Wolves of the moon.
Wednesday, 19 September 2012 10:11![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouSay my name and I disappear!
19 September, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (24% full).
Flint's keeping odd hours these days, between his duties around the tenement and trips to and from Edgewood, and mostly catching sleep when he can. Like now, having gone back to sleep after working in the workshop since an hour that more properly belongs in 'middle of the night' than 'morning'.
Distance may separate the two packmates—Alexandra miles away from Edgewood and farther still from the Tenement, given that she's taken up residence in Thunder Cave—but she'd been chatting with Flint via packlink right up until she drifted off to sleep.
The sleepers wake, or so it seems to them. They wake to the faint, distant sound of something almost indescribable. If the Earth were a giant, organic clockwork watch, and each tiny and intricate part were to move by growing very fast, and one could hear sound, very faintly, in space, then it is the sound you might hear when standing on the moon. Beneath each is the smell and feel of clean dirt: a smooth, dry, slightly dusty surface. Opened eyes reveal open sky, clear blue overhead.
Flint blinks several times at this, gaining footing and fairly surprised at being awake, if it is, in fact, awake. Then the galliard crouches to trail his fingers against the dirt, curiosity winning out over caution.
"And that's why I think that maybe…" Alexandra begins, apparently not even realizing that she'd drifted off mid-conversation for the first few moments, though that changes once she takes in the open sky above instead of the cave ceiling that she'd have expected. It's at least a little less disconcerting the second time it happens in a comparatively short span, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't put the Ahroun on edge.
The dirt is the dirt of a path. The crux of four different paths, to be exact. They branch out at the quarters of a circle, each almost straight. More scents reach them now. There's the smell of burning, and in the distance along one path it is possible to see a dank, blackened forest stretching into the distance. A pall of smoke hangs in the air, masking a great swathe of it. Along the next path the black pall turns to white, a smooth sheet of almost unbroken snow covering the ground, broken here and there by steaming sapphire pools and the rush of intermittent geysers. Next around, opposite the forest, the path seems to stretch away into infinite sky, where an eagle circles serenely. The last path leads to a crumbling mountain, its slopes draped with scrambling greenery.
Flint looks down the paths, and then almost surprised, spots his packmate. The cliath looks much as he always looks, but with clothing significantly less worn, better fitting. He stands straighter, and the teen's hair is long like it was when the two first met. "Four paths, crossroads. Crossroads?" he says, before moving over, quickly, to join Alexandra.
Alexandra, for her part, likewise looks similar to what she normally does—though instead of just the Portland City United jersey, she's wearing the shorts, shin guards, and cleats that would make it appear that she's been out playing soccer, instead of just wearing a reminder from the time when she did. She reaches out to give her packmate's shoulder a squeeze. "Crossroads. Huh. And only two of us this time. I wonder what that means?"
Flint tilts his head to one side, looking out to consider the landscape around them. "Don't know," he responds, quietly, taking a few steps around the crossroads of the paths before returning to Alexandra, setting his hand lightly against her arm for a moment. "Not quite sure." A moment later, and he asks her, "Which way?"
Alexandra considers that a moment, then gestures toward the path that stretches toward infinite sky. "We serve Merlin, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say that looks like a good omen to me," clearly speaking of the eagle.
The infinite sky draws the eye. The air has the chill, clean tang of snowmelt.
Flint nods, and there's a moment, as the Glass Walker shifts down to lupus, with an encouraging chuff towards Alexandra, and he waits for her before starts in that direction. First, though, Requiem pauses, and in the dirt that starts the path his pack alpha has indicated, Requiem carefully scratches out a glyph, pointing in the direction they have gone.
Despite the fact that, with the exception of the jersey, they aren't dedicated to her back in the waking world, there's no pile of shredded cloth left behind as Alexandra moves through the forms until she reaches lupus as well. She waits for him to finish the glyph, then the Shadow Lord starts toward their destination.
