First farewell
Jan. 8th, 2011 03:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently Jan 5th or 6th 2011.
Burial Mounds
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your spine.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.
Obvious exits:
Forest
For a time Tim just crouches in front of Kerr's body at the Sept Compound, one hand covering an expression that manages to hide most (but not all) of his grief. It's long enough that one might wonder how much more of this his elderly knees and feet can take. He's not much for words in that time-frame, though he doesn't outright ignore anyone; his posture indicates he knows he's not alone. Then without preamble he gets up, takes the warform, and picks up the young girl, carrying her with the delicacy one might reserve for a sleeping child. His destiation can only be the burial mounds.
The other Ragabash remains in lupus, her ears flattened and tail tucked, her spine curved in a mixture of sadness and confusion. With a single whimper she follows the Strider, hanging back as the first of an abbreviated train of mourners. Not until the burial grounds are reached does she shift into Crinos, shuffling awkwardly and unwilling to intrude.
Golden sets Kerr down a little ways off from the rows proper. He shifts back to homid and reaches into his shoulderbag, yanking out a few things: a waxed paper bag; a folded linen cloth, the weave subtlety uneven in a manner that suggests a hand-woven origin; and a small, scarred, wooden cannister. The linen sends the overpowering smell of herbs and incense into the area: mhyrr, rosemary, and amaranth chief among them. He sighs, puts his bag down, and starts to unfold the cloth. After a thoughtful pause, he offers one corner to Falcon's Gambit. He looks incredibly old and tired right now.
A startled blink, an equally startled flattening of her ears, and the Crinos slips down into her much less intimidating homid shape as she steps forward. "You'll have to tell me what you need me to do," the girl murmurs, both expression and voice subdued. Looking at either the corpse or the man doesn't seem to be a comfortable proposition: Shelby steals glances at both of them but keeps most of her attention on her hands, and the cloth.
"We wrap her up." Tim's voice sounds like it usualy does, if very quiet and forced to as even a tone as he can muster. He seems like he might explain the specifics of why, and then instead he begins to gently draw his half of the cloth over Kerr. Without glancing up, he explains, "Cubs don't usually get gravestones here. Not sure if she'll be buried or burned, or what."
How many times can Shelby have done this before? Not that many, surely, for she studies what Tim does, and mimics it as best she can. "We killed the- the bane that killed her," she offers, then wincingly looks at the other girl's face. "You." Back to Tim: "I don't know what she'd want. What KL would want. -Wants."
"She'd like knowing that, I think," Tim says, in an attempt to make it a little less awkward for Shelby. His eyes stay on his work when he speaks, though. He's quick and efficient; this sort of wrapping isn't new to him. They tuck the cloth around her rather than making it skin tight, so it can easily be removed by another's hands but not the weather. By gesture and example, he makes it clear her head and hands should remain free for the moment.
Once they're done Shelby takes a quick step back, her hands unconsciously rubbing on her pants as if that will clear off any contamination. "We could always hear whenever someone fell. There would be howling for, for hours and hours," she tells a spot midway between the others. "We weren't - the kin weren't allowed, of course. But we could hear." The back of one hand comes up to wipe at her cheeks - still dry - before she turns steadfastly away to study the nearest of the markers.
Tim glances to Shelby, then back to Kerr. "We couldn't do much howling. Middle of the city, and all. So the word had to pass around from gibbous and anyone who wanted to tell it." He takes out the cannister and cracks it open. Sandalwood compeats with the other smells as he takes up a small dollop of paste and smears it on Kerr's forehead.
Shelby says, "I'm sorry," like that will actually help anything. A sniff and she turns back, crosses back to crouch at the older Ragabash's side. "Grandmere always said crying for the dead once they were gone wasn't grieving them, it was feeling sorry for yourself. It was keeping them with you, instead of releasing them to Gaia. I am going to miss you," she tells the younger girl, "but I want you to come back to us quickly." She glances over quickly at Tim, then back to Kerr's face.
"Pretty harsh," Tim can't help but comment. "Sounds like your grandmother lost a lot of people." His observation is not without sympathy. He keeps his eyes averted from Shelby, evidencing a polite attempt to not gawk at her grief. He closes up the cannister and shakes a handful of rice grains out of the bag. Tucking them into Kerr's hand, he says, "She'll be back in no time. Had plenty to do still." There's an odd note in his voice for a moment. Envy?
