![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 10:28 Pacific Time on Tue Jun 1 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (72% full).
Bawn: Central Forest
In the gloom, in the forest, is the sound of scraping on wood. beneath a tree kneels the Get Godi, Icetrap. On the ground before him is somethin glike a board. Not a sawm board, or even a split one. At some point a dead tree became hollow enough that only a thin shell remained, and it is a long section of this that the Get is working on- perhaps two feet long and a foot wide. It has been scraped pale and flat. Now, in Crinos, he works with his claws, carving into the prepared surface.
This monstrous, scarred beast of legend and horror stands over eight feet tall, and reeks of blood and the scent of battle. Rangy muscle and whipcord sinew shift beneath a coarse pelt of salt-and-pepper grey, his upper body marked by the vivid ridges and lines of runes and glyphs that carve into the flesh of his chest and arms. The pinched look of his angular lupine head paints a stark contrast of youth and bitter experience, and the glint of his amber eyes is reminiscent of a wild animal poised between flight and vicious attack. The dark flesh of his back is naked of pelt and deeply clawed with the glyphs for 'Get of Fenris', 'hold back' and 'ice'. His hindlegs are lean and wiry, less touched by scarring, and his tail is thickly-furred. About his waist is a thick leather belt bearing two knives in sheaths and a collection of pouches.
Scentlessly, though not soundlessly, Stops-Too-Late creeps through the woods at right angles to the hard-at-work Get. She pauses perhaps some twenty feet away, one paw uplifted, and watches what he's doing for a few moments before drawing closer. As she approaches her scent stutters in and out, like a badly-tuned radio, until it finally rushes back as she announces her presence with a chuff and a hesitant wag of her tail. What are you doing?
There's a pause before the get speaks. When he does, he sounds almost spaced out, and perfectly calm. ~A Rite.~ The symbols he's carving are probably Glyphs, but they flow around one another, and runes and flourishes dance between them. They are as much picture as writing. So far, however, the picture is very incomplete.
The wolf's ears twitch, one swiveling to locate a squirrel while the other momentarily flattens. After another few seconds of thought, she cautiously paces around to where Icetrap will be better able to see her without having to do anything distracting like turn his head. May I watch? I am Stops-Too-Late, ragabash cub of Falcon.
Icetrap does in fact look up at that point. ~Zosia-rhya's cub?~ he gives it some thought. ~I don't think she'd m-mind. Go ahead. It's called Artwork. It lets you focus your Rage into s-something. Art, or m-music, or s-something like that. Then the Rage isn't as s-strong and easy to listen to.~ He bends his head to examine his work again, poises a single claw, and carefully carves another curve.
Stops-Too-Late acknowledges that yes, she is Falcon's-Grace's cub, though there's another brief splay of ears at the admission. It is very... interesting. Throwing looks at the Theurge for any hint of displeasure, she comes a few steps closer before sitting again. There is a Fenrir cub who might want to learn this. He said Luna was pulling at him.
~Rage is great w-with m-many of Fenrir's children. I've already promised to teach it to one of our cubs,~ Icetrap answers. He looks up again suddenly. ~S-sorry. Holds-Back-the-Ice, Godi of Great Fenrir's blood, Cliath of the Hidden Walk, packed under Weasel.~
The wolf's tail wags again, just once. It is good to meet you, Holds-Back-Ice. Is there much ice here? There is not where I am from. Only in water.
~It gets cold in w-winter,~ Icetrap replies, sitting back on his haunches and leaving his carving alone for the moment. ~But the ice I held back w-was a glacier, on m-my Rite of Passage. That's w-what happened to m-my fur. It got frozen into the glacier. W-when I w-was pulled away, all the fur w-was left behind.~
Stops-Too-Late doesn't say 'ew', but her dismay is abundantly clear in her sudden startle. That is... I have not heard of that before. Was that here? She glances about just in case a glacier or three has snuck up on them.
~In the Umbra,~ Icetrap answers. ~But n-not the Penumbra. The Rite s-sent m-me... s-somewhere. A Chimare, maybe... that's... a sort of dream-world, but a small one, that makes a little pocket in the Umbra. They don't often have fixed locations. This one had a great valley, w-with a village in the bottom of it, and a glacier at the top.~
I do not understand some of your words, the Ragabash admits with chagrin. I am still learning Mother's-Tongue. Please keep speaking. So saying, she slowly shifts up to Crinos but remains sitting, attention focused politely on the Get.
