12-16-2013, 11:09 PM
It is the Keeper of the Land who takes the bone next, younger wolves deferring to her eldership. Summer's Early Dawn takes it in hand and looks to Erich. "You are going to patrol... the sept. You are going to set spirit guardians for... the sept."
It's not hard to see the point she's building up to.
"You are going to install... things... and turn on systems that used to be in... the sept."
There's a pause. She's not the greatest speaker in the caern, but she is a Theurge. She speaks to spirits in pulses of information, memory, sensation, in body language, and she speaks a language that most of them will never know. But some of the people in the back actually have trouble hearing her, and she isn't very expressive or subtle. She's no Hector or Tamsin, is what we're saying.
"The sept that was closed by the Great Alpha."
Here, Summer's Early Dawn turns to look at one of their eldest, one of their most revered, who watches the moot through slitted, golden eyes. He looks from the bone to the Keeper, and for a moment, the two of them -- rather far apart in rank, and age, and temperament -- seem to carry on a silent conversation. Just before David is starting to wonder if maybe he needs to take that bone back before the Theurge forgets where she is, Summer turns back to Erich.
"And who will lead this sept, Cliath? You?" Her head tips. "Who will keep its spirits happy, polish the windows so that Glass is happy, sweep the challenge floor, care for the 'land' that others think beneath them?" She looks at Phoebe. "You, Fostern, born and raised by this caern?" She looks into the crowd, at wolves who used to live there, at wolves who forsook the place from the start. "Who will ward it, never to leave its grounds? Who will bind themselves to guard this place, and walk in the footsteps of its former guardians?"
A shudder goes through the crowd at the memory. Summer's Early Dawn looks over the Desert Oracles, looks at the Falcons:
"Who," she goes on, head straightening, going much more slowly to the other side as she stares at their faces, "will teach the rites, and who will settle the challenges? Who will face punishment, if you fail? If you fall?" Her eyes have come back to Erich, and they are piercing.
"I remember you, the night of judgement. You were one of many who could not bear it. Believe me," she says,
she: dotty, gentle, merciful, who shifted to crinos with the other elders and harried a now-nameless garou to a bloody, silvered death, whose eyes quiver with the memory even as she calls it to mind,
even as her voice falls even quieter,
"it was not an easy thing to bear."
Those words hang in a moment, as Summer's Early Dawn finds herself somewhere else, somewhere darker. She rounds her shoulders down, watching him as her eyes re-focus. It is a mercy when she takes them away, looking over all those who have spoken, a few who have not.
"Are any of you willing, for the sake of this sept, against the order of the Great Alpha, to shoulder such a burden?"
--
There is silence. Summer's Early Dawn holds the bone still. She breathes in deeply, and turns to David, holding it out to him. She even inclines her head to him slightly, a gesture of respect if not submission, and as soon as it hits his palm,
Shieldwind, an Athro Philodox who has taken more than a few shifts guarding the Pit, the Portal, whatever it is, has reached forward to take it.
"I will," he says firmly, at Summer's Early Dawn's back. "I'll die in that basement if it keeps Cold Crescent protected."
His eyes shift to Warning Threshold, who refuses to shiver despite having no fur now to guard him from the cold. The two meet eyes a moment, and Shieldwind chuffs a rough breath from his nostrils, animalistic. He gives a sharp nod. "I'll die without a wolf, by silver, if while I live I keep that sept safe."
--
The next, and the next, and the next. There's a clamor for the bone, and it's some of the young and it's some who are of middling-rank... none beyond Adren, none as high-ranked as Shieldwind, but there are multiple garou of each auspice, some who came to Denver for Cold Crescent, some who were born and raised in Forgotten Questions, some who have lived in both.
A few decry the sept in the city.
Most say, to answer Summer's Early Dawn: I will.
I will.
I will.
--
The bone moves on. The voices have not stopped.
It's not hard to see the point she's building up to.
"You are going to install... things... and turn on systems that used to be in... the sept."
There's a pause. She's not the greatest speaker in the caern, but she is a Theurge. She speaks to spirits in pulses of information, memory, sensation, in body language, and she speaks a language that most of them will never know. But some of the people in the back actually have trouble hearing her, and she isn't very expressive or subtle. She's no Hector or Tamsin, is what we're saying.
"The sept that was closed by the Great Alpha."
Here, Summer's Early Dawn turns to look at one of their eldest, one of their most revered, who watches the moot through slitted, golden eyes. He looks from the bone to the Keeper, and for a moment, the two of them -- rather far apart in rank, and age, and temperament -- seem to carry on a silent conversation. Just before David is starting to wonder if maybe he needs to take that bone back before the Theurge forgets where she is, Summer turns back to Erich.
"And who will lead this sept, Cliath? You?" Her head tips. "Who will keep its spirits happy, polish the windows so that Glass is happy, sweep the challenge floor, care for the 'land' that others think beneath them?" She looks at Phoebe. "You, Fostern, born and raised by this caern?" She looks into the crowd, at wolves who used to live there, at wolves who forsook the place from the start. "Who will ward it, never to leave its grounds? Who will bind themselves to guard this place, and walk in the footsteps of its former guardians?"
A shudder goes through the crowd at the memory. Summer's Early Dawn looks over the Desert Oracles, looks at the Falcons:
"Who," she goes on, head straightening, going much more slowly to the other side as she stares at their faces, "will teach the rites, and who will settle the challenges? Who will face punishment, if you fail? If you fall?" Her eyes have come back to Erich, and they are piercing.
"I remember you, the night of judgement. You were one of many who could not bear it. Believe me," she says,
she: dotty, gentle, merciful, who shifted to crinos with the other elders and harried a now-nameless garou to a bloody, silvered death, whose eyes quiver with the memory even as she calls it to mind,
even as her voice falls even quieter,
"it was not an easy thing to bear."
Those words hang in a moment, as Summer's Early Dawn finds herself somewhere else, somewhere darker. She rounds her shoulders down, watching him as her eyes re-focus. It is a mercy when she takes them away, looking over all those who have spoken, a few who have not.
"Are any of you willing, for the sake of this sept, against the order of the Great Alpha, to shoulder such a burden?"
--
There is silence. Summer's Early Dawn holds the bone still. She breathes in deeply, and turns to David, holding it out to him. She even inclines her head to him slightly, a gesture of respect if not submission, and as soon as it hits his palm,
Shieldwind, an Athro Philodox who has taken more than a few shifts guarding the Pit, the Portal, whatever it is, has reached forward to take it.
"I will," he says firmly, at Summer's Early Dawn's back. "I'll die in that basement if it keeps Cold Crescent protected."
His eyes shift to Warning Threshold, who refuses to shiver despite having no fur now to guard him from the cold. The two meet eyes a moment, and Shieldwind chuffs a rough breath from his nostrils, animalistic. He gives a sharp nod. "I'll die without a wolf, by silver, if while I live I keep that sept safe."
--
The next, and the next, and the next. There's a clamor for the bone, and it's some of the young and it's some who are of middling-rank... none beyond Adren, none as high-ranked as Shieldwind, but there are multiple garou of each auspice, some who came to Denver for Cold Crescent, some who were born and raised in Forgotten Questions, some who have lived in both.
A few decry the sept in the city.
Most say, to answer Summer's Early Dawn: I will.
I will.
I will.
--
The bone moves on. The voices have not stopped.
my whole life is thunder.