"She was the granddaughter of Garou," Shelby says proudly, not looking at him. "And yes, she does." Again, with that disjointed effort of including the silent Kerr in the conversation, "--You do. You don't even have to come back here, if you don't want. I'd like it if you did, just maybe... this time don't be such a Shadow Lord bitch, okay?" Half laughing, half sniffling, she rearranges the rice-filled hand a little higher up the body and gives it a pat. "Be who you are, not who you think they want you to be."
Tim reaches into one of his pockets and takes out a square of paper. Inside are a handful of dried flowers, guarnateed to not remain dry in the region's weather. Lillies and alstromeria, mostly. "Be what your decisions make you," he adds to that, reaching to tuck the last of the linen cloth over Kerr's face and hands.
With a last startled glance over Shelby seconds, "Yes, that," before setting back on her heels with the unthinking ease of the young. "Goodbye, Kerr. I hope I'll see you again."
Tim's mouth twitches in a suppressed smile (which was probably going to be a grim one anyways), and he gets up and starts around Kerr in a circle. He drops handfuls of flowers as he goes. No words accompany this, though his eyes suggest he's thinking something.
Shelby doesn't follow, though she scooches hurriedly out of the way lest she be included in that orbit. Knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting on those same knees, she merely watches and keeps quiet to let the Strider do whatever it is he deems necessary. After a moment she pulls gloves out of her coat pockets and slips them on, then wraps her arms about her legs again.
It doesn't take long for Tim to complete his trip. Once he's done, he takes up his bag, moves it out of the way, and has a seat on the ground not far from Shelby. "Everyone was convinced she was a Spiral cub," he says after a few seconds of silence. "Like a fetch is the be all end all of who you are."
The Fang snorts at that. "If that was true, I'd be living in the dorms and studying for mid-terms." A few more quiet seconds pass by before she offers, "She wanted to make other people happy. She wanted to do right."
Tim snorts at Shelby's first comment; it's mostly a laugh. "Even if she'd been one," he says after a moment, "that doesn't mean we should've done differently." He nods to the rest. "She wanted to make sure she picked the right Tribe." Regret colors his voice about that. "Like it's a thing of right or wrong."
Shelby sighs agreement. "She was always brave, and willing. Sometimes too brave, but that's an ahroun for you. She protected me, too, even when I didn't always want it. She was a good friend."
"That's an ahroun for you," Tim agrees. His eyes stare at a section of grass on the ground. "You haven't been to a Gathering before, right?"
Shelby silently shakes her head; after a moment (and a discreet sniff, and a throat-clearing) she adds, "No. I'd like to come to hers, though."
Tim nods about that. "They're not, you know, Tribe-only affairs around here, or anything. So you'll be able to, unless KL gets weird about it." He doesn't sound like he thinks this is likely. "People all go up and say stuff they remember, and their goodbyes." That comes across as a gentle warning.
She glances sidelong at him, mouth twisted into something like half of a smile. "You mean like what we're doing now. I don't know that I have more to say, but I do want to pay my respects." She nods back at the linen-wrapped bundle. "And I want her to have people who'll come and talk about her."
"She will," Tim says, full of certainty. He's quiet for a spell, then clears his throat. "So, there was a bane?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting to see if she wants to elaborate.
Shelby dabs at her eyes and nose with a bit of tissue, nods, and slips the white back into a pocket. "Yeah. In a bear, I think. I wasn't there for that part. I just heard Little Silvertip-rhya howl, and when I got there, both Kerr and the bear were dead. That Uktena cub and I brought her body to the Sept Compound while we waited for it to get dark."
Tim grimaces as Shelby explains, and keeps his gaze off her and on that fascinating ground. (If he doesn't look at her while she dabs her eyes, it didn't happen.) When it seems safe, he looks up again. "Uktena-cub...Elk-Tail, something like that? Anyone else hurt?"
"Maybe," she agrees, noncommittal. "...A little? Maybe? Everyone else was moving around all right, anyway. So after we went to the Umbra, Little Silvertip summoned the bane, I guess. He said we should use hit and run tactics, while he and this Shadow Lord theurge - Night's Shadow, Xander; have you met him yet? - held its attention. That worked for a while, but then I guess Xander frenzied. I didn't pay much attention, because then the bane blew flames or something at me, and it was like I couldn't stand up anymore, I was so tired. I guess it crystallized me? Anyway, when I came to both Little Silvertip and Night's Shadow were pretty hurt, but the bane was dead."
"Sounds nasty." Tim runs a hand through his hair. "Don't think I've met him, but I'll keep an eye out. Silvertip still looked pretty screwed up when I saw him." He scans Shelby. "Did you just, uncrystalize?"
