There is no fire at Senachewine's encampment. It's not really even an encampment; it's simply a cluster of wolves all curled together and sleeping. They only find it because they have wolves' noses, wolves' ears, and they don't need smoke and fire to alert them to the presence of their own.
As they close on Difficult Current's position, they can start to guess at the size and strength of his party. There are at least twenty wolves there. They smell healthy, strong, well-fed, but they also smell young. The Unbroken are not quite within sight when a low bark sounds in the night, two sentries appearing out of the shadows. They are clearly brothers, their markings similarly mottled, their build similarly slight.
"You've found the camp of Difficult Current-rhya," the older of the two whuffs. "Are you friend or foe?"
Brutal Revelation
Far off, Sinclair and the rest of the Unbroken smell the presence of wolves. Wolves who are not wolves. Wolves who need no fire to keep warm or to keep predators at bay. Wolves like themselves. They smell temporary territory, and they have hardly crossed the edge of it when the sentries come out of the dark. Sinclair steps forward, before the others, though she remains near her Alpha.
"I am Savage Oracle. I, my pack, and our allies are friends of any who keep Gaia's laws."
Sidewalk's End
Maddox is quiet for a while as their pack runs, content for a while to keep his thoughts to himself for once. The meeting with the Fianna has left him feeling unsettled, off balance. His quiet, sullen mood doesn't last, though, not around his pack. Though not so rejuvenated that he gambols and frolicks, the gravity of their mission weighing on him still, he runs close to the strangers for a while, curious.
He's not as quick to notice the presence of the other wolves as his packmates. He takes note of the scent just before the sentries appear. The lanky red wolf scrambles to a stop behind the others. Sinclair speaks for them, and Maddox is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
-retelling-
"There is truth in her words, brother," the younger of the pair says. The older turns to look at his brother a moment, then back.
"Then we are pleased to know you. What do you seek here?"
Brutal Revelation
Sinclair's tail gives a small, quick wag. A Philodox. She has Lukas and Kate and Maddox at her back, and two others now, all gathered -- they are a force to be reckoned with and there is no way these two young Garou can fail to notice it. Before them are Adrens and Fosterns. Warriors. Metal glints in the ears of one. Pure breeding flows from the aura of others. And there is their sheer number, these 'allies'.
"We seek Difficult Current. We bring news, and we bring prophecy."
There is a heavy pause. "All gathered must hear."
Sidewalk's End
When it comes to strength and physical prowess, Maddox knows he's the odd one out in his pack. In lupus he's long-legged and lean, with a reddish brown coat and large ears. But even though he may be thin and weak compared to the others, he's never doubted he belonged with them. A Cliath among Fosterns and Adrens, he stands proudly near his brother and sisters and their new found allies.
Never mind the clump of Earth stuck onto his back that may be detrimental to what might otherwise be a dignified posture. Dignity isn't something Maddox has spent too much time worrying over, especially not when it comes to dealing with spirits.
-retelling-
The older brother shifts from foot to foot, indecisive, looking from Sinclair to Lukas to Maddox to Maddox's friend ... and onward. Then back.
"Can it not wait, Rhya? If you know of Difficult Current, you must know also of his struggle to make peace in this region - and of the single greatest impediment to that peace, the Fianna of Water Lynx Caern. We go to negotiate a difficult treaty with that Caern tomorrow. We hope for peace, but they are a savage lot, and it may very well become war. All will need their rest tonight."
Brutal Revelation
Sinclair paces a few steps to the left, wheeling and pacing to the right, thoughtless movements of agitation. "We know of Difficult Current, and what we have heard tells me that he knows this: peace without wisdom is only foolishness, drooling and clapping at starlight. Darkness is stirring at the edges of Water Lynx's lands. I believe war between the children of Stag and the wolves sleeping here tonight will only open the gates to more bloodshed. Tomorrow, and in days ahead, and generations to come."
She stops, and pins her piercing blue eyes on the older brother. "Take me to your leader," she all but snarls, the authority of her rank behind the words,
even if in her mind she is high-fiving her packmates because she totally just said that.
