04-23-2013, 01:11 PM
A few low growls between the wolves, considering and discussing amongst themselves: the share, the offal taken and the choicest meats left behind. They seem inclined to accept. The female who stepped forward doesn't wag her tail at them or dart forward to grab at the beast. She watches Jack shift and though her nostrils flare, she doesn't crane her neck forward the way a younger wolf might to sniff at him.
Both of the newcomers speak. They introduce themselves separately. There is a long pause, and then the female gives a grunt.
As one, the pack of Guardians swarms toward the stag. They don't drag it elsewhere or shapeshift to carry it. They eat it where it lies, and one lifts a bloody muzzle to howl an invitation to their brothers and sisters. There are, including the female, five wolves right in front of them, but that call was summoning packmates. More of them, spread throughout the park, all under the same moon and the same totem. The muzzle descends, and the pack goes on tearing and yanking the meat free from the opened belly of the stag with the same fervor as if they had brought it down themselves.
The female bobs her head downward to Underdog and Rabid. She gives one low, quick swish of her tail. Her body language is subtle but expressive, particularly to the Bone Gnawer that was born to this form. The chiminage -- to the Guardians, at least -- is accepted. She wheels about, joining her packmates at the stag, snarling a bit at one of the smaller ones who is in her way.
That wolf draws back, licking his maw. He's very dark of coat, more auburn than red, with steely grey eyes, though an eyeblink later he's a young man, perhaps only seventeen or eighteen. His hair in this form is brown with only the faintest hints of red, his eyes still grey. It's not hard to sniff the purity on him, however dim it is; they know he's Fianna on sight, especially after he grins with stag's blood on his teeth and chin.
"Jim Many-Ways," he says, by way of introduction, "Galliard of Stag." There's a beat there. He gestures at the thing they're eating, the gift, and that grin widens. "I know, right?" Shakes his head, laughing, then gathers their attention and points his long, winter-fair arm southward, into the depths of the Fountain Formations. "The heart is that-a-way. Y'just follow that trail, then there's this other one, then..." He turns back to them, waving that same hand at them. "Eh, you'll figure it out."
There's a savage edge to that grin, a nudging challenge in the words. What Garou worth their skin can't find a caern's heart, after all? He goes on: "If you're plannin' on stayin' in the area a while or joinin' in our moots you should go greet the Firstborn at the heart. Tell it yer earliest mem'ry, y'know? Doesn't really matter what it is." He shrugs. "Just don't reach into the heart. Warder'll turn yer hand into a coathanger and the Master of Rites'll do somethin' godawful with your tongue, don't even know what. Real touchy 'bout that."
He fidgets a bit, then grins again. "Now if y'don't mind," and that's all. He's in lupus again, wedging himself between his brothers and sisters to eat more of tonight's great feast. And in the distance, they can hear -- and make out -- the shadows of more wolves coming to join them, one and two at a time.
--
[And I'm out!]
Both of the newcomers speak. They introduce themselves separately. There is a long pause, and then the female gives a grunt.
As one, the pack of Guardians swarms toward the stag. They don't drag it elsewhere or shapeshift to carry it. They eat it where it lies, and one lifts a bloody muzzle to howl an invitation to their brothers and sisters. There are, including the female, five wolves right in front of them, but that call was summoning packmates. More of them, spread throughout the park, all under the same moon and the same totem. The muzzle descends, and the pack goes on tearing and yanking the meat free from the opened belly of the stag with the same fervor as if they had brought it down themselves.
The female bobs her head downward to Underdog and Rabid. She gives one low, quick swish of her tail. Her body language is subtle but expressive, particularly to the Bone Gnawer that was born to this form. The chiminage -- to the Guardians, at least -- is accepted. She wheels about, joining her packmates at the stag, snarling a bit at one of the smaller ones who is in her way.
That wolf draws back, licking his maw. He's very dark of coat, more auburn than red, with steely grey eyes, though an eyeblink later he's a young man, perhaps only seventeen or eighteen. His hair in this form is brown with only the faintest hints of red, his eyes still grey. It's not hard to sniff the purity on him, however dim it is; they know he's Fianna on sight, especially after he grins with stag's blood on his teeth and chin.
"Jim Many-Ways," he says, by way of introduction, "Galliard of Stag." There's a beat there. He gestures at the thing they're eating, the gift, and that grin widens. "I know, right?" Shakes his head, laughing, then gathers their attention and points his long, winter-fair arm southward, into the depths of the Fountain Formations. "The heart is that-a-way. Y'just follow that trail, then there's this other one, then..." He turns back to them, waving that same hand at them. "Eh, you'll figure it out."
There's a savage edge to that grin, a nudging challenge in the words. What Garou worth their skin can't find a caern's heart, after all? He goes on: "If you're plannin' on stayin' in the area a while or joinin' in our moots you should go greet the Firstborn at the heart. Tell it yer earliest mem'ry, y'know? Doesn't really matter what it is." He shrugs. "Just don't reach into the heart. Warder'll turn yer hand into a coathanger and the Master of Rites'll do somethin' godawful with your tongue, don't even know what. Real touchy 'bout that."
He fidgets a bit, then grins again. "Now if y'don't mind," and that's all. He's in lupus again, wedging himself between his brothers and sisters to eat more of tonight's great feast. And in the distance, they can hear -- and make out -- the shadows of more wolves coming to join them, one and two at a time.
--
[And I'm out!]