Patience is needed on both sides as the Get stutters his way through a slower explanation, pausing to further explain words that are likely unfamiliar. Noticebly, the stuttering almost completely disappears whenever the subject is strictly spirit-only.
~Thank you,~ Stops-Too-Late says once everything has been made clear. ~How long you Cliath? --No. How long have you been Cliath?~ She emphasizes the extra words, the tricky bits of polite language.
The Get pauses for thought. ~M-more than three years? I s-sort of l-lost count. I w-was a cub for a year.~
~Is that... usual, for Get cubs?~ Stops-Too-Late asks, settling back on her haunches. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want me to be cub only four or six turnings of Luna.~
Icetrap shrugs and hunches slightly. ~There w-were. Reasons. I... w-wasn't w-well. I guess. In my head. And they couldn't fix it. But in the end they decided n-not to cull m-me.~
Stops-Too-Late crouches lower, as if that will dispel the unseen threat of culling. ~That is good. You are as Gaia made you. You be here all time? Or you - did you come from other Sept? I come,~ she volunteers, ~from Sunlit Waters, like Falcon's-Grace-rhya. But they not - they did not know I Ragabash. Everyone thought I am kin.~
~Everybody's different,~ the Godi says, matter-of-factly and not unkindly. ~L-lots of people don't know anything about Garou. I didn't. I w-was glad I w-was Garou. Glad. The Tribe w-was n-nice. Fair. S-strong but kind. It w-was m-much tougher before they took m-me, after m-my First Change.~ He paues to run his palm over part of his carving work. ~I w-was at the Sept of the Slaughtered Bull. But then I came here. I'm here n-now. I'm n-not thinking of leaving.~
~Fenrir's children know - are known for their Honor,~ the Silver Fang agrees. ~You not know you Garou? You lost, like black cub?~
~I had a kinfetch,~ Norman says, voice sounding distant. ~I... n-no. You are S-stops-Too-Late. You are Zosia-rhya's cub.~ He shakes his head as though dislodging an unwanted thought. ~S-sorry, Rachel. W-wendy... S-stops.~ He places his hand back on the carving, looking down at his splayed fingers. ~I had a kinfetch. But n-nobody knows w-who m-my parents w-were. I w-was in an orphanage. And then care.~ The way he pronounces the word makes it synonymous with 'hell'.
Ooookay. Though she must be used to Theurges and their general level of crazy, Stops-Too-Late's ears still go back at Icetrap's babble. "Shelby," she manages gruffly before sliding back into, ~Stops-Too-Late. Not anybody else.~ A moment later, as cautiously as if she's tip-toeing through a minefield, ~I have no parents either. But Silver Fangs... grow me. That not right, but I do not know words.~
~Raised you?~ Icetrap asks, looking sheepish but visibly trying to shake it off.
Stops-Too-Late thinks that over before deciding, ~Yes? Silver Fangs raised me. I always know who my family is. --Was.~ She glances down, tracing the Silver Fang glyph into the soil. ~What is your pack like? I ask many questions,~ she adds with self-deprecating humor. ~Not know when to stop.~
Icetrap grins toothily. ~It's great. Ferahgo's the pack Totem. She's a Weasel-spirit. W-we're n-not allowed to s-show fear, and she teaches us to m-move fast and bite hard. Raging-Phoenix-rhya is Alpha. S-she's Black Fury Fostern Ahroun, Tribe Elder and Claw of the Sept. Beta is Madder-Than-A-Bag-Of-Cut-Snakes-rhya, s-she's m-my Tribe Elder, and Fostern Ahroun. Then there's Line-on-the-Line-yuf. S-she's Black Fury Ahroun and Cliath l-like m-me. And there's m-me.~
~I do not... I am not good at biting,~ the cub admits. ~Weasel. She is very bite. No! She is very fierce, and bites hard.~ Stupid new language. Stupid vocabulary. Yet she bulls on regardless. ~I have not met any of them. But I thought Pegasus-child and Fenrir-child not fight together? Fight each other. Not in your pack?~