-retelling-
[roll me char + intimidation +1 (rank diff)!]
Sidewalk's End
Behind her, Maddox snorts, shakes his head and turns into some passably agitated noise to match Sinclair's movements and tone, if not her authority.
To the strangers, he manages that same unimpressed stare used to such great effect outside Water Lynx Caern.
Brutal Revelation
[charisma + intimidation + 1]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Brutal Revelation
[+2]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 10) ( fail )
-retelling-
1's DO NOT COUNT IN DAMON SCENES! >:[
-retelling-
That actually gets the younger wolf to yelp. The older is a little more collected, but even his ears flatten, his body instinctively shifting weight toward his haunches as his tail tucks.
"Follow me," he says - and then, trying for bluster, "but if my brothers in arms want to know why their rest has been disturbed, you will have to answer them!"
It's not much farther from there. In truth, the Unbroken and their allies could have easily found - and reached - Senachewine's encampment by themselves. There is no Caern here; no screen of magic, no spirit allies. Simply a cluster of wolves sleeping in the wild, stirring to the sound and scent of strangers.
"Brothers!" barks the Philodox, "Awaken! We have guests! They bring dire prophecies, and seek Difficult Current-rhya! Wake, wake!"
There's yawning. There's grumbling and growling. There's hind-leg scratching, and more yawning, and stretching, and then one by one by one, the wolves of Difficult Current's group melt out of the dark. They are a motley group - some two dozen or so - and amongst them the Unbroken can see the red fur of the Fianna, the iron-grey of the Fenrir, the mottled of the Iron Riders, the gold-and-cream of the Children of Gaia. There is one black-furred Shadow Lord in their midst, and a small handful of northern timberwolves of Wendigo.
This is a different time, when tribes interbred less. Though few wolves here have true purity of blood, nearly every last one of them is marked by their lineage. The 'leader', which they can recognize by the way the other wolves rally and sniff and yip and lick at his muzzle as he passes, is no exception: he is marked, and deeply, by the dark, dappled coloration of the Uktena.
He is not, however, Uktena. There is a calm about his presence that is wholly Unicorn's signature. He sits before his guests, considering them a moment. Then he greets them:
"I am Difficult Current, Fostern Galliard, Child of Unicorn."
Brutal Revelation
While the Garou from 2011 are either laughing or facepalming at Sinclair's choice of words, the two Cliaths before her are all but pissing themselves to show submission. And she's not even the most dangerous of the lot before them, which only makes it worse. Their imaginations make up in spades what she doesn't say, what she doesn't do with her body language. There is a dark intimacy for a moment between her and the pair, borne of fear and power.
It says something about Sinclair's growing maturity that she sees this and, rather than feeling quite fucking satisfied with herself, feels a coldness in her belly, an awareness of her own strength and her own potency. She glances over at Lukas as the two begin to lead them forward, but she doesn't share her thoughts across the totemlink. She does, however, lope alongside Maddox on the way there, as though -- for some reason she can't quite explain or describe -- right now she wants to feel more like him than like the sort of thing that terrifies her own kind with a single snarl.
She also scoffs at herself, unheard by any: Jesus, Heather, why don't you just join the Children of Gaia and be done with it?
They stride into the encampment, what Sinclair and the others know to be sept -- or a gathering of wolves that will one day be a sept, the Two-Souled Tree. All around them wolves wake, stretching, shaking off sleep. She notes -- and smells -- Fianna. She blinks at them sleeping near Fenrir, marvels at it, and holds new respect for Billy Bourne as a result. In this time and place: even Wendigo. Wendigo, lying down in peace next to Fenrir and Fianna. Wonders never cease.
The two brothers who greeted them wake the others with news of prophecy, and eventually Sinclair and the others slow to a stop. She looks up at the stars for a moment, and lowers her muzzle to watch Senachewine approach. He introduces himself. Sinclair takes her haunches.
