Cityboy awe.
Monday, 9 January 2012 10:45![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouThe caern follows the seasons.
9 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (96% full).
The Wendigo has been mostly silent as she leads the cub through the brambles, and not particularly concerned about his wellbeing. The trip is not particularly straight, and until they've traveled well over a mile of a circuitous route through the brambles, there is no path to speak of. Even then, what passes for a trail is overgrown and full of thorns. She pauses, finally, at the top of a cliff face, where the vines finally seem to be left behind. "Look down," she tells the cub.
Flint pushes up the sleeves of his jacket, absently picking off thorns from one side and then the other, before taking another step forward to the edge of the cliff himself. The cub's gaze lingers on the cliff, on everything, with that cityboy awe obvious on his face despite his attempts to hide it.
"Ii-i," Jacinta says to the cub, but doesn't elaborate. Instead, she makes her way to a slightly broader chunk of rock and turns to start the climb down. "Follow," she says. "Be careful."
Flint nods, taking it one tentative step at a time, though there's very little of caution in his manner. More, there's a pause every few steps as he looks about again.
The climb down isn't easy, but it isn't so difficult as to be dangerous- If one is paying attention. The walls are slick in places, with moss or simple condensation. The ahroun makes the leap down to the rock slab below from five or six feet up, and then moves aside to watch the cub's descent.
That look of awe on Flint's face still isn't gone when he gets to the bottom, sometimes scrambling as much as climbing, though it's been supplanted by a bit of a grin, followed by a sideways glance to Jacinta.
Jacinta watches the cub for a long moment and then turns, gesturing toward the rest of the caern with a jut of her chin. "Grandmother's Heart," she says. "Look on it. Feel the power, here. Feel what it is, the connection to your spirit, and to hers."
The words seem to resonate with the cub, taking another couple of steps forward carefully, solemn. Yet at the same time, his posture straightens a hint more, as if the boy simply cannot slouch here.
Jacinta moves to the edge of the raised dais of stone and gestures out around the caern. "In the center is the focus of the caern, of Grandmother's Heart. Come. Feel the difference, even from the edge to the space near the caern stone."
"Wow." The word is breathed out in quiet awe as Flint moves forward, a faint grin still on his face. Every so often, even as he follows, he turns, looking around from each new point he reaches, though his gaze falls back to the caern stone every time.
Jacinta lets the cub take his time exploring the central area. "This is where the sept comes when we moot. This is the place of my auspice. The full circle. The full moon. Understand?"
Flint moves slowly, unguarded awe still clear on his face as he explores, steps light and careful. "I think so, yes," he says. A moment's pause in one place, looking around him, and there's more certainty to his nod. "Yes."
"Assirtuq," Jacinta says, seeming satisfied enough with his response. After a bit more, giving him time to explore, she heads across the clear center toward the pool at the base of the waterfall.
Turning on his heels, once more the cub follows the Ahroun, head tilting back to look at the entirety of the waterfall when he gets closer. His thumbs hook carefully into the pockets of his jeans.
"This is the place of water. Of youth," Jacinta explains. She drops into a crouch and dips one hand into the nearly-still pool. "This is the place of the ragabash, and at moot, this is the place of the Fool." Her fingers trace a lazy pattern in the water and then scoop up a small amount to drink. "Understand?" she asks again as she rises.
Flint watches the waterfall for a long moment, watching the water play across the rocks. It takes another long moment, but the cub nods again, no uncertainty at all this time. "Yes."
"Follow," Jacinta tells him. "From spring, into summer." She pauses, her expression going tight, but then she moves around the edge of the caern.
Flint nods, following Jacinta more closely this time. Not careful enough footsteps and the cub slips a step or two, but does not fall, righting himself quickly and choosing his footing with more caution after that.
"This is the place of fire. Of heat and summer, of the turning of youth." Jacinta puts a hand over one of the vents, not quite hot enough to burn, but her scarred hands turn just a little more red in the heat. "This is the place of the angalkuq, the crescent moon, and during moot, this is where the theurge opens the Inner Sky."
Flint moves near to the vent, near enough that he can feel the heat, though the cub backs up a few steps after a brief moment, only then nodding.
"The caern follows the seasons," Jacinta tells him, though again there's a tightening at her jaw. "The spirits are angered by attempts to walk the wrong way." She gives the cub a sharp look at that, and clearly, this was not a dare for him to try it. "Just as we cannot walk from summer back to spring, neither can we walk from fire back to water. Ii-i?"
Flint nods, gaze swinging about the vents of steam once more, but there is no intent in the cub's stance, now, to actually go back towards the pool. "Right," he acknowledges quietly, with another nod. "One-way." The repetition is simply that, a way of committing to memory.
