12-09-2013, 10:55 AM
Avery came south a night early, perhaps ride-sharing with her packmate and her packmate's cub-in-training, sleeping through most of the day at their raw little house on land that Avery staked her claim on months and months ago. It feels good to be even that close to the caern, to feel its power like thunder rolling underground. By the time she woke, it was midafternoon, and the sun was already melting its last rays across the landscape. The Rockies take the light early here in wintertime; Roxborough Park sees few to no visitors in the cold, and the grounds belong solely to the garou in the dark. Despite the low temperatures, the garou of Forgotten Questions have historically found themselves strongest and happiest between the summer and winter solstices, as the days shorten and the nights grow long, heady with possibility.
Tonight she doesn't drive the short distance from the pack house to the caern. She goes with Javed and Ruby or meets them there, but Avery arrives through the shadow-realm, mirror-realm, wearing the skin of the dire hunting wolves that would, if they were a mortal species in their own right, possibly never have been hunted to near-extinction.
Or only hunted to nothingness that much sooner, condemned by their power clashing with humanity's fear.
--
But oh, she is joyous in this body. It is her favorite -- couldn't you tell? She wears it as often as a beloved piece of jewelry, and it shines as brightly. The heavy limbs, the impossibly sharp fangs, the clarity of scent and sound, the sheer speed and power. Avery in hispo is a glorious white creature, thick-furred and glossy beside the two sleek, dark creatures she stands with when they hear Phoebe's call and discover the moot grounds for tonight, a high place where they are close to the enormous sky. Her eyes are a pristine blue even in this form, just as bright and intelligent as they are in any other, yet not as stormy with rage as they would be in her warform.
She ran faster than even the Silent Striders tonight, with snow and ice still packed on the ground. Few wolves would slip, as long as they had padded paws and sharp claws to assist them, but Avery is a Silver Fang, a tribe whose oldest house hails from the deepest, coldest lands in Russia. And Avery is a Philodox, born to balance, and when the ground is white and frosted, she not only feels no suffering from the cold, not only rises about the struggle to keep her footing, but seems to move faster, move smoother, than even in summer.
She delights in this as she delights in so many things, darting ahead of Javed and Ruby only to circle back and bump her shoulders to theirs, whine happily as she gives Javed a rough swipe of her tongue in affectionate grooming. It is not a behavior one would ever see of her in homid, a physical fondness that neither she nor Javed are liable to ever express when they have their oh-so-formal words to do it for them. But Avery cannot adjust her throat to that of a human being's when in any other body, and the language of wolves is not primarily a verbal one. So Ruby gets that friendly bump, Javed gets that happy lick, and then she's off again, tail wagging, her paws dancing so delicately over the snow that she barely appears to touch the earth at all.
--
They stand together at the moot. Some huddle together for warmth. A few others gather what dry wood and leafless brush they can find or dragged, and with a clap of handpaws here and a twisting of air there, some of the metis-born call on elementals to summon fires. Soon the dark, open space is illuminated by flames that answer to the full moon, creating a little more warmth for the garou to share.
Humans from low-lying areas who happen to wake tonight, or glance out their windows and think they see spots of glowing light within Roxborough,
will sleep again, and forget. The spirit of Earth who empowers this land, and has empowered it since time immemorial, will protect itself, and protect the wolves who gather here. It may give memories, when needed. It may also take them away.
--
Avery, when she joins in the song, hops up on her hind legs to stamp her forepaws in quick succession, an energetic two-beat bounce followed by a BARK! She casts a look over at Erich when she catches sight of Baklava Republik, her tongue lolling out, because the song makes her think of him (a little bit). It is everything she can do not to go tackle Charlotte and roll around on the ground with the skinny Theurge, and Avery's lupine body almost quivers from joy and restraint, both. She grins that same lolling look at Celduin when she sees them, taking a second from the song to sniff her hellos at them, because they are good and smart and good and yes and she likes them yes hello hello hello Celduin.
Back to her barking, her ululating howls trying valiantly (failing happily) to go somewhat in tune with the song, Avery keeps wagging, her tail going so fast that occasionally it thumps Ruby, who Avery has just happened to make sure is between she and Javed.
Tonight she doesn't drive the short distance from the pack house to the caern. She goes with Javed and Ruby or meets them there, but Avery arrives through the shadow-realm, mirror-realm, wearing the skin of the dire hunting wolves that would, if they were a mortal species in their own right, possibly never have been hunted to near-extinction.
Or only hunted to nothingness that much sooner, condemned by their power clashing with humanity's fear.
--
But oh, she is joyous in this body. It is her favorite -- couldn't you tell? She wears it as often as a beloved piece of jewelry, and it shines as brightly. The heavy limbs, the impossibly sharp fangs, the clarity of scent and sound, the sheer speed and power. Avery in hispo is a glorious white creature, thick-furred and glossy beside the two sleek, dark creatures she stands with when they hear Phoebe's call and discover the moot grounds for tonight, a high place where they are close to the enormous sky. Her eyes are a pristine blue even in this form, just as bright and intelligent as they are in any other, yet not as stormy with rage as they would be in her warform.
She ran faster than even the Silent Striders tonight, with snow and ice still packed on the ground. Few wolves would slip, as long as they had padded paws and sharp claws to assist them, but Avery is a Silver Fang, a tribe whose oldest house hails from the deepest, coldest lands in Russia. And Avery is a Philodox, born to balance, and when the ground is white and frosted, she not only feels no suffering from the cold, not only rises about the struggle to keep her footing, but seems to move faster, move smoother, than even in summer.
She delights in this as she delights in so many things, darting ahead of Javed and Ruby only to circle back and bump her shoulders to theirs, whine happily as she gives Javed a rough swipe of her tongue in affectionate grooming. It is not a behavior one would ever see of her in homid, a physical fondness that neither she nor Javed are liable to ever express when they have their oh-so-formal words to do it for them. But Avery cannot adjust her throat to that of a human being's when in any other body, and the language of wolves is not primarily a verbal one. So Ruby gets that friendly bump, Javed gets that happy lick, and then she's off again, tail wagging, her paws dancing so delicately over the snow that she barely appears to touch the earth at all.
--
They stand together at the moot. Some huddle together for warmth. A few others gather what dry wood and leafless brush they can find or dragged, and with a clap of handpaws here and a twisting of air there, some of the metis-born call on elementals to summon fires. Soon the dark, open space is illuminated by flames that answer to the full moon, creating a little more warmth for the garou to share.
Humans from low-lying areas who happen to wake tonight, or glance out their windows and think they see spots of glowing light within Roxborough,
will sleep again, and forget. The spirit of Earth who empowers this land, and has empowered it since time immemorial, will protect itself, and protect the wolves who gather here. It may give memories, when needed. It may also take them away.
--
Avery, when she joins in the song, hops up on her hind legs to stamp her forepaws in quick succession, an energetic two-beat bounce followed by a BARK! She casts a look over at Erich when she catches sight of Baklava Republik, her tongue lolling out, because the song makes her think of him (a little bit). It is everything she can do not to go tackle Charlotte and roll around on the ground with the skinny Theurge, and Avery's lupine body almost quivers from joy and restraint, both. She grins that same lolling look at Celduin when she sees them, taking a second from the song to sniff her hellos at them, because they are good and smart and good and yes and she likes them yes hello hello hello Celduin.
Back to her barking, her ululating howls trying valiantly (failing happily) to go somewhat in tune with the song, Avery keeps wagging, her tail going so fast that occasionally it thumps Ruby, who Avery has just happened to make sure is between she and Javed.
my whole life is thunder.