The path starts as a dirt path through short meadow-grass. It quickly becomes an overgrown dirt path through spring flowers, some familiar, some unlike any they have ever seen before. Birdsong creeps up on the ears, so gradually that it's impossible to tell when near-silence becomes confused cacophony. The path seems to hurry the Garou along, their wolf-strides coming easily. Both feel as if they could run forever. The air shimmers in its endlessness, and the soaring eagle seems no closer.
Requiem twists his ears to and fro at the sounds, nose working double and triple time to pick up on the scents, and he keeps his pace to the Shadow Lord, though Requiem also shows exuberance in running. Running for the sake of running, if not for the fact that it's slightly too odd for that, and he's slightly too on edge.
The running is soothing to the Shadow Lord, even in this strange place where she feels particularly out of her element. Not enough to remove her unease, but at least enough to dull it somewhat. Seeks-Raging-Water is not one to give up easily, so she continues to run toward the eagle ahead, but neither is she one to limit herself to only running, and so she lifts her head and howls out a greeting and an introduction, even if she cannot communicate in the same fashion as spirits. The howl identifies her as Seeks the Raging Water to Silence her strike, Granddaughter of the Storm, born beneath the full moon, and Alpha of Unfettered, in service to Merlin. Perhaps that will get the eagle's attention.
Blue sky meets the blue of distance and shades into a sheet of blue meadow-flowers, graduations blurred one into the other as the speed of the Garou sweeps them onwards. It is both a complete surprise and yet strangely obvious when the packmates find themselves splashing into shallow blue water right on the tail of Raging-Water's howl, almost as though she summoned it into existence. They find themselves at the edge of a lake that reflects the infinite sky above. So clear, so deep is that blue that they can see stars caught in its depths, reflections of the distant stars above, beyond the daylight's touch. Far, far ahead, a swirl in the water matches the wide sweep of the eagle's path.
The galliard's howl that joins his packmate's carries his own, briefer introduction, and it halts as he splashes into the water, nervous of it for a moment, shallow though it may be at the moment. Requiem turns a small circle before shouldering into Seeks-Raging-Water.
Seeks-Raging-Water looks over and nips at her packmate in what is clearly a mild scolding as she picks up on his unease. You are Requiem, and a wolf. Your instincts should keep you safe. And even should they fail, your pack will not. The Shadow Lord seems quite confident of this, even if she's the only pack he's currently got with him.
Far off ahead, cutting through the dawn chorus behind them, comes the high, clear call of the eagle.
Requiem huffs, taking a deep breath in, and moves into the water further, though what he manages is an awkward puppy-like doggy-paddle, that manages to keep his head above water. Requiem is quietly grateful, continuously glancing towards the Ahroun and sticking close to her, though not so close as to impede her.
Seeks-Raging-Water is careful not to get too far ahead of her packmate. A strong swimmer in homid, she's still limited to the swimming ability of her wolf shape, which was built to be a land predator. That being the case, she keeps a wary eye aimed down beneath the surface of the lake, since that's where they'd be most vulnerable to attack.
The water strikes chill through both Garou, stiffening their limbs into clumsiness. Their breath comes short and painful. The ripples far ahead spread, faster than fast, and the mirror-clear surface around them becomes choppy. Far, far ahead, the eagle calls once more, the bird itself become too small a speck to see.
The Glass Walker's more awkward swimming becomes a struggle to move forward through the water, and a shiver runs through his body. Requiem looks forward, and then back to Alexandra, and then forward again. Keep going. Can get through this, see what we find.
Seeks-Raging-Water considers her options as the cold settles in and takes hold even through the protection of her coat. She presses ahead, even still, but shares her thoughts via their pack link. The rules do not work normally here. Perhaps that is to our advantage? Since we are both chosen of Merlin, and the storm is a part of me, even in clear skies… The Shadow Lord pictures herself flying as she has seen Bigwing fly, imagines herself joining the eagle high above. It's a longshot, even in a dream, but if calling out a greeting got them closer…
The pain of the cold grows ever more intense, until feeling is gone altogether, and numbness releases the Garou from that gripping ache. The waves, though, arrive with relentless regularity, higher with each new assault.