~One of the first things I l-learned, w-when I came here,~ Icetrap says carefully, ~w-was that m-many Black Furies here are very brave, very s-strong w-warriors of Gaia, who are quick to take the battle to the Enemy. I s-see no reason to fight against w-warriors l-like that. Fenrir are w-warriors l-like that as w-well. I w-would rather fight w-with them.~
Stops-Too-Late thinks on that for a moment. ~Is very good. Too many... too much Wyrm, too many bane for us to fight us. Better we fight them. You much Rage,~ she asks abruptly, shifting the subject back with a nod to his artwork, ~You need do that? Or practice, know how teach - how to teach others?~
~I... don't n-need it,~ the Get says, struggling to sound firm about it. ~I don't n-need anything. But it... m-makes it easier to concentrate on other things, and n-not on the Rage. And I use it to m-make things for other Rites, and to m-make... things. Presents. You can use s-small Rites to prepare for larger Rites.~
~Need lots things,~ she points out. ~Air. Water. Food. Gaia. --It very nice,~ she adds again. ~Look very... not know word. Like water. River. But not.~ One clawed hand goes twisty-turny to try and help describe his work. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want to teach me Rite, but not now. Later.~
Icetrap nods. ~Cubs have a l-lot to learn. Learning a Rite isn't alw-ways... w-well, it can interrupt. W-when it fits w-with the lessons instead of interrupting them. That's the time to l-learn.~
Stops-Too-Late's ears definitely agree with that statement. ~Just start learn - learning one thing and have new thing to learn. Blood-Guard-rhya teaching me fight. To fight. Glassbreaker ...-rhya teaching me many things. Falcon's-Grace-rhya, and Golden-rhya, and...~ She sighs, poor put-upon cub. ~Many, many things. Mouse, too. In Umbra.~
Icetrap looks thoughtful, but gives no voice to whatever it is that's running through his mind. ~L-lots of expectations,~ is what he actually says.
~Yes.~ Stops-Too-Late can agree with that, whole-heartedly, though she hurriedly clarifies, ~I can do. Many things, but I do. Sometimes just want little more time to learn better.~
~There is n-no time,~ Icetrap says- heavily, urgently, with something close to passion. ~These are the Last Days. The final battle is s-soon. There is n-no rest. N-no time. W-we m-must all do m-more, and then s-still m-more. If it is asked of us, then w-we can do it. However hard it s-seems.~
Stops-Too-Late leans slightly away from the Get, ears folding out of his way. ~Yes, Icetrap-rhya,~ she says promptly - and whatever else she's learning, that appears to be one lesson she has cold.
Icetrap gives the cub a steady look. ~W-when do you learn to be a no-moon?~ he asks quietly.
The cub eyes him like this might be a trick question, gaze darting from him down to the so-interesting forest floor. ~Now?~ No, not firm enough. ~All time. I learn from Glassbreaker-rhya, Golden-rhya. How track, how listen, how... how be no-moon.~
~If... you ever have questions for m-me. Or know you're s-supposed to agree, but don't know w-why you s-should, for s-something I s-say. And if I'm... n-not all growly,~ Icetrap says, with a faint note of apologetic warning for the last part, ~then you m-may ask.~
The cub thinks on that for nearly a handful of seconds before her ears straighten in turn and her shoulders relax. ~Thank you, Icetrap-rhya. Glassbreaker-rhya likes to bite me. Golden-rhya does not like to answer questions. He ask question instead. Want to learn, but want to know why.~
~S-sometimes, there isn't an answer. or there are l-lots, and they contradict each other,~ the Get says, philosophocally. ~Especially in the Umbra. Two completely opposite things can both be true at the s-same time.~
~Yes,~ Stops-Too-Late agrees, with a wrinkle of her nose. ~I know. Before I knew I was Ragabash, I was going to be... be Philodox? for humans. Always many ways to look at something. One way of be... being right not always best way of being right.~
Icetrap thinks about the cb's answer. ~I think you could be a good no-moon,~ he concludes.
~I want to be good no-moon,~ she agrees. ~Thank you.~
~If that's w-what you w-want, then you can m-manage it,~ Icetrap claims.