"...No," Shelby says, studying Kerr again. "I think Jacey and Elk-Tail? had to get me out. It's really sort of hazy. Anyway, then this bear - a real bear - spirit showed up. I think it was a friend of Little Silvertip's? Only he called it a totem, and he argued with it about healing Night's Shadow or himself. He won, so that's probably why he's still healing. We all got back through the gauntlet, and I felt better after I'd rested for a while. And that was it."
Tim squints. "His Totem's Uktena. I mean, his Pack Totem, not just his Tribal Totem." His eyes flit to the west, and he goes on, "But maybe it was a friend. Some blademoons do that, makes sense Uktena's people would too." He thinks over what she's said, and then asks, "Did either of them say anything about the bane? What kind they thought t was?"
Shelby says, "I know," and, "Maybe." His question earns a shake of her head, however. "No. Or if they did, I wasn't listening. I may not have been bleeding, but I was pretty messed up. It felt like I'd been up for two days straight, only I wasn't tired, you know? Xander's pretty decent, though, if you want to talk to him. He doesn't," she not-quite-smirks wearily at Kerr, "act like a Shadow Lord."
"Not all of Thunder's Children are pains in the ass," Tim allows. He seems to have someone in mind, the way his eyes go distant for a second. "Well. Gotta wonder if this is related to all of that insanity in the uncanny valley." He nods north and east. "No metal, I take it?"
"Metal?" Shelby echoes, having to think. She shakes her head at first, before thinking better. "No. ...Well, wait. The realm-side bear was, I think. I didn't get a really good look at it, and I think they burned the body. But it had this weird look to it. Sort of metallic."
Tim grunts. "Metallic." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "So, probably it was related, to all of that." He thinks, tapping one knee in a quick rhythm. "If Xander? and Little Silvertip-rhya remember enough about it, that helps us if there's more of those in that hole in the valley. Makes me wonder if there are other banes, though, and how we can find out about them."
"I am not going up there without some sort of backup," the Fang says firmly, lifting her head off her knees to emphasize this point. "Even if it's another Ragabash. That place is dangerous, and it's stupid for someone to go up there alone." A pause. "Even for a Fostern."
"Oh no, no one is going alone," Tim agrees, voice gaining an edge. He is deliberately not looking at Kerr. One doesn't case dispersions on the dead, after all. "We'll need a handful of people, from the sound of it. Definitely Little Silvertip-rhya."
Appeased, Shelby lets her head rest in the handy valley between her knees again. "Why definitely him? Not that I'm disagreeing, but I'm curious why you think so."
Tim raises an eyebrow. "Have you--" His question stops, and he clears his throat, thinking better of it. "He's probably one of the strongest Garou here for fighting in the Shadow. Him and Meg. Knifemoons usually are."
Shelby ahs her understanding. "You were thinking about the fight. I was talking about just the scouting part. Zosia too, then, if we can get her." She adds, after another moment and with self-deprecation, "...Listen to me. 'We'. Like I'm going to be allowed to plan anything like this. Like anyone would want me to."
"The planning's largely going to come from Silvertip-rhya." Tim shrugs about that; he doesn't seem to find it problematic for a pair of Ragabash to let an Ahroun make the call. "The whole point of being a dark moon is to advise. Suggestions aren't bad, they're just not always welcome." He smiles crookedly. "But that's okay, because then you weren't the one in charge, so you probably won't take much heat if shit goes horribly wrong."
"It also helps that I'm a cliath and you two outrank me," she points out sweetly, a smile appearing for a moment before slipping away again. "I don't suppose you've seen Chandini-rhya lately, by the way? Last time I saw her was at the last Moot, I think."
Tim sighs and shakes his head. "No, I was over in Portland for a little while. Haven't had a chance to catch up with people in the mean time." He rubs the back of his neck. "Sometimes folks get pulled away by things, though."
Plainly curious, Shelby looks at him for a moment before pushing to her feet. "I guess. I'm think I'm going to go for a run. Do you want to come, or are you going to stay and keep her company?"
Tim's gaze moves to Kerr. "A run sounds good," he says presently, and levers himself up. "Got anywhere in mind?"
"That way," Shelby says vaguely, waving an arm toward the west. Shifting to lupus she gives her coat a shake and snuffles around the body for a moment, sneezing at the strong spices, before dashing off toward the caern as if there were a torch tied to her tail.
Tim murmurs under his breath as Falcon's Gambit takes off, something Indic and short. Taking up his shoulderbag, he too shifts to his wolf form and lights out after her.