Requiem huffs towards the Shadow Lord as she shares the idea, and his own version of it is simply a fierce, fierce insistence and imagining of himself managing to walk, or run, above the surface of the waves and above the cold of the water, more so as the waves impede his already poor swimming.
There is no shift in their place, no sudden soaring on high, but Requiem would pick up the flash of surprise from her as the Ahroun's feet find footing, and she seems to have an easier time moving. Behind me! Walk where I walk! She tells her packmate. She doesn't know what it is that might be helping, but she offers a grateful chuff, not sure what else she can do other than make the best possible use of the partial reprieve.
The galliard shivers, moving in to follow his pack alpha. Requiem shakes water from his fur as he does so, careful not to stray, and alert for what else may come.
Even as the Shadow Lord speaks, perhaps even a shade before the words are relayed, Requiem finds something solid under his feet. Solid, yet organic, like wet fur. There's a surge as both garou are carried forward, a bow-wave rising before them as silvery blue-white emerges from the deeps. The silvery glitter is revealed as a myriad tiny bubbles caught in blue-white fur, the fur of a long, sinuous body. A head emerges before them, massive as the width of the eel-like body on which they are now standing. The mighty length of the creature winds effortlessly through the water, heading ever onwards, and the wind of their speed freezes the wet fur of the packmates into fragile icicles that shatter and break off into their wake.
Seeks-Raging-Water moves back to lean against Requiem somewhat as they find themselves carried along on the back of the blue-white furred creature. There's still the comfort of the proximity of her packmate, even if neither of them has much in the way of warmth to share. Do any of your tales tell of a something like this?
Requiem shivers again and huddles against Seeks-Raging-Water, thinking for a long moment. Sea dragons—the concept comes across well despite not normally being something that would work in lupus speech—yes. This, no. But then the galliard seems to have an idea, standing in place and leaning forward slightly to address the creature that they ride on. The galliard gives a simple expression of thanks to it, then falls silent.
A voice speaks to them, although even as it does so neither of the Garou could say whether they heard it with their ears. There's a purr to it, in Requiem's experience of it. Both gain the sense that it is unimaginably ancient, and yet as youthful as a child.
*Riddle me this, oh wolves-of-the-moon. The part of the bird which is not in the sky, which can swim on the ocean and always stay dry. What am I?*
Seeks-Raging-Water is quiet for a long moment, considering the riddle. You are something that those of Thunder's line know well, the Ahroun answers. There's a flash of satisfaction that would likely be stronger if she weren't still freezing. A shadow.
Requiem listens, and gives a small huff of satisfaction and pride in his packmate's answer to the riddle, before ducking his head and listening one more, politely.
A tremor of laughter runs through the creature. What manner of beast it might be is hard to tell when most of it is submerged, yet those familiar with the Eastern type of dragon might well take it for one; a water-dragon, its fur flowing and blowing with the currents of its winding passage across the lake.
*I can run, but never walk,
Often a murmur, never talk,
I have a bed but never sleep,
I have a mouth but never eat.*
Requiem's tail wags slowly behind him from side to side, and he pauses for barely a moment before he comes up with the answer to the riddle. A river, he states, simply.
With the riddles as a distraction, and the looping way in which the dragon winds through the water, it has not been immediately obvious that they are now describing a wide circle. Eventually the two Garou notice the eagle overhead, and realise that if they are maintaining a position beneath it, the dragon must be turning as it swims.
*Thousands lay up gold within this house,
but no man made it.
Spears past counting guard this house,
but no man wards it.*
Seeks-Raging-Water thinks long and hard about that one. There's a good chance she wouldn't have gotten it at all if not for the dream she had not so very long ago—but because she's been a bee, or at least clearly remembers it, the answer comes with a flash of realization. My—a pause, as she corrects the possessive—A bee's hive.