"We are the Circle," she says, the first thing she can think of, "and our allies from the Road to Hell." From there she gives names: Woe of Triumph, their Alpha. End of the Road, a son of Stag himself. Savage Oracle, and some glorious-sounding name for Katherine, some lie that will hopefully preserve time rather than confusing it. She gives ranks and she gives tribes, proving them as mottled and motley as Billy Bourne's own followers.
"There are Black Spiral Dancers in these lands. The Fianna to the north are unaware of them, for reasons we can't fathom. They mean to take the caern, corrupt it into a hive. End of the Road told them this very night and was driven off their lands. They refuse any aid to hold it. They treat a Caern of Gaia," she says, the words all but a snarl, her tail twitching, "like nothing more than a good hunting ground. They do not believe the warning."
She lowers her head a moment. "You are a peacemaker -- I can see that in the camp you have gathered. And you will do great things with these wolves. I bring you prophecies that are nothing more than death and doom, but we seek your wisdom to avert it. The caern must not fall -- whether by treaty, by lying in wait and coming to the Fianna's aid when they are attacked whether they accept our help now or not, or by seeking the Spirals out and destroying or weakening them ourselves, I do not know. This is not my home. But all caerns are precious to Gaia, and all who are of Gaia must follow the law to protect it."
Sidewalk's End
Sinclair snarls, the Cliaths yelp or fall back, retreating in submission. Maddox's ears flick briefly back. Maybe it would've been better if they'd swapped places, sinclair and Lukas going to the Fianna, Maddox coming this way. It's a stupid thought, one he dismisses immediately as the Cliaths lead them into the encampment. He may have underestimated his ability to reason with savages, or at least get them to take a warning seriously. It's doubtful that Sinclair, with her better words and higher authority and Rage, would've fared much better. Water Lynx Caern is a wall.
When she decides to run beside him, it surprises him, and his surprise is harder to hide in this form than any other. Still, he brushes her shoulder. They stop. Sinclair watches the stars a moment, and Maddox turns his head and steps off a ways. With a short distance between himself and his pack, he watches the others. Occasionally, he whispers to the elemental with him, his tone soothing in the language of spirits.
He watches the motley assemblage of Garou curiously. Wendigo and Fenrir and Fianna all together under one banner, so to speak, in this day and age? And after the bias and anger he faced just tonight from his own tribe? It really is amazing.
When Sinclair finishes, Maddox briefly turns his attention to the Child of Gaia, but it doesn't last. Let those of rank deal with the Fostern. He's more interested in the reactions of the followers.
-retelling-
Billy Bourne is a peacemaker. Words are rarely truer than these. The evidence is in the band he's gathered around him - in this age, at this place, with the ground so freshly stained with slaughter and hatred. It's in his presence as well: young as he is, a Fostern merely, he has a quiet, unthreatening confidence about him.
"You need not work to convince me to protect the Caern of the Great Water Lynx," he replies. The wolves around him are shifting, uneasy, stirring to the news of the Wyrm. "We are to parley with the Fianna tomorrow morning in hopes that they would agree to our joining with them to protect the Caern. Your news gives us all the more reason to make sure they listen.
"They are a stubborn, suspicious lot, though, and I'm not surprised they refused to heed your warning. You are Galliard, so you must know their history. They came from the Old World no more than half a decade ago. They invaded this land, and then they stole this Caern from my mother's people. I have forgiven them this, but they have not forgiven themselves. They see shadows of their own treachery in everything."
All but midsentence, Senachewine seems to have had enough of speaking in Lupus. He rises to all fours, and then snapshifts to his homid form: tall, slim, with a face that is undeniably of two cultures, two races, two histories.
"Hell," he says, and it's almost a shock to hear the commonness of his homid parlance, "I bet they think I'm hornin' in on their land on behalf of my Uktena ancestors. We've tried to tell 'em otherwise, but they don't buy it. It's that goddamn Ragabash Alpha of theirs. Mean, spiteful bastard if I've ever met one. Their Warder's a little better -- tomorrow's meeting is all on account of us talkin' to her for weeks on end -- but she won't ever speak against Throat-Cutter, and Throat-Cutter thinks Bloody Smile's a god damn saint."