One of her ears skews. ~You should tell Falcon's-Grace-rhya that. Sometimes I think she not want me to be Ragabash. I work very hard to make her proud. Falcon, too.~
~I'm n-not a Ragabash,~ the Godi says, ~but m-my best friend is a trickster-spirit. And... I think... he probably knows the w-way things are, in his world, better than anybody else I've m-met. It's... I think... he can't push the edges on purpose, just far enough to m-make a difference w-without breaking everything, w-without knowing exactly w-what they are and w-where they are?~
Stops-Too-Late ohs? ~I have met spirits. They keep touching me. What kind spirit is it? Hard to know where edges are,~ she adds with a sulk that's well-worn. ~I find them when they are behind me.~
~At least you realise they're there,~ Icetrap answers dryly. ~S-some people n-never do. Hraidar is a Hrafn-spirit. That's a raven-spirit that serves Fenris.~
The set of the cub's shoulders acknowledges 'maybe', but the cub herself continues to scowl at the offending ground. After a moment she looks up again, tilting one eye at the Theurge. ~You at Moot, Icetrap-rhya?~
~Yes.~ A short and neutral statement.
Stops-Too-Late shifts her weight. ~Tell me, please? Falcon's-Grace-rhya and I walk? No, patrol Bawn. Like Guardians.~
~Have you ever been to a Moot?~ Norman asks, smoothing a rough patch on his carving by scratching at it with the edge of his claw. ~That reminds m-me,~ he adds, still careful to keep his words slow. ~N-normally, it isn't done to s-sit around talking in Crinos. Crinos is for fighting and for rituals, l-like Moots and s-some Rites. It's n-not for... relaxing. For...~ His muzzle wrinkles at the near-sacriledge of his next words when put into the Mother Tongue: ~'chilling out'. I forgot to tell you. I'll be finishing m-my Rite, w-when w-we've finished talking. S-so. Have you?~
Stops-Too-Late continues to listen hard to the unfamiliar words, muzzle wrinkling at the subtle chiding. ~Hard to learn Mother's Tongue if cannot be in Crinos,~ she protests mildly. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want me learn fast. But I hear your words.~ A moment later, ~No. She want me learn Guardian. Maybe I go to next Moot. What happen there? Tell me what you see?~
~The Mother Tongue can be s-spoken in most forms,~ Icetrap counters with a frown. ~Every Moot s-starts the s-same w-way, with a Rite. The Master of the Howl s-starts the Moot Rite, with a howl calling everyone to gather for the M-moot. Then s-someone- it is often s-still the Master of the Howl, recites each tenet of the Litany, and then a Rotag... a Ragabash, the Fool, comes up w-with an argument about how the tenet is wrong, and everybody there calls back reasons why the fool's argument is wrong. Then the Caller of the Wyld, who is a crescent moon, performs the Rite called the Opening of the Inner Sky, which calls on and honors the Sept's spirits. Then a half-moon, called the truthcatcher, performs the Cracking of the Bone- it's symbolic, cracking a bone to get at the heart, the w-way a judge has to get at the heart of the truth? The Cracking is w-when new people introduce themselves, and people issue formal Challenges, and people m-make announcements. Then a Skald... a Galliard, called the Talesinger, tells a story or sings a song, or m-more than one. This time it w-was the story of defeating the Hive. And last of all a full-moon called the Wyrmfoe leads people on a revel, w-which is... running through the Bawn hunting down any sign of the Enemy and defeating it, or finding a particular enemy and defeating that.~
Stops-Too-Late listens attentively, all the way through his telling, not flicking so much as an ear. ~Yes,~ she agrees when he's done. ~Sorry, I meant what happen at this moot. I hear about Warder rules, but nothing else. Story tell- told of defeating Hive? Who told it?~
Choosing his words carefully, Norman stutters through a fairly accurate recounting of the Moot: its happenings, announcements, a rather less-than-stunning recap of the Talesinger's performance, and a detailed account of what he seems to think was a very uneventful Revel. He's willing enough to pause and clarify parts or answer questions; the initial Fool's role he covers quite thoroughly, while the Opening of the Sky he speaks of in wistful terms, admitting that he knows the Rite and has performed it himself- and that he taught it to Zosia. The formal elements of the Cracking are also a subject he seems to be well versed in, although he's careful to point out that it might vary somewhat between Septs.
Stops-Too-Late is a good listener, at least, even if her command of the tongue is lacking. When Icetrap finally winds up she straightens, only to drop back into lupus with a wagging tail. You are a very good teacher, thank you. I will leave you to your Rite now.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (72% full).