The water churns around and the Garou are almost thrown clear as the water-dragon puts in a little leap out of the water, revealing its full, flowing, glorious length for a moment.
*My step is slow
the snow's my breath
I give the ground
a grinding death
My marching makes an end of me
Slain by sun
or drowned in sea.*
This riddle gives the Glass Walker more pause, and Requiem is distracted for a breath by the sight of the water dragon, and then he centres himself and his thoughts again. A glacier. He doesn't sound nearly as certain as he sounded for the first riddle that was his to answer, but he answers it nonetheless.
There's a rush of laughter, sensed rather than heard, and the dragon's pace picks up so that they ride between great sprays of glittering droplets, caught between blue above and blue beneath.
*Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail, never clinking!*
Seeks-Raging-Water shifts position slightly, widening her stance and lowering her body to better keep her balance as the creature leaps and accelerates, fear and exhilaration battling with one another as they circle, making it difficult to concentrate. Eventually, though, she regains sufficient focus. This answer comes even more slowly than her second one. Sneezing as some of the spray of water catches her face, one piece falls into place, though, and the rest eventually follows. You are… a fish?
There's another delighted wash of laughter and another surge of speed. They are whipping about in an ever-closing circle now, the water drawing up with them into a sparkling wall. Bubbles dance crazily within, the chaos drawn into patterns that swirl to the surface and burst free. They crest the water-spout, safe atop its relentless current, held aloft by the blue-white dragon.
*Say my name and I disappear!*
Requiem looks to the dragon that they are on for a moment, silence for a long moment first to keep his footing on their ride of the dragon, momentary awe at the speed and the circle and the water beneath them. That pause continues, and then, shouldering so that he's right next to his packmate once more, Requiem answers, a very quiet whuff. Silence.
The waterspout reaches to the sky. The shadow of the eagle flickering across the two riders and their draconian mount. The sky above is deepest blue and speared by the points of a million stars. The roar of the waters drowns other sounds, a tumult of sound that almost overwhelms them with that same sense they picked up so faintly when they first woke. The roar of the engines of life, of organic clockwork, of time, rolling onwards, change crashing relentlessly over the millennia, so that the very rock itself is born, and lives out its life, and crumbles away into sand to wash into the depths and be born anew once again. The dragon banks over the edge and the two Garou ride out over the depths within, stars reflected back from the midnight-black depths. They are cool, and distant, quiet, tranquil points of calm at the centre of the chaos. Quiet wisdom held at the heart of the storm. Peace within the clamour and confusion.
Seeks-Raging-Water can't help but gasp, even as a wolf, fear losing out entirely to awe despite the fact that, at least so far as she knows, she's no more or less safe than she was a few moments before. Beyond that awe, though, communication fails her entirely.
Requiem cranes his neck and twists his head to just watch, showing the same amount of sheer awe. The awe directed as much to the water dragon whose back they are on as the sea that it is in. Then the Glass Walker turns his head such to look up to the sky, then back to the water. His tongue lolls from his mouth as well, a more visible display of the joy he takes from the sights.
It's on that wave-crest that the dreamers awake, the shock like a splash of cold water as they are flung from mind-world back into physical reality. The dream lingers on as a memory that is unlikely to be forgotten for some time.
Flint blinks, eyes opening to see his room at the tenement, and reaches out over the packlink for Alexandra. No words, just a query towards her.
Alexandra is momentarily confused, finding herself suddenly back in her birth form and in darkness—staring up at the roof of Thunder Cave, her fire having long since burned down to embers. Flint's presence on the packlink helps to reorient her again, and he's answered with a sensation of her well-being.
Flint echoes in kind over the packlink, and adds, almost an echo of thought that leaks through. Whoa. Just… whoa.
There's a flash of amusement at his reaction over their shared link, though the undertones of warmth in the emotion make it clear that it's because she's feeling very much the same. It's not something that she really has words for, and so she doesn't try to give it any—and then he can feel the subtle differences in her presence that marks her shift to lupus, so that it's easier to simply bask in the remaining sensation without trying to analyze it.