Following their unofficial Alpha's lead, the other wolves are beginning to shift. Some stay as they are. Some hulk into Crinos. Some slip into Homid, rise on two legs. One of them, a Fenrir, calls -
"Damn, Billy, you know what I think. Said it once and I'll say it again: bugger 'em if they don't wanna play nice. We don't need 'em. They think we're there to snatch their land, let's prove 'em right."
There are a few calls of yeah! he's right!, to which Billy Bourne turns a frown.
"And what good will that do, Joseph? Huh? Perpetrate hatred and slaughter, that's what. Make the Wyrm's job that much easier for 'em."
"The Wyrm already has its claws in them." This time it's one of the Wendigo that speaks - one of the wolves to take Crinos rather than homid. "Or have you forgotten what they did to Older Brother's tribe?"
Sidewalk's EndGarou begin shifting, some to homid, some to Crinos. Maddox watches the homids with a vague sense of envy. If he were to shift now, he'd reveal the t-shirt and ratty jeans and maroon sneakers he wore to the moot, tonight nearly one hundred eighty years into the future. So, as much as he'd like one hand to hold a cigarette and another to hold a tumbler of whiskey, he keeps to lupus, and he tries to keep to the edges, watching.
Until the Fenrir speaks, to a small chorus of agreement. Maddox's fur ripples, and he stiffens. Do they really think that? The Wyrm may have its claws in the Fianna of the north, and Gaia knows they seem to be welcoming it into them, but that doesn't mean they're lost. Not yet.
Stepping forward, he all but growls, "Claws, yes, but until they dance there's still hope. However slim. Take their land, prove them right, and you're not any better than they are, friend. Is that what you want to be?"
Brutal RevelationThough Senachewine shifts, Sinclair remains in lupus, comfortable like this and suddenly not sure where she put the clothes she had before. Back at the camp of the traveling wolves who have come with them? Shit. And she isn't sure these folks are ready for nipple rings. It's bad enough she's coming around here giving them 'prophecy'. So she sits on her haunches, regarding Billy Bourne as she is, her tail twitching slightly in the dust with anxiety.
so you must know their history makes her chuff slightly, simply because of how extremely true that is, moreso than he can imagine. But what he says makes sense. She thinks about what history has said of Throat-Cutter, and what history... hasn't said... of Bloody Smile. A Fenrir speaks up, bugger 'em, we don't need 'em, let's prove 'em right -- and Sinclair raises onto all fours, biting back a snarl though her body language says clearly what her reaction to those words is. That is Joseph. Joseph, whose child bounded up and down stairs, whose wife gave them shelter and news tonight. A Wendigo speaks, too, though Billy pushes back on Joseph's words. Sinclair's tail is low and tense, her ears forward, alert.
Maddox chimes in, Sinclair is quiet a moment, then turns to Bourne. "-yuf," she addresses him, her bark clear, respectful, though in truth she is closer to Adren than he will be for some time -- but there is just as much truth that he will be a revered elder long before she is ever born, is a lesson to all of her own auspice for the future, "and what if they do not listen? What if you are driven out? What do you plan, then? How will you keep the caern from being overrun by Spirals if your help is rejected?"
She paces again, this time only once, circling back. "Some say: let them fall. Some say: you are already your own sept. Some say: shake them like dust from your feet. But you are wiser than this. What will you do?"
-retelling-"I don't rightly know," Senachewine admits. "Where I stand right now - and you folks oughta speak right up if you got ideas I ain't got - I only see two options if they downright refuse to cooperate. We can leave 'em be -- "
"And they'd deserve the fate they'd get," rumbles the Wendigo.
