Not as much looking for words or interruptions, but instead gauging the breaths and sentiment of the Garou who made their pilgrimage from near and far for the moot. Maybe one or two restlessly shift here. Maybe another sighs there. Or one chooses a particularly grave exchange to relieve herself. It all has as much meaning. Breath not used for words, movement that is not the wrapping of lips around rhetoric, could be just as telling as to consensus and emotion. Perhaps even more so.
And when Reverence of Dawn is finished and holds out that bone, though he leaves it to his Alpha to accept (or deny) her contrition, his own sentiment is made plain. As his maw opens to accept the bone, the Bone Gnawer's tongue flicks out the slightest bit to lick the first knuckle of one – the closest – finger before closing around the femur and carrying it on to the next who will claim it.