19 September, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (24% full).
Flint's keeping odd hours these days, between his duties around the tenement and trips to and from Edgewood, and mostly catching sleep when he can. Like now, having gone back to sleep after working in the workshop since an hour that more properly belongs in 'middle of the night' than 'morning'.
Distance may separate the two packmates—Alexandra miles away from Edgewood and farther still from the Tenement, given that she's taken up residence in Thunder Cave—but she'd been chatting with Flint via packlink right up until she drifted off to sleep.
The sleepers wake, or so it seems to them. They wake to the faint, distant sound of something almost indescribable. If the Earth were a giant, organic clockwork watch, and each tiny and intricate part were to move by growing very fast, and one could hear sound, very faintly, in space, then it is the sound you might hear when standing on the moon. Beneath each is the smell and feel of clean dirt: a smooth, dry, slightly dusty surface. Opened eyes reveal open sky, clear blue overhead.
Flint blinks several times at this, gaining footing and fairly surprised at being awake, if it is, in fact, awake. Then the galliard crouches to trail his fingers against the dirt, curiosity winning out over caution.
"And that's why I think that maybe…" Alexandra begins, apparently not even realizing that she'd drifted off mid-conversation for the first few moments, though that changes once she takes in the open sky above instead of the cave ceiling that she'd have expected. It's at least a little less disconcerting the second time it happens in a comparatively short span, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't put the Ahroun on edge.
The dirt is the dirt of a path. The crux of four different paths, to be exact. They branch out at the quarters of a circle, each almost straight. More scents reach them now. There's the smell of burning, and in the distance along one path it is possible to see a dank, blackened forest stretching into the distance. A pall of smoke hangs in the air, masking a great swathe of it. Along the next path the black pall turns to white, a smooth sheet of almost unbroken snow covering the ground, broken here and there by steaming sapphire pools and the rush of intermittent geysers. Next around, opposite the forest, the path seems to stretch away into infinite sky, where an eagle circles serenely. The last path leads to a crumbling mountain, its slopes draped with scrambling greenery.
Flint looks down the paths, and then almost surprised, spots his packmate. The cliath looks much as he always looks, but with clothing significantly less worn, better fitting. He stands straighter, and the teen's hair is long like it was when the two first met. "Four paths, crossroads. Crossroads?" he says, before moving over, quickly, to join Alexandra.
Alexandra, for her part, likewise looks similar to what she normally does—though instead of just the Portland City United jersey, she's wearing the shorts, shin guards, and cleats that would make it appear that she's been out playing soccer, instead of just wearing a reminder from the time when she did. She reaches out to give her packmate's shoulder a squeeze. "Crossroads. Huh. And only two of us this time. I wonder what that means?"
Flint tilts his head to one side, looking out to consider the landscape around them. "Don't know," he responds, quietly, taking a few steps around the crossroads of the paths before returning to Alexandra, setting his hand lightly against her arm for a moment. "Not quite sure." A moment later, and he asks her, "Which way?"
Alexandra considers that a moment, then gestures toward the path that stretches toward infinite sky. "We serve Merlin, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say that looks like a good omen to me," clearly speaking of the eagle.
The infinite sky draws the eye. The air has the chill, clean tang of snowmelt.
Flint nods, and there's a moment, as the Glass Walker shifts down to lupus, with an encouraging chuff towards Alexandra, and he waits for her before starts in that direction. First, though, Requiem pauses, and in the dirt that starts the path his pack alpha has indicated, Requiem carefully scratches out a glyph, pointing in the direction they have gone.
Despite the fact that, with the exception of the jersey, they aren't dedicated to her back in the waking world, there's no pile of shredded cloth left behind as Alexandra moves through the forms until she reaches lupus as well. She waits for him to finish the glyph, then the Shadow Lord starts toward their destination.