" -- or we can fight 'em and take over ourselves." There's a holler of approval from Joseph at that. Senachewine, however, looks ill at ease with either option. "I don't like either choice," he goes on. "I don't mind tellin' ya if you hadn't brought us news of Wyrm waitin' in the wings already, I would've turned the other cheek without question. I saw what happened to my mother's people. That taught me good and early just how far the good fight gets ya. All the way to the grave.
"But damn it. It's a Caern. And we can't let it slide to the Wyrm just because a dozen ill-mannered hooligans refuse to share."
-retelling-[Charlotte] For her part, let it be said that she managed to keep her own mouth shut fairly well. The female travelled in lupus, namely because it was easier, but given the first opportunity the female shifted up to a much more comfortable form.
"Oh, wow, really? I was thinking just the same thing, some caerns deserve to fall just because their keepers can't play nicely with others," she looks at the Wendigo and just looks so saccharine and full of false sincerity, "because I can't think of any tribe that does that.
"Knock that off, it ain't helpin'."
She gets a very stern look from her packmate, which seems to reign her in enough to give some semblance of a civil reply, "can't we head them off at the pass? Diminish the fight before the full brunt of it hits the caern? We can't not take an action, and if they don't want our help, let them think they ain't gettin' our help and help 'em anyway."
-retelling-The Wendigo - who is, it should be noted, still in fucking Crinos - lifts his lips and snarls at Tempered With Rage. "Insult my tribe again, Wyrmbringer, and we shall see whose blood -- "
Knock that off, Tempered's packmate says sternly even as Senachewine lays a hand on his huge companion's shoulder.
"Hold yer horses, Youngest Brother." The use of the tribal honorific is light, but quite deliberate. In an instant they can all see it: the way the Wendigo's fur lays flatter, the way he looks to the one he has chosen to follow. Oldest Brother. By blood and oath, if not by tribe. "You came under my banner to make peace, not spill blood."
"Some blood deserves to spill," the Wendigo grumbles, but he's standing down. "Not least of all the Fianna usurpers'."
Joseph: "Damn, I hate agreein' with but he's right. I reckon those bastards have made it damn clear they don't want no help from us. And what, we're supposed to go risk our necks to save their be-hinds when they'll likely turn around and thank us by kickin' us while we're down? What exactly would we stand to gain there, Billy?"
"A Caern." This is the first time Wyrmbreaker has spoken since they entered Senachewine's camp. He is quiet, and firm, and growling. "Uncorrupted by the Wyrm."
Joseph looks at him a moment. Then he looks at Billy, clearly seeking directly. Billy Bourne has his arms folded, though, one fist over his mouth. He's frowning, and his eyes scan the newcomers.
Finally:
"How many Dancers are we talkin' about? Could we even take 'em if we had to?"
Brutal RevelationIn lupus, Sinclair's head snaps sharply towards the Wendigo that speaks about the Fianna deserving the fate they get, but -- interestingly -- she does not threaten to rip his name from history with her bared teeth. She remembers, in time, what these Fianna did to OIder Brother. Billy Bourne only sees two options, but Sinclair holds her peace for now, which perhaps has something to do with the Iron Rider that came with them speaking when she does.
Her pale eyes flicker at Senachewine's words, though -- turning the other cheek without question, because when he was young he learned how easily the Fianna could and would kill those in their way. She doesn't like the sound of it. It stinks to her of weakness, but maybe it is simply not his strength. His strength seems to lie in peace, and she has to admit that a certain amount of cheek-turning is involved in keeping that going. She chuffs agreement with his last statement, though. It is true enough.
Charlotte's sarcasm is well and good til the end, when she goes right to smirking at the Wendigo. Sinclair turns to look at the female, dominance hard in her posture, but she is not the woman's packmate. Thankfully, the woman's packmate does step in, shuts her up -- enough that she stops mocking and gets down to an actual suggestion. Something helpful. Sinclair huffs another sound of agreement. She doesn't waste her time addressing an argument between two hotheads when their packmates and allies have enough sense to hold them back, so she ignores the Wendigo for now.