Burial Mounds
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your spine.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.
Obvious exits:
Forest
For a time Tim just crouches in front of Kerr's body at the Sept Compound, one hand covering an expression that manages to hide most (but not all) of his grief. It's long enough that one might wonder how much more of this his elderly knees and feet can take. He's not much for words in that time-frame, though he doesn't outright ignore anyone; his posture indicates he knows he's not alone. Then without preamble he gets up, takes the warform, and picks up the young girl, carrying her with the delicacy one might reserve for a sleeping child. His destiation can only be the burial mounds.
The other Ragabash remains in lupus, her ears flattened and tail tucked, her spine curved in a mixture of sadness and confusion. With a single whimper she follows the Strider, hanging back as the first of an abbreviated train of mourners. Not until the burial grounds are reached does she shift into Crinos, shuffling awkwardly and unwilling to intrude.
Golden sets Kerr down a little ways off from the rows proper. He shifts back to homid and reaches into his shoulderbag, yanking out a few things: a waxed paper bag; a folded linen cloth, the weave subtlety uneven in a manner that suggests a hand-woven origin; and a small, scarred, wooden cannister. The linen sends the overpowering smell of herbs and incense into the area: mhyrr, rosemary, and amaranth chief among them. He sighs, puts his bag down, and starts to unfold the cloth. After a thoughtful pause, he offers one corner to Falcon's Gambit. He looks incredibly old and tired right now.
A startled blink, an equally startled flattening of her ears, and the Crinos slips down into her much less intimidating homid shape as she steps forward. "You'll have to tell me what you need me to do," the girl murmurs, both expression and voice subdued. Looking at either the corpse or the man doesn't seem to be a comfortable proposition: Shelby steals glances at both of them but keeps most of her attention on her hands, and the cloth.
"We wrap her up." Tim's voice sounds like it usualy does, if very quiet and forced to as even a tone as he can muster. He seems like he might explain the specifics of why, and then instead he begins to gently draw his half of the cloth over Kerr. Without glancing up, he explains, "Cubs don't usually get gravestones here. Not sure if she'll be buried or burned, or what."
How many times can Shelby have done this before? Not that many, surely, for she studies what Tim does, and mimics it as best she can. "We killed the- the bane that killed her," she offers, then wincingly looks at the other girl's face. "You." Back to Tim: "I don't know what she'd want. What KL would want. -Wants."
"She'd like knowing that, I think," Tim says, in an attempt to make it a little less awkward for Shelby. His eyes stay on his work when he speaks, though. He's quick and efficient; this sort of wrapping isn't new to him. They tuck the cloth around her rather than making it skin tight, so it can easily be removed by another's hands but not the weather. By gesture and example, he makes it clear her head and hands should remain free for the moment.
Once they're done Shelby takes a quick step back, her hands unconsciously rubbing on her pants as if that will clear off any contamination. "We could always hear whenever someone fell. There would be howling for, for hours and hours," she tells a spot midway between the others. "We weren't - the kin weren't allowed, of course. But we could hear." The back of one hand comes up to wipe at her cheeks - still dry - before she turns steadfastly away to study the nearest of the markers.
Tim glances to Shelby, then back to Kerr. "We couldn't do much howling. Middle of the city, and all. So the word had to pass around from gibbous and anyone who wanted to tell it." He takes out the cannister and cracks it open. Sandalwood compeats with the other smells as he takes up a small dollop of paste and smears it on Kerr's forehead.
Shelby says, "I'm sorry," like that will actually help anything. A sniff and she turns back, crosses back to crouch at the older Ragabash's side. "Grandmere always said crying for the dead once they were gone wasn't grieving them, it was feeling sorry for yourself. It was keeping them with you, instead of releasing them to Gaia. I am going to miss you," she tells the younger girl, "but I want you to come back to us quickly." She glances over quickly at Tim, then back to Kerr's face.
"Pretty harsh," Tim can't help but comment. "Sounds like your grandmother lost a lot of people." His observation is not without sympathy. He keeps his eyes averted from Shelby, evidencing a polite attempt to not gawk at her grief. He closes up the cannister and shakes a handful of rice grains out of the bag. Tucking them into Kerr's hand, he says, "She'll be back in no time. Had plenty to do still." There's an odd note in his voice for a moment. Envy?