Bawn: Central Forest
In the gloom, in the forest, is the sound of scraping on wood. beneath a tree kneels the Get Godi, Icetrap. On the ground before him is somethin glike a board. Not a sawm board, or even a split one. At some point a dead tree became hollow enough that only a thin shell remained, and it is a long section of this that the Get is working on- perhaps two feet long and a foot wide. It has been scraped pale and flat. Now, in Crinos, he works with his claws, carving into the prepared surface.
This monstrous, scarred beast of legend and horror stands over eight feet tall, and reeks of blood and the scent of battle. Rangy muscle and whipcord sinew shift beneath a coarse pelt of salt-and-pepper grey, his upper body marked by the vivid ridges and lines of runes and glyphs that carve into the flesh of his chest and arms. The pinched look of his angular lupine head paints a stark contrast of youth and bitter experience, and the glint of his amber eyes is reminiscent of a wild animal poised between flight and vicious attack. The dark flesh of his back is naked of pelt and deeply clawed with the glyphs for 'Get of Fenris', 'hold back' and 'ice'. His hindlegs are lean and wiry, less touched by scarring, and his tail is thickly-furred. About his waist is a thick leather belt bearing two knives in sheaths and a collection of pouches.
Scentlessly, though not soundlessly, Stops-Too-Late creeps through the woods at right angles to the hard-at-work Get. She pauses perhaps some twenty feet away, one paw uplifted, and watches what he's doing for a few moments before drawing closer. As she approaches her scent stutters in and out, like a badly-tuned radio, until it finally rushes back as she announces her presence with a chuff and a hesitant wag of her tail. What are you doing?
There's a pause before the get speaks. When he does, he sounds almost spaced out, and perfectly calm. ~A Rite.~ The symbols he's carving are probably Glyphs, but they flow around one another, and runes and flourishes dance between them. They are as much picture as writing. So far, however, the picture is very incomplete.
The wolf's ears twitch, one swiveling to locate a squirrel while the other momentarily flattens. After another few seconds of thought, she cautiously paces around to where Icetrap will be better able to see her without having to do anything distracting like turn his head. May I watch? I am Stops-Too-Late, ragabash cub of Falcon.
Icetrap does in fact look up at that point. ~Zosia-rhya's cub?~ he gives it some thought. ~I don't think she'd m-mind. Go ahead. It's called Artwork. It lets you focus your Rage into s-something. Art, or m-music, or s-something like that. Then the Rage isn't as s-strong and easy to listen to.~ He bends his head to examine his work again, poises a single claw, and carefully carves another curve.
Stops-Too-Late acknowledges that yes, she is Falcon's-Grace's cub, though there's another brief splay of ears at the admission. It is very... interesting. Throwing looks at the Theurge for any hint of displeasure, she comes a few steps closer before sitting again. There is a Fenrir cub who might want to learn this. He said Luna was pulling at him.
~Rage is great w-with m-many of Fenrir's children. I've already promised to teach it to one of our cubs,~ Icetrap answers. He looks up again suddenly. ~S-sorry. Holds-Back-the-Ice, Godi of Great Fenrir's blood, Cliath of the Hidden Walk, packed under Weasel.~
The wolf's tail wags again, just once. It is good to meet you, Holds-Back-Ice. Is there much ice here? There is not where I am from. Only in water.
~It gets cold in w-winter,~ Icetrap replies, sitting back on his haunches and leaving his carving alone for the moment. ~But the ice I held back w-was a glacier, on m-my Rite of Passage. That's w-what happened to m-my fur. It got frozen into the glacier. W-when I w-was pulled away, all the fur w-was left behind.~
Stops-Too-Late doesn't say 'ew', but her dismay is abundantly clear in her sudden startle. That is... I have not heard of that before. Was that here? She glances about just in case a glacier or three has snuck up on them.
~In the Umbra,~ Icetrap answers. ~But n-not the Penumbra. The Rite s-sent m-me... s-somewhere. A Chimare, maybe... that's... a sort of dream-world, but a small one, that makes a little pocket in the Umbra. They don't often have fixed locations. This one had a great valley, w-with a village in the bottom of it, and a glacier at the top.~
I do not understand some of your words, the Ragabash admits with chagrin. I am still learning Mother's-Tongue. Please keep speaking. So saying, she slowly shifts up to Crinos but remains sitting, attention focused politely on the Get.
