07-21-2013, 04:19 PM
Reverence of Dawn is one of the wolves who not only witnessed the challenge last month for the Wyrmfoe but noticed that the winner was... that... mish-mash of a wolf. She noticed him first because he rolled into the moot with one of her own tribemates, and she noticed him again when he won the challenge, and she noticed him one more time when he got up during the Songs and Tales to tell of a battle with exploding slingshot talens and a Ragabash with a sword.
She is as curious to see how he handles the Revel as she was to see the members of Celduin stand before the sept for the first time to tell their stories, oh, their stories.
--
Avery is in hispo for the Revel. After she's laughed and rolled her eyes and stared-in-anticipation through the stories and songs told tonight, she shifts to the form best suited for hunting, running, destroying. She paws at the ground a bit. At one point she snaps her jaws towards the center, about ready to jump out there, out of her place, and get into it with the Ahroun for teasing them, but she's not the only one. There are so many of them here, and the bonds of pack and tribe and sept are dissolving slowly, descending into rage, making them one being, one mass of Gaia's warriors, one entity of her children.
Her hackles are up. Her fur is standing on end, her eyes gleaming. Every exhale is a growl, and she is, again: not the only one. They are growing restless, they are growing infuriated, and in any moment they are going to leap for Erich's own throat, tear him apart if he will not give them something to hunt,
and then he howls, and without even thinking, because the time for thought is gone, Avery throws back her head and joins it, roaring, snarling, wild, <i>mad</i>. Dust and gravel kicks up behind her when she pushes off from the ground, claws tearing at the umbral earth, a shocking white streak diving after their joint quarry. They will catch it and it will escape, they will corner it and it will reform behind them, they will tear it apart and it will coalesce once more for them, again and again, a sacrifice to their rage, a sacrifice to the caern, to Earth, to Gaia and Luna at their zenith.
--
This time they do not forget the Revel. A moot beginning in the spirit realm with glorious song, with wisdom and calls to war and acts of contrition given in the cracking, with tale and song and story given so freely and so joyously, a Revel of union: Earth does not take it from them this month. In the end, all packs, all tribes, all wolves feel a joint heartbeat with Earth, a joining that will last until sunrise,
and linger in memory for far longer.
She is as curious to see how he handles the Revel as she was to see the members of Celduin stand before the sept for the first time to tell their stories, oh, their stories.
--
Avery is in hispo for the Revel. After she's laughed and rolled her eyes and stared-in-anticipation through the stories and songs told tonight, she shifts to the form best suited for hunting, running, destroying. She paws at the ground a bit. At one point she snaps her jaws towards the center, about ready to jump out there, out of her place, and get into it with the Ahroun for teasing them, but she's not the only one. There are so many of them here, and the bonds of pack and tribe and sept are dissolving slowly, descending into rage, making them one being, one mass of Gaia's warriors, one entity of her children.
Her hackles are up. Her fur is standing on end, her eyes gleaming. Every exhale is a growl, and she is, again: not the only one. They are growing restless, they are growing infuriated, and in any moment they are going to leap for Erich's own throat, tear him apart if he will not give them something to hunt,
and then he howls, and without even thinking, because the time for thought is gone, Avery throws back her head and joins it, roaring, snarling, wild, <i>mad</i>. Dust and gravel kicks up behind her when she pushes off from the ground, claws tearing at the umbral earth, a shocking white streak diving after their joint quarry. They will catch it and it will escape, they will corner it and it will reform behind them, they will tear it apart and it will coalesce once more for them, again and again, a sacrifice to their rage, a sacrifice to the caern, to Earth, to Gaia and Luna at their zenith.
--
This time they do not forget the Revel. A moot beginning in the spirit realm with glorious song, with wisdom and calls to war and acts of contrition given in the cracking, with tale and song and story given so freely and so joyously, a Revel of union: Earth does not take it from them this month. In the end, all packs, all tribes, all wolves feel a joint heartbeat with Earth, a joining that will last until sunrise,
and linger in memory for far longer.
my whole life is thunder.