The Great Alpha is silent as the Cracking goes on. He has seen many of these wolves impassioned before, speaking up for Cold Crescent. He remains in the center, next to the Truthcatcher, for a very long time. And as the last voices begin to quiet, and as it becomes clear that they are only going to go in circles, and even when someone steps up and says that Cold Crescent can do with just a Warder, the Great Alpha pushes up on his feet and grunts at Avery.
Someone else is, just then, comingn forward to take the jawbone, but steps back. Reverence of Dawn turns to the Great Alpha and gives him the lion's bone, stepping out of his way. He holds it under one paw, as he often does.
"Old Cold Crescent fell," he says, his voice a heavy rumble in the air. "With leader. With independence." And here, there is no mistaking the disdain in that word, regardless of the half-shifted form of his throat, the voice that is neither merely an animal's or a man's. "New Cold Crescent failed. With no leader. No core. Home or tower," and again a noise, a chuff of disdain for what he sees as nitpicking, as the mistakes and misconceptions of the young.
The Great Alpha growls at the back of his throat, quietly. "I am your Alpha." He says this to all of them: every wolf, every pack, every one of them gathered here, regardless of where they dwell. The words have a sound like thunder. "This is your caern," he says, just as heavy, just as harsh, sweeping golden eyes across those who have spoken. His lips pull back from his teeth. "I give you leader who speaks in my name, you obey. Or you find new caern. New home. Not in city," he snaps, punctuating the warning: "Far from here."
The warning hangs in the air for a few moments: Cold Crescent will have a liaison, one who speaks for the Great Alpha. Not just a Warder, and not a leader separated entirely from the authority of the Great Alpha. And those who cannot live under that arrangement, who refuse to obey the Great Alpha's Moonwalker, will find themselves ostracized from both Forgotten Questions and Cold Crescent.
He swings his head to look at Vigor, standing not too far from Shieldwind. "Moonwalker," he snarls at the Adren Ragabash. "Warder," he says, snapping his jaws at the Athro Shadow Lord. His paw slams down on the lion's jawbone, with far more force, far more rage, than would be necessary to break it. It splinters beneath his strength. "We are done."
Someone else is, just then, comingn forward to take the jawbone, but steps back. Reverence of Dawn turns to the Great Alpha and gives him the lion's bone, stepping out of his way. He holds it under one paw, as he often does.
"Old Cold Crescent fell," he says, his voice a heavy rumble in the air. "With leader. With independence." And here, there is no mistaking the disdain in that word, regardless of the half-shifted form of his throat, the voice that is neither merely an animal's or a man's. "New Cold Crescent failed. With no leader. No core. Home or tower," and again a noise, a chuff of disdain for what he sees as nitpicking, as the mistakes and misconceptions of the young.
The Great Alpha growls at the back of his throat, quietly. "I am your Alpha." He says this to all of them: every wolf, every pack, every one of them gathered here, regardless of where they dwell. The words have a sound like thunder. "This is your caern," he says, just as heavy, just as harsh, sweeping golden eyes across those who have spoken. His lips pull back from his teeth. "I give you leader who speaks in my name, you obey. Or you find new caern. New home. Not in city," he snaps, punctuating the warning: "Far from here."
The warning hangs in the air for a few moments: Cold Crescent will have a liaison, one who speaks for the Great Alpha. Not just a Warder, and not a leader separated entirely from the authority of the Great Alpha. And those who cannot live under that arrangement, who refuse to obey the Great Alpha's Moonwalker, will find themselves ostracized from both Forgotten Questions and Cold Crescent.
He swings his head to look at Vigor, standing not too far from Shieldwind. "Moonwalker," he snarls at the Adren Ragabash. "Warder," he says, snapping his jaws at the Athro Shadow Lord. His paw slams down on the lion's jawbone, with far more force, far more rage, than would be necessary to break it. It splinters beneath his strength. "We are done."
my whole life is thunder.