Patience is needed on both sides as the Get stutters his way through a slower explanation, pausing to further explain words that are likely unfamiliar. Noticebly, the stuttering almost completely disappears whenever the subject is strictly spirit-only.
~Thank you,~ Stops-Too-Late says once everything has been made clear. ~How long you Cliath? --No. How long have you been Cliath?~ She emphasizes the extra words, the tricky bits of polite language.
The Get pauses for thought. ~M-more than three years? I s-sort of l-lost count. I w-was a cub for a year.~
~Is that... usual, for Get cubs?~ Stops-Too-Late asks, settling back on her haunches. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want me to be cub only four or six turnings of Luna.~
Icetrap shrugs and hunches slightly. ~There w-were. Reasons. I... w-wasn't w-well. I guess. In my head. And they couldn't fix it. But in the end they decided n-not to cull m-me.~
Stops-Too-Late crouches lower, as if that will dispel the unseen threat of culling. ~That is good. You are as Gaia made you. You be here all time? Or you - did you come from other Sept? I come,~ she volunteers, ~from Sunlit Waters, like Falcon's-Grace-rhya. But they not - they did not know I Ragabash. Everyone thought I am kin.~
~Everybody's different,~ the Godi says, matter-of-factly and not unkindly. ~L-lots of people don't know anything about Garou. I didn't. I w-was glad I w-was Garou. Glad. The Tribe w-was n-nice. Fair. S-strong but kind. It w-was m-much tougher before they took m-me, after m-my First Change.~ He paues to run his palm over part of his carving work. ~I w-was at the Sept of the Slaughtered Bull. But then I came here. I'm here n-now. I'm n-not thinking of leaving.~
~Fenrir's children know - are known for their Honor,~ the Silver Fang agrees. ~You not know you Garou? You lost, like black cub?~
~I had a kinfetch,~ Norman says, voice sounding distant. ~I... n-no. You are S-stops-Too-Late. You are Zosia-rhya's cub.~ He shakes his head as though dislodging an unwanted thought. ~S-sorry, Rachel. W-wendy... S-stops.~ He places his hand back on the carving, looking down at his splayed fingers. ~I had a kinfetch. But n-nobody knows w-who m-my parents w-were. I w-was in an orphanage. And then care.~ The way he pronounces the word makes it synonymous with 'hell'.
Ooookay. Though she must be used to Theurges and their general level of crazy, Stops-Too-Late's ears still go back at Icetrap's babble. "Shelby," she manages gruffly before sliding back into, ~Stops-Too-Late. Not anybody else.~ A moment later, as cautiously as if she's tip-toeing through a minefield, ~I have no parents either. But Silver Fangs... grow me. That not right, but I do not know words.~
~Raised you?~ Icetrap asks, looking sheepish but visibly trying to shake it off.
Stops-Too-Late thinks that over before deciding, ~Yes? Silver Fangs raised me. I always know who my family is. --Was.~ She glances down, tracing the Silver Fang glyph into the soil. ~What is your pack like? I ask many questions,~ she adds with self-deprecating humor. ~Not know when to stop.~
Icetrap grins toothily. ~It's great. Ferahgo's the pack Totem. She's a Weasel-spirit. W-we're n-not allowed to s-show fear, and she teaches us to m-move fast and bite hard. Raging-Phoenix-rhya is Alpha. S-she's Black Fury Fostern Ahroun, Tribe Elder and Claw of the Sept. Beta is Madder-Than-A-Bag-Of-Cut-Snakes-rhya, s-she's m-my Tribe Elder, and Fostern Ahroun. Then there's Line-on-the-Line-yuf. S-she's Black Fury Ahroun and Cliath l-like m-me. And there's m-me.~
~I do not... I am not good at biting,~ the cub admits. ~Weasel. She is very bite. No! She is very fierce, and bites hard.~ Stupid new language. Stupid vocabulary. Yet she bulls on regardless. ~I have not met any of them. But I thought Pegasus-child and Fenrir-child not fight together? Fight each other. Not in your pack?~