"We pass then, from summer to fall," she says, and leads the way back to the rocky dais at which they entered the caern.
Flint nods, doubled steps bouncing a bit occasionally as he follows the Ahroun, another nod as he recognises the surroundings from where they began.
"Autumn. Middle age. This is the phildox, the balance, the earth. Solid and unyielding, grounded in this place and time." Jacinta places a hand against the canyon wall and turns to study the cub. After a moment she says. "At the moot, this is the place of the cracking of the bone. The place where the Truthcatch stands to hear the words of the sept."
Flint pauses, standing still without even fidgeting as he listens to Jacinta, though his attention is nearly as much on their surroundings. The awe has settled in, no longer all-consuming as it was, and slowly the boy nods after she's finished speaking.
The Wendigo watches him for a moment more, and then turns to continue on. "From autumn to winter," she says, simply.
Flint folds his hands together in front of him as he follows, calm and without the fidgeting of earlier. But soon enough, they unfold, and the boy lets his fingers trace the wind a second, before reaching up to push his hair out of his face, head bent as he redoes the tie that holds it back.
As the winds swirl around the pair, a thread seems to take a particular interest in the Wendigo. She whistles, not exactly a tune, but a more mournful sound, and the swirling of the wind seems to lessen, some. At least directly around the ahroun. "As water is the spring of life, summer is the fire, autumn sees it begin to fade, and we at last come to winter, to the wind and the cold. This is the place of the gibbous moon. The place of the galliard. This is the place from which the Master of the Howl calls the moot. This is the place from with the Talesinger spins his yarn. This is the place you must adopt as your own. Ii-i?"
"Yes," the cub says, in quiet assent, and quiet, careful steps take Flint further into the area. Nor does the wind seem to bother him, at all, though the tie holds his hair back for less than a full minute. A small grin plays on his face, lighting his features with enthusiasm.
"Assirtuq," Jacinta says. "The next time you visit, you will see the umbra. For now, this is enough lesson. Come. Take the wolf, and we will see if you can follow your nose back to the others."
The cub nods, a moment of concentration followed by the shift to lupus form, which brings about another round entirely of looking about, then halfway back to Jacinta. There is pause, before the cub seems to gain even a semblance of direction, but a few steps, and he slows, head bowed down. Too many scents. Can't tell.
Tempest's Wake settles down onto her haunches, content to let the cub sort it out, himself.
9 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (96% full).
The Wendigo has been mostly silent as she leads the cub through the brambles, and not particularly concerned about his wellbeing. The trip is not particularly straight, and until they've traveled well over a mile of a circuitous route through the brambles, there is no path to speak of. Even then, what passes for a trail is overgrown and full of thorns. She pauses, finally, at the top of a cliff face, where the vines finally seem to be left behind. "Look down," she tells the cub.
Flint pushes up the sleeves of his jacket, absently picking off thorns from one side and then the other, before taking another step forward to the edge of the cliff himself. The cub's gaze lingers on the cliff, on everything, with that cityboy awe obvious on his face despite his attempts to hide it.
"Ii-i," Jacinta says to the cub, but doesn't elaborate. Instead, she makes her way to a slightly broader chunk of rock and turns to start the climb down. "Follow," she says. "Be careful."
Flint nods, taking it one tentative step at a time, though there's very little of caution in his manner. More, there's a pause every few steps as he looks about again.
The climb down isn't easy, but it isn't so difficult as to be dangerous- If one is paying attention. The walls are slick in places, with moss or simple condensation. The ahroun makes the leap down to the rock slab below from five or six feet up, and then moves aside to watch the cub's descent.
That look of awe on Flint's face still isn't gone when he gets to the bottom, sometimes scrambling as much as climbing, though it's been supplanted by a bit of a grin, followed by a sideways glance to Jacinta.
Jacinta watches the cub for a long moment and then turns, gesturing toward the rest of the caern with a jut of her chin. "Grandmother's Heart," she says. "Look on it. Feel the power, here. Feel what it is, the connection to your spirit, and to hers."
The words seem to resonate with the cub, taking another couple of steps forward carefully, solemn. Yet at the same time, his posture straightens a hint more, as if the boy simply cannot slouch here.
Jacinta moves to the edge of the raised dais of stone and gestures out around the caern. "In the center is the focus of the caern, of Grandmother's Heart. Come. Feel the difference, even from the edge to the space near the caern stone."
"Wow." The word is breathed out in quiet awe as Flint moves forward, a faint grin still on his face. Every so often, even as he follows, he turns, looking around from each new point he reaches, though his gaze falls back to the caern stone every time.