The path starts as a dirt path through short meadow-grass. It quickly becomes an overgrown dirt path through spring flowers, some familiar, some unlike any they have ever seen before. Birdsong creeps up on the ears, so gradually that it's impossible to tell when near-silence becomes confused cacophony. The path seems to hurry the Garou along, their wolf-strides coming easily. Both feel as if they could run forever. The air shimmers in its endlessness, and the soaring eagle seems no closer.
Requiem twists his ears to and fro at the sounds, nose working double and triple time to pick up on the scents, and he keeps his pace to the Shadow Lord, though Requiem also shows exuberance in running. Running for the sake of running, if not for the fact that it's slightly too odd for that, and he's slightly too on edge.
The running is soothing to the Shadow Lord, even in this strange place where she feels particularly out of her element. Not enough to remove her unease, but at least enough to dull it somewhat. Seeks-Raging-Water is not one to give up easily, so she continues to run toward the eagle ahead, but neither is she one to limit herself to only running, and so she lifts her head and howls out a greeting and an introduction, even if she cannot communicate in the same fashion as spirits. The howl identifies her as Seeks the Raging Water to Silence her strike, Granddaughter of the Storm, born beneath the full moon, and Alpha of Unfettered, in service to Merlin. Perhaps that will get the eagle's attention.
Blue sky meets the blue of distance and shades into a sheet of blue meadow-flowers, graduations blurred one into the other as the speed of the Garou sweeps them onwards. It is both a complete surprise and yet strangely obvious when the packmates find themselves splashing into shallow blue water right on the tail of Raging-Water's howl, almost as though she summoned it into existence. They find themselves at the edge of a lake that reflects the infinite sky above. So clear, so deep is that blue that they can see stars caught in its depths, reflections of the distant stars above, beyond the daylight's touch. Far, far ahead, a swirl in the water matches the wide sweep of the eagle's path.
The galliard's howl that joins his packmate's carries his own, briefer introduction, and it halts as he splashes into the water, nervous of it for a moment, shallow though it may be at the moment. Requiem turns a small circle before shouldering into Seeks-Raging-Water.
Seeks-Raging-Water looks over and nips at her packmate in what is clearly a mild scolding as she picks up on his unease. You are Requiem, and a wolf. Your instincts should keep you safe. And even should they fail, your pack will not. The Shadow Lord seems quite confident of this, even if she's the only pack he's currently got with him.
Far off ahead, cutting through the dawn chorus behind them, comes the high, clear call of the eagle.
Requiem huffs, taking a deep breath in, and moves into the water further, though what he manages is an awkward puppy-like doggy-paddle, that manages to keep his head above water. Requiem is quietly grateful, continuously glancing towards the Ahroun and sticking close to her, though not so close as to impede her.
Seeks-Raging-Water is careful not to get too far ahead of her packmate. A strong swimmer in homid, she's still limited to the swimming ability of her wolf shape, which was built to be a land predator. That being the case, she keeps a wary eye aimed down beneath the surface of the lake, since that's where they'd be most vulnerable to attack.
The water strikes chill through both Garou, stiffening their limbs into clumsiness. Their breath comes short and painful. The ripples far ahead spread, faster than fast, and the mirror-clear surface around them becomes choppy. Far, far ahead, the eagle calls once more, the bird itself become too small a speck to see.
The Glass Walker's more awkward swimming becomes a struggle to move forward through the water, and a shiver runs through his body. Requiem looks forward, and then back to Alexandra, and then forward again. Keep going. Can get through this, see what we find.
Seeks-Raging-Water considers her options as the cold settles in and takes hold even through the protection of her coat. She presses ahead, even still, but shares her thoughts via their pack link. The rules do not work normally here. Perhaps that is to our advantage? Since we are both chosen of Merlin, and the storm is a part of me, even in clear skies… The Shadow Lord pictures herself flying as she has seen Bigwing fly, imagines herself joining the eagle high above. It's a longshot, even in a dream, but if calling out a greeting got them closer…
The pain of the cold grows ever more intense, until feeling is gone altogether, and numbness releases the Garou from that gripping ache. The waves, though, arrive with relentless regularity, higher with each new assault.