~One of the first things I l-learned, w-when I came here,~ Icetrap says carefully, ~w-was that m-many Black Furies here are very brave, very s-strong w-warriors of Gaia, who are quick to take the battle to the Enemy. I s-see no reason to fight against w-warriors l-like that. Fenrir are w-warriors l-like that as w-well. I w-would rather fight w-with them.~
Stops-Too-Late thinks on that for a moment. ~Is very good. Too many... too much Wyrm, too many bane for us to fight us. Better we fight them. You much Rage,~ she asks abruptly, shifting the subject back with a nod to his artwork, ~You need do that? Or practice, know how teach - how to teach others?~
~I... don't n-need it,~ the Get says, struggling to sound firm about it. ~I don't n-need anything. But it... m-makes it easier to concentrate on other things, and n-not on the Rage. And I use it to m-make things for other Rites, and to m-make... things. Presents. You can use s-small Rites to prepare for larger Rites.~
~Need lots things,~ she points out. ~Air. Water. Food. Gaia. --It very nice,~ she adds again. ~Look very... not know word. Like water. River. But not.~ One clawed hand goes twisty-turny to try and help describe his work. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want to teach me Rite, but not now. Later.~
Icetrap nods. ~Cubs have a l-lot to learn. Learning a Rite isn't alw-ways... w-well, it can interrupt. W-when it fits w-with the lessons instead of interrupting them. That's the time to l-learn.~
Stops-Too-Late's ears definitely agree with that statement. ~Just start learn - learning one thing and have new thing to learn. Blood-Guard-rhya teaching me fight. To fight. Glassbreaker ...-rhya teaching me many things. Falcon's-Grace-rhya, and Golden-rhya, and...~ She sighs, poor put-upon cub. ~Many, many things. Mouse, too. In Umbra.~
Icetrap looks thoughtful, but gives no voice to whatever it is that's running through his mind. ~L-lots of expectations,~ is what he actually says.
~Yes.~ Stops-Too-Late can agree with that, whole-heartedly, though she hurriedly clarifies, ~I can do. Many things, but I do. Sometimes just want little more time to learn better.~
~There is n-no time,~ Icetrap says- heavily, urgently, with something close to passion. ~These are the Last Days. The final battle is s-soon. There is n-no rest. N-no time. W-we m-must all do m-more, and then s-still m-more. If it is asked of us, then w-we can do it. However hard it s-seems.~
Stops-Too-Late leans slightly away from the Get, ears folding out of his way. ~Yes, Icetrap-rhya,~ she says promptly - and whatever else she's learning, that appears to be one lesson she has cold.
Icetrap gives the cub a steady look. ~W-when do you learn to be a no-moon?~ he asks quietly.
The cub eyes him like this might be a trick question, gaze darting from him down to the so-interesting forest floor. ~Now?~ No, not firm enough. ~All time. I learn from Glassbreaker-rhya, Golden-rhya. How track, how listen, how... how be no-moon.~
~If... you ever have questions for m-me. Or know you're s-supposed to agree, but don't know w-why you s-should, for s-something I s-say. And if I'm... n-not all growly,~ Icetrap says, with a faint note of apologetic warning for the last part, ~then you m-may ask.~
The cub thinks on that for nearly a handful of seconds before her ears straighten in turn and her shoulders relax. ~Thank you, Icetrap-rhya. Glassbreaker-rhya likes to bite me. Golden-rhya does not like to answer questions. He ask question instead. Want to learn, but want to know why.~
~S-sometimes, there isn't an answer. or there are l-lots, and they contradict each other,~ the Get says, philosophocally. ~Especially in the Umbra. Two completely opposite things can both be true at the s-same time.~
~Yes,~ Stops-Too-Late agrees, with a wrinkle of her nose. ~I know. Before I knew I was Ragabash, I was going to be... be Philodox? for humans. Always many ways to look at something. One way of be... being right not always best way of being right.~
Icetrap thinks about the cb's answer. ~I think you could be a good no-moon,~ he concludes.
~I want to be good no-moon,~ she agrees. ~Thank you.~
~If that's w-what you w-want, then you can m-manage it,~ Icetrap claims.