"Yes," she snaps at Joseph, when he asks if they're just supposed to risk their lives to save -- what? Her word comes just a moment, a sentence before Lukas's, when he reminds them it isn't pride they have to lose, but a Caern that is, of yet, untouched by evil.
Her tail gives a hard swish. She shakes her head. "Our Theurge and Philodox went that way, but did not scout, choosing to inform the Fianna of the danger first -- a decision I back. I do not know if Bloody-Smiles would take the warning to heart."
She does not know, also, just what Bloody Smiles may already know. She doesn't know much about him. History is strangely quiet surrounding his name, fallen caern notwithstanding. So she does not speak against him, not yet. She doesn't know.
"There is no law of territory or honor against this camp sending its own scouts. But they should go soon. The omens weigh heavily, urgently on my thoughts -- my great respect to your wisdom, Difficult Current, but we must take steps that are both careful and swift. And there are no feet more careful and swift than those of New Moons."
Sidewalk's EndMaddox watches from the sidelines as tempers threaten to flare up, but are settled if not smothered. He himself relaxes his stance, to the point that he sits on his haunches. Apparently bored with the proceedings from that point on, content to watch. At one point he twists his body to scratch behind his ear with his right hind leg.
His packmates can sense their Theurge's annoyance, vague as it is. There's a Caern, unsteady but untouched by evil, in an area the spirits are afraid to go.
Sinclair reminds them of their urgency, and Maddox shifts, sitting up straighter.
"As for options, I think I see a third." He pauses to look to his packmates first, those higher ranked than he, those he respects above other Garou. His tail gives a lazy swish, and he turns his attention to Senachewine. "The West is big territory, with room for everyone. You could establish your own Caern, far enough not to threaten Water Lynx, but close enough to aid if needed. They might," he emphasizes the word, "be more willing to accept help if it's clear you're not going to steal their bone."
-retelling-Senachewine is looking thoughtfully at Sinclair when Maddox speaks up, and then his eyes turn to the Theurge. Maddox doesn't even finish before the small encampment all but boils over with disbelief and laughter. Senachewine, however, remains quiet and thoughtful, his eyes on the young Theurge.
"Establish your own Caern?" It's a woman who hasn't spoken up until now, thin-faced and bright-eyed. Maddox's own Tribe, if he doesn't miss his guess. "Boy, you're crazier than the Chief here."
"You know I am and was no Chief," the Wendigo interrupts, frowning, settling on his haunches. "I wish you would stop calling me that."
"Yeah, well, I can't pronounce yer name and last time anyone tried callin' ya Crazy Injun you damn near took their head off. Anyway," she looks back at Maddox, "you know what's involved in that sorta undertakin'? The sort of spiritual toll that's gonna take? Hell, you talk like Caerns done grow on trees. Let me tell ya, I ain't heard of a single Caern bein' raised in all my life, and certainly not by a Septless bunch'a Cliaths and Fosterns."
"Hold on, Colleen," Senachewine interrupts. "It's not impossible to raise a Caern. It's just damn hard, is all. But it's been done before, and the ones who did it sure as hell ain't done it by tellin' themselves how impossible it was.
"Still," he's speaking to Maddox now, and Sinclair, and Charlotte, "that's a bigger undertakin' than we can attempt right this minute. It'll take more wolves than we've got, and more time than we've got. The problem, if I'm hearin' Savage Oracle-yuf right, is right on our doorsteps and we ain't got time to put up a new Caern before talkin' to the Fianna 'bout protectin' the old one. And hell, if we can get the Fianna to come around, maybe we won't have to worry about makin' a new one.
"So this's what we're gonna do. Let's figure out where and how many these Wyrm encroachers are. Colleen, take the Grady brothers and scout out the area. Can you be back before dawn?"
The rangy Fianna is on her feet already, jamming a battered hat on her head. "You bet," she says. She whistles through her teeth at the brothers that the Unbroken first encountered, snaps into lupus; is out of sight in seconds. Difficult Current turns back to the Unbroken.