"She was the granddaughter of Garou," Shelby says proudly, not looking at him. "And yes, she does." Again, with that disjointed effort of including the silent Kerr in the conversation, "--You do. You don't even have to come back here, if you don't want. I'd like it if you did, just maybe... this time don't be such a Shadow Lord bitch, okay?" Half laughing, half sniffling, she rearranges the rice-filled hand a little higher up the body and gives it a pat. "Be who you are, not who you think they want you to be."
Tim reaches into one of his pockets and takes out a square of paper. Inside are a handful of dried flowers, guarnateed to not remain dry in the region's weather. Lillies and alstromeria, mostly. "Be what your decisions make you," he adds to that, reaching to tuck the last of the linen cloth over Kerr's face and hands.
With a last startled glance over Shelby seconds, "Yes, that," before setting back on her heels with the unthinking ease of the young. "Goodbye, Kerr. I hope I'll see you again."
Tim's mouth twitches in a suppressed smile (which was probably going to be a grim one anyways), and he gets up and starts around Kerr in a circle. He drops handfuls of flowers as he goes. No words accompany this, though his eyes suggest he's thinking something.
Shelby doesn't follow, though she scooches hurriedly out of the way lest she be included in that orbit. Knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting on those same knees, she merely watches and keeps quiet to let the Strider do whatever it is he deems necessary. After a moment she pulls gloves out of her coat pockets and slips them on, then wraps her arms about her legs again.
It doesn't take long for Tim to complete his trip. Once he's done, he takes up his bag, moves it out of the way, and has a seat on the ground not far from Shelby. "Everyone was convinced she was a Spiral cub," he says after a few seconds of silence. "Like a fetch is the be all end all of who you are."
The Fang snorts at that. "If that was true, I'd be living in the dorms and studying for mid-terms." A few more quiet seconds pass by before she offers, "She wanted to make other people happy. She wanted to do right."
Tim snorts at Shelby's first comment; it's mostly a laugh. "Even if she'd been one," he says after a moment, "that doesn't mean we should've done differently." He nods to the rest. "She wanted to make sure she picked the right Tribe." Regret colors his voice about that. "Like it's a thing of right or wrong."
Shelby sighs agreement. "She was always brave, and willing. Sometimes too brave, but that's an ahroun for you. She protected me, too, even when I didn't always want it. She was a good friend."
"That's an ahroun for you," Tim agrees. His eyes stare at a section of grass on the ground. "You haven't been to a Gathering before, right?"
Shelby silently shakes her head; after a moment (and a discreet sniff, and a throat-clearing) she adds, "No. I'd like to come to hers, though."
Tim nods about that. "They're not, you know, Tribe-only affairs around here, or anything. So you'll be able to, unless KL gets weird about it." He doesn't sound like he thinks this is likely. "People all go up and say stuff they remember, and their goodbyes." That comes across as a gentle warning.
She glances sidelong at him, mouth twisted into something like half of a smile. "You mean like what we're doing now. I don't know that I have more to say, but I do want to pay my respects." She nods back at the linen-wrapped bundle. "And I want her to have people who'll come and talk about her."
"She will," Tim says, full of certainty. He's quiet for a spell, then clears his throat. "So, there was a bane?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting to see if she wants to elaborate.
Shelby dabs at her eyes and nose with a bit of tissue, nods, and slips the white back into a pocket. "Yeah. In a bear, I think. I wasn't there for that part. I just heard Little Silvertip-rhya howl, and when I got there, both Kerr and the bear were dead. That Uktena cub and I brought her body to the Sept Compound while we waited for it to get dark."
Tim grimaces as Shelby explains, and keeps his gaze off her and on that fascinating ground. (If he doesn't look at her while she dabs her eyes, it didn't happen.) When it seems safe, he looks up again. "Uktena-cub...Elk-Tail, something like that? Anyone else hurt?"
"Maybe," she agrees, noncommittal. "...A little? Maybe? Everyone else was moving around all right, anyway. So after we went to the Umbra, Little Silvertip summoned the bane, I guess. He said we should use hit and run tactics, while he and this Shadow Lord theurge - Night's Shadow, Xander; have you met him yet? - held its attention. That worked for a while, but then I guess Xander frenzied. I didn't pay much attention, because then the bane blew flames or something at me, and it was like I couldn't stand up anymore, I was so tired. I guess it crystallized me? Anyway, when I came to both Little Silvertip and Night's Shadow were pretty hurt, but the bane was dead."
"Sounds nasty." Tim runs a hand through his hair. "Don't think I've met him, but I'll keep an eye out. Silvertip still looked pretty screwed up when I saw him." He scans Shelby. "Did you just, uncrystalize?"