Jacinta lets the cub take his time exploring the central area. "This is where the sept comes when we moot. This is the place of my auspice. The full circle. The full moon. Understand?"
Flint moves slowly, unguarded awe still clear on his face as he explores, steps light and careful. "I think so, yes," he says. A moment's pause in one place, looking around him, and there's more certainty to his nod. "Yes."
"Assirtuq," Jacinta says, seeming satisfied enough with his response. After a bit more, giving him time to explore, she heads across the clear center toward the pool at the base of the waterfall.
Turning on his heels, once more the cub follows the Ahroun, head tilting back to look at the entirety of the waterfall when he gets closer. His thumbs hook carefully into the pockets of his jeans.
"This is the place of water. Of youth," Jacinta explains. She drops into a crouch and dips one hand into the nearly-still pool. "This is the place of the ragabash, and at moot, this is the place of the Fool." Her fingers trace a lazy pattern in the water and then scoop up a small amount to drink. "Understand?" she asks again as she rises.
Flint watches the waterfall for a long moment, watching the water play across the rocks. It takes another long moment, but the cub nods again, no uncertainty at all this time. "Yes."
"Follow," Jacinta tells him. "From spring, into summer." She pauses, her expression going tight, but then she moves around the edge of the caern.
Flint nods, following Jacinta more closely this time. Not careful enough footsteps and the cub slips a step or two, but does not fall, righting himself quickly and choosing his footing with more caution after that.
"This is the place of fire. Of heat and summer, of the turning of youth." Jacinta puts a hand over one of the vents, not quite hot enough to burn, but her scarred hands turn just a little more red in the heat. "This is the place of the angalkuq, the crescent moon, and during moot, this is where the theurge opens the Inner Sky."
Flint moves near to the vent, near enough that he can feel the heat, though the cub backs up a few steps after a brief moment, only then nodding.
"The caern follows the seasons," Jacinta tells him, though again there's a tightening at her jaw. "The spirits are angered by attempts to walk the wrong way." She gives the cub a sharp look at that, and clearly, this was not a dare for him to try it. "Just as we cannot walk from summer back to spring, neither can we walk from fire back to water. Ii-i?"
Flint nods, gaze swinging about the vents of steam once more, but there is no intent in the cub's stance, now, to actually go back towards the pool. "Right," he acknowledges quietly, with another nod. "One-way." The repetition is simply that, a way of committing to memory.
"We pass then, from summer to fall," she says, and leads the way back to the rocky dais at which they entered the caern.
Flint nods, doubled steps bouncing a bit occasionally as he follows the Ahroun, another nod as he recognises the surroundings from where they began.
"Autumn. Middle age. This is the phildox, the balance, the earth. Solid and unyielding, grounded in this place and time." Jacinta places a hand against the canyon wall and turns to study the cub. After a moment she says. "At the moot, this is the place of the cracking of the bone. The place where the Truthcatch stands to hear the words of the sept."
Flint pauses, standing still without even fidgeting as he listens to Jacinta, though his attention is nearly as much on their surroundings. The awe has settled in, no longer all-consuming as it was, and slowly the boy nods after she's finished speaking.
The Wendigo watches him for a moment more, and then turns to continue on. "From autumn to winter," she says, simply.
Flint folds his hands together in front of him as he follows, calm and without the fidgeting of earlier. But soon enough, they unfold, and the boy lets his fingers trace the wind a second, before reaching up to push his hair out of his face, head bent as he redoes the tie that holds it back.
As the winds swirl around the pair, a thread seems to take a particular interest in the Wendigo. She whistles, not exactly a tune, but a more mournful sound, and the swirling of the wind seems to lessen, some. At least directly around the ahroun. "As water is the spring of life, summer is the fire, autumn sees it begin to fade, and we at last come to winter, to the wind and the cold. This is the place of the gibbous moon. The place of the galliard. This is the place from which the Master of the Howl calls the moot. This is the place from with the Talesinger spins his yarn. This is the place you must adopt as your own. Ii-i?"
"Yes," the cub says, in quiet assent, and quiet, careful steps take Flint further into the area. Nor does the wind seem to bother him, at all, though the tie holds his hair back for less than a full minute. A small grin plays on his face, lighting his features with enthusiasm.
"Assirtuq," Jacinta says. "The next time you visit, you will see the umbra. For now, this is enough lesson. Come. Take the wolf, and we will see if you can follow your nose back to the others."
The cub nods, a moment of concentration followed by the shift to lupus form, which brings about another round entirely of looking about, then halfway back to Jacinta. There is pause, before the cub seems to gain even a semblance of direction, but a few steps, and he slows, head bowed down. Too many scents. Can't tell.
Tempest's Wake settles down onto her haunches, content to let the cub sort it out, himself.