"We're meeting the Fianna at dawn. Will you come with us? If we bring hard proof of Wyrm in the area and your prophecies, and if we vow in Gaia's name to offer our aid with no expectation of payment, maybe they'll be swayed. And if not -- well. Maybe we will have to stand against the Dancers ourselves. If we can."
Sidewalk's EndDespite the laughter that erupts around him, Maddox finishes his suggestion, and he waits it out. His tail gives a lazy kind of swish when the woman, Colleen, calls him crazy, and he whuffs and rises to all fours when she asks him if he knows what kind of undertaking that would entail. He doesn't get a chance to tell her that it's been done before, that someone raised the Water Lynx, and others, few as they are in this time, across the globe. They don't, after all, grow on trees.
As Maddox moves to rejoin his pack, he fights the urge to roll an indifferent, Earth covered shoulder as he closes the distance. "Something to think about," he says to Senachewine, "when this is over." He pauses to watch the trio of scouts disappear into the darkness, ears pricked for a moment. He's still stopped mid-stride when the Fostern asks if they'll join him in meeting with the Fianna. Dropping his paw to the ground, he lowers his head and tail, his ears flicking back. "I hope my visit hasn't made your work harder, rhya."
Brutal RevelationSinclair's ears flick in the direction of Maddox's voice as he speaks of this third option, her pale blue gaze on him for a moment. She's stirring across their totemic bond to say something, but she waits. The Garou that are gathered here end up saying it themselves. Even if they don't know that the Unbroken only have three days, they do know that there is no certainty they could raise a caern in time to convince the Fianna of their good intentions. Sinclair flicks her tail when Senachewine mentions making their own caern, not making their own one, and if there were a word for what the Glass Walker is thinking during this portion of the discussion, it would be the word she has typed out to them over instant messages at least a few times before:
*facerolls*
She's calling herself an oracle. She's telling them things about the future they maybe shouldn't know. Every time something new is said by her or her packmates, she senses ripples, but they go out to the horizon and touch the sun and she's blinded, can't see anything. But Billy Bourne is sending off Colleen and the Grady boys, and Sinclair tries to focus on the now, even if the Now is also Then.
Maddox moves back, and she follows him with her eyes. Body language more than totem bond warns him: Careful. But she does blink, slowly, back to Billy Bourne. Her words this time are simple:
We should all rest. We'll come with you at dawn.
And as long as that is settled, she circles with her packmates, going to create a pile of furred bodies to sleep in. That is, if she can sleep past the screams of dying Garou nearly two hundred years hence.
Sidewalk's EndJust planting ideas, he sends across the totem when he sees that look, that motion from Sinclair. There's no time to plan for a Caern, let alone raise it. Even if the Unbroken helped somehow, that would be time taken away from trying to keep Water Lynx from corruption. They can't afford to take that chance, not if they want to save their own Caern.
Maddox doesn't have much hope of peace between those Fianna and any other wolves, and expects Billy Bourne's figurative olive branch will be broken and tossed into the dirt. They forced wolves out of a Caern, and whether it's guilt or their own short-sightedness, they see deception and possible threat of comeuppance in everyone else. Even skinny Theurges of their own tribe bringing warnings for their own safety. Maybe he's wrong, maybe Billy Bourne will be successful in winning them over. Maybe Sinclair's "prophecy" will get through to them, maybe it'll form a bridge, however rickety and unstable.
It's out of his hands now. Let the wiser, higher ranking and more eloquent wolves handle it from here. The Unbroken move to make their own pile of furry bodies. Maddox releases Earth if she likes, thanking her for her help and her time. It's a few hours before he settles in among his packmates for a proper sleep, but, it's not the screams of his dying septmates or the vision of that white monster that keep him up, not at first. For a while he sits, snout lifted to the myriad stars winking overhead, and he opens himself to Gaia. Only when his reserves of Gnosis have been replenished does he join the others at last. Like a sleepy, obnoxious child in the night, he climbs awkwardly among them, likely earning him a growl or a snap or a grumpy and disapproving glare at the very least.