Requiem huffs towards the Shadow Lord as she shares the idea, and his own version of it is simply a fierce, fierce insistence and imagining of himself managing to walk, or run, above the surface of the waves and above the cold of the water, more so as the waves impede his already poor swimming.
There is no shift in their place, no sudden soaring on high, but Requiem would pick up the flash of surprise from her as the Ahroun's feet find footing, and she seems to have an easier time moving. Behind me! Walk where I walk! She tells her packmate. She doesn't know what it is that might be helping, but she offers a grateful chuff, not sure what else she can do other than make the best possible use of the partial reprieve.
The galliard shivers, moving in to follow his pack alpha. Requiem shakes water from his fur as he does so, careful not to stray, and alert for what else may come.
Even as the Shadow Lord speaks, perhaps even a shade before the words are relayed, Requiem finds something solid under his feet. Solid, yet organic, like wet fur. There's a surge as both garou are carried forward, a bow-wave rising before them as silvery blue-white emerges from the deeps. The silvery glitter is revealed as a myriad tiny bubbles caught in blue-white fur, the fur of a long, sinuous body. A head emerges before them, massive as the width of the eel-like body on which they are now standing. The mighty length of the creature winds effortlessly through the water, heading ever onwards, and the wind of their speed freezes the wet fur of the packmates into fragile icicles that shatter and break off into their wake.
Seeks-Raging-Water moves back to lean against Requiem somewhat as they find themselves carried along on the back of the blue-white furred creature. There's still the comfort of the proximity of her packmate, even if neither of them has much in the way of warmth to share. Do any of your tales tell of a something like this?
Requiem shivers again and huddles against Seeks-Raging-Water, thinking for a long moment. Sea dragons—the concept comes across well despite not normally being something that would work in lupus speech—yes. This, no. But then the galliard seems to have an idea, standing in place and leaning forward slightly to address the creature that they ride on. The galliard gives a simple expression of thanks to it, then falls silent.
A voice speaks to them, although even as it does so neither of the Garou could say whether they heard it with their ears. There's a purr to it, in Requiem's experience of it. Both gain the sense that it is unimaginably ancient, and yet as youthful as a child.
*Riddle me this, oh wolves-of-the-moon. The part of the bird which is not in the sky, which can swim on the ocean and always stay dry. What am I?*
Seeks-Raging-Water is quiet for a long moment, considering the riddle. You are something that those of Thunder's line know well, the Ahroun answers. There's a flash of satisfaction that would likely be stronger if she weren't still freezing. A shadow.
Requiem listens, and gives a small huff of satisfaction and pride in his packmate's answer to the riddle, before ducking his head and listening one more, politely.
A tremor of laughter runs through the creature. What manner of beast it might be is hard to tell when most of it is submerged, yet those familiar with the Eastern type of dragon might well take it for one; a water-dragon, its fur flowing and blowing with the currents of its winding passage across the lake.
*I can run, but never walk,
Often a murmur, never talk,
I have a bed but never sleep,
I have a mouth but never eat.*
Requiem's tail wags slowly behind him from side to side, and he pauses for barely a moment before he comes up with the answer to the riddle. A river, he states, simply.
With the riddles as a distraction, and the looping way in which the dragon winds through the water, it has not been immediately obvious that they are now describing a wide circle. Eventually the two Garou notice the eagle overhead, and realise that if they are maintaining a position beneath it, the dragon must be turning as it swims.
*Thousands lay up gold within this house,
but no man made it.
Spears past counting guard this house,
but no man wards it.*
Seeks-Raging-Water thinks long and hard about that one. There's a good chance she wouldn't have gotten it at all if not for the dream she had not so very long ago—but because she's been a bee, or at least clearly remembers it, the answer comes with a flash of realization. My—a pause, as she corrects the possessive—A bee's hive.
The water churns around and the Garou are almost thrown clear as the water-dragon puts in a little leap out of the water, revealing its full, flowing, glorious length for a moment.