"...No," Shelby says, studying Kerr again. "I think Jacey and Elk-Tail? had to get me out. It's really sort of hazy. Anyway, then this bear - a real bear - spirit showed up. I think it was a friend of Little Silvertip's? Only he called it a totem, and he argued with it about healing Night's Shadow or himself. He won, so that's probably why he's still healing. We all got back through the gauntlet, and I felt better after I'd rested for a while. And that was it."
Tim squints. "His Totem's Uktena. I mean, his Pack Totem, not just his Tribal Totem." His eyes flit to the west, and he goes on, "But maybe it was a friend. Some blademoons do that, makes sense Uktena's people would too." He thinks over what she's said, and then asks, "Did either of them say anything about the bane? What kind they thought t was?"
Shelby says, "I know," and, "Maybe." His question earns a shake of her head, however. "No. Or if they did, I wasn't listening. I may not have been bleeding, but I was pretty messed up. It felt like I'd been up for two days straight, only I wasn't tired, you know? Xander's pretty decent, though, if you want to talk to him. He doesn't," she not-quite-smirks wearily at Kerr, "act like a Shadow Lord."
"Not all of Thunder's Children are pains in the ass," Tim allows. He seems to have someone in mind, the way his eyes go distant for a second. "Well. Gotta wonder if this is related to all of that insanity in the uncanny valley." He nods north and east. "No metal, I take it?"
"Metal?" Shelby echoes, having to think. She shakes her head at first, before thinking better. "No. ...Well, wait. The realm-side bear was, I think. I didn't get a really good look at it, and I think they burned the body. But it had this weird look to it. Sort of metallic."
Tim grunts. "Metallic." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "So, probably it was related, to all of that." He thinks, tapping one knee in a quick rhythm. "If Xander? and Little Silvertip-rhya remember enough about it, that helps us if there's more of those in that hole in the valley. Makes me wonder if there are other banes, though, and how we can find out about them."
"I am not going up there without some sort of backup," the Fang says firmly, lifting her head off her knees to emphasize this point. "Even if it's another Ragabash. That place is dangerous, and it's stupid for someone to go up there alone." A pause. "Even for a Fostern."
"Oh no, no one is going alone," Tim agrees, voice gaining an edge. He is deliberately not looking at Kerr. One doesn't case dispersions on the dead, after all. "We'll need a handful of people, from the sound of it. Definitely Little Silvertip-rhya."
Appeased, Shelby lets her head rest in the handy valley between her knees again. "Why definitely him? Not that I'm disagreeing, but I'm curious why you think so."
Tim raises an eyebrow. "Have you--" His question stops, and he clears his throat, thinking better of it. "He's probably one of the strongest Garou here for fighting in the Shadow. Him and Meg. Knifemoons usually are."
Shelby ahs her understanding. "You were thinking about the fight. I was talking about just the scouting part. Zosia too, then, if we can get her." She adds, after another moment and with self-deprecation, "...Listen to me. 'We'. Like I'm going to be allowed to plan anything like this. Like anyone would want me to."
"The planning's largely going to come from Silvertip-rhya." Tim shrugs about that; he doesn't seem to find it problematic for a pair of Ragabash to let an Ahroun make the call. "The whole point of being a dark moon is to advise. Suggestions aren't bad, they're just not always welcome." He smiles crookedly. "But that's okay, because then you weren't the one in charge, so you probably won't take much heat if shit goes horribly wrong."
"It also helps that I'm a cliath and you two outrank me," she points out sweetly, a smile appearing for a moment before slipping away again. "I don't suppose you've seen Chandini-rhya lately, by the way? Last time I saw her was at the last Moot, I think."
Tim sighs and shakes his head. "No, I was over in Portland for a little while. Haven't had a chance to catch up with people in the mean time." He rubs the back of his neck. "Sometimes folks get pulled away by things, though."
Plainly curious, Shelby looks at him for a moment before pushing to her feet. "I guess. I'm think I'm going to go for a run. Do you want to come, or are you going to stay and keep her company?"
Tim's gaze moves to Kerr. "A run sounds good," he says presently, and levers himself up. "Got anywhere in mind?"
"That way," Shelby says vaguely, waving an arm toward the west. Shifting to lupus she gives her coat a shake and snuffles around the body for a moment, sneezing at the strong spices, before dashing off toward the caern as if there were a torch tied to her tail.
Tim murmurs under his breath as Falcon's Gambit takes off, something Indic and short. Taking up his shoulderbag, he too shifts to his wolf form and lights out after her.