One of her ears skews. ~You should tell Falcon's-Grace-rhya that. Sometimes I think she not want me to be Ragabash. I work very hard to make her proud. Falcon, too.~
~I'm n-not a Ragabash,~ the Godi says, ~but m-my best friend is a trickster-spirit. And... I think... he probably knows the w-way things are, in his world, better than anybody else I've m-met. It's... I think... he can't push the edges on purpose, just far enough to m-make a difference w-without breaking everything, w-without knowing exactly w-what they are and w-where they are?~
Stops-Too-Late ohs? ~I have met spirits. They keep touching me. What kind spirit is it? Hard to know where edges are,~ she adds with a sulk that's well-worn. ~I find them when they are behind me.~
~At least you realise they're there,~ Icetrap answers dryly. ~S-some people n-never do. Hraidar is a Hrafn-spirit. That's a raven-spirit that serves Fenris.~
The set of the cub's shoulders acknowledges 'maybe', but the cub herself continues to scowl at the offending ground. After a moment she looks up again, tilting one eye at the Theurge. ~You at Moot, Icetrap-rhya?~
~Yes.~ A short and neutral statement.
Stops-Too-Late shifts her weight. ~Tell me, please? Falcon's-Grace-rhya and I walk? No, patrol Bawn. Like Guardians.~
~Have you ever been to a Moot?~ Norman asks, smoothing a rough patch on his carving by scratching at it with the edge of his claw. ~That reminds m-me,~ he adds, still careful to keep his words slow. ~N-normally, it isn't done to s-sit around talking in Crinos. Crinos is for fighting and for rituals, l-like Moots and s-some Rites. It's n-not for... relaxing. For...~ His muzzle wrinkles at the near-sacriledge of his next words when put into the Mother Tongue: ~'chilling out'. I forgot to tell you. I'll be finishing m-my Rite, w-when w-we've finished talking. S-so. Have you?~
Stops-Too-Late continues to listen hard to the unfamiliar words, muzzle wrinkling at the subtle chiding. ~Hard to learn Mother's Tongue if cannot be in Crinos,~ she protests mildly. ~Falcon's-Grace-rhya say she want me learn fast. But I hear your words.~ A moment later, ~No. She want me learn Guardian. Maybe I go to next Moot. What happen there? Tell me what you see?~
~The Mother Tongue can be s-spoken in most forms,~ Icetrap counters with a frown. ~Every Moot s-starts the s-same w-way, with a Rite. The Master of the Howl s-starts the Moot Rite, with a howl calling everyone to gather for the M-moot. Then s-someone- it is often s-still the Master of the Howl, recites each tenet of the Litany, and then a Rotag... a Ragabash, the Fool, comes up w-with an argument about how the tenet is wrong, and everybody there calls back reasons why the fool's argument is wrong. Then the Caller of the Wyld, who is a crescent moon, performs the Rite called the Opening of the Inner Sky, which calls on and honors the Sept's spirits. Then a half-moon, called the truthcatcher, performs the Cracking of the Bone- it's symbolic, cracking a bone to get at the heart, the w-way a judge has to get at the heart of the truth? The Cracking is w-when new people introduce themselves, and people issue formal Challenges, and people m-make announcements. Then a Skald... a Galliard, called the Talesinger, tells a story or sings a song, or m-more than one. This time it w-was the story of defeating the Hive. And last of all a full-moon called the Wyrmfoe leads people on a revel, w-which is... running through the Bawn hunting down any sign of the Enemy and defeating it, or finding a particular enemy and defeating that.~
Stops-Too-Late listens attentively, all the way through his telling, not flicking so much as an ear. ~Yes,~ she agrees when he's done. ~Sorry, I meant what happen at this moot. I hear about Warder rules, but nothing else. Story tell- told of defeating Hive? Who told it?~
Choosing his words carefully, Norman stutters through a fairly accurate recounting of the Moot: its happenings, announcements, a rather less-than-stunning recap of the Talesinger's performance, and a detailed account of what he seems to think was a very uneventful Revel. He's willing enough to pause and clarify parts or answer questions; the initial Fool's role he covers quite thoroughly, while the Opening of the Sky he speaks of in wistful terms, admitting that he knows the Rite and has performed it himself- and that he taught it to Zosia. The formal elements of the Cracking are also a subject he seems to be well versed in, although he's careful to point out that it might vary somewhat between Septs.
Stops-Too-Late is a good listener, at least, even if her command of the tongue is lacking. When Icetrap finally winds up she straightens, only to drop back into lupus with a wagging tail. You are a very good teacher, thank you. I will leave you to your Rite now.