*My step is slow
the snow's my breath
I give the ground
a grinding death
My marching makes an end of me
Slain by sun
or drowned in sea.*
This riddle gives the Glass Walker more pause, and Requiem is distracted for a breath by the sight of the water dragon, and then he centres himself and his thoughts again. A glacier. He doesn't sound nearly as certain as he sounded for the first riddle that was his to answer, but he answers it nonetheless.
There's a rush of laughter, sensed rather than heard, and the dragon's pace picks up so that they ride between great sprays of glittering droplets, caught between blue above and blue beneath.
*Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail, never clinking!*
Seeks-Raging-Water shifts position slightly, widening her stance and lowering her body to better keep her balance as the creature leaps and accelerates, fear and exhilaration battling with one another as they circle, making it difficult to concentrate. Eventually, though, she regains sufficient focus. This answer comes even more slowly than her second one. Sneezing as some of the spray of water catches her face, one piece falls into place, though, and the rest eventually follows. You are… a fish?
There's another delighted wash of laughter and another surge of speed. They are whipping about in an ever-closing circle now, the water drawing up with them into a sparkling wall. Bubbles dance crazily within, the chaos drawn into patterns that swirl to the surface and burst free. They crest the water-spout, safe atop its relentless current, held aloft by the blue-white dragon.
*Say my name and I disappear!*
Requiem looks to the dragon that they are on for a moment, silence for a long moment first to keep his footing on their ride of the dragon, momentary awe at the speed and the circle and the water beneath them. That pause continues, and then, shouldering so that he's right next to his packmate once more, Requiem answers, a very quiet whuff. Silence.
The waterspout reaches to the sky. The shadow of the eagle flickering across the two riders and their draconian mount. The sky above is deepest blue and speared by the points of a million stars. The roar of the waters drowns other sounds, a tumult of sound that almost overwhelms them with that same sense they picked up so faintly when they first woke. The roar of the engines of life, of organic clockwork, of time, rolling onwards, change crashing relentlessly over the millennia, so that the very rock itself is born, and lives out its life, and crumbles away into sand to wash into the depths and be born anew once again. The dragon banks over the edge and the two Garou ride out over the depths within, stars reflected back from the midnight-black depths. They are cool, and distant, quiet, tranquil points of calm at the centre of the chaos. Quiet wisdom held at the heart of the storm. Peace within the clamour and confusion.
Seeks-Raging-Water can't help but gasp, even as a wolf, fear losing out entirely to awe despite the fact that, at least so far as she knows, she's no more or less safe than she was a few moments before. Beyond that awe, though, communication fails her entirely.
Requiem cranes his neck and twists his head to just watch, showing the same amount of sheer awe. The awe directed as much to the water dragon whose back they are on as the sea that it is in. Then the Glass Walker turns his head such to look up to the sky, then back to the water. His tongue lolls from his mouth as well, a more visible display of the joy he takes from the sights.
It's on that wave-crest that the dreamers awake, the shock like a splash of cold water as they are flung from mind-world back into physical reality. The dream lingers on as a memory that is unlikely to be forgotten for some time.
Flint blinks, eyes opening to see his room at the tenement, and reaches out over the packlink for Alexandra. No words, just a query towards her.
Alexandra is momentarily confused, finding herself suddenly back in her birth form and in darkness—staring up at the roof of Thunder Cave, her fire having long since burned down to embers. Flint's presence on the packlink helps to reorient her again, and he's answered with a sensation of her well-being.
Flint echoes in kind over the packlink, and adds, almost an echo of thought that leaks through. Whoa. Just… whoa.
There's a flash of amusement at his reaction over their shared link, though the undertones of warmth in the emotion make it clear that it's because she's feeling very much the same. It's not something that she really has words for, and so she doesn't try to give it any—and then he can feel the subtle differences in her presence that marks her shift to lupus, so that it's easier to simply bask in the remaining sensation without trying to analyze it.