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World of Darkness: Attrition - The Second Test: Wisdom [Complete]


Dawn OOC

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Another night, another note. This is getting old, Sarah thought as she pulled down and opened another note. Worse, the timing was really bad. The others needed her, needed help that she'd said she'd give - but she said she'd do the tests, too.

I'll at least look at the note, she told herself, still struggling to decide which had priority. That will help me plan what to do.

But the note was no help at all.

Sarah,

Good work on the Cunning test. Everyone here suitably reacted to the news that you'd passed. The only way you could have done better was to come ask me for the information - would have been cunnin', that. But you did fine, still.

Go to Sonoma. Find three half-lost pups by the name of Greg "Spit-take" Howards, Juanita "Low-rider" Parado and Paul "Pasty-pute" Chan. Whip them into shape, because there's a Glade somewhere in their area that has been lost to us. Help them take the Glade and incorporate it into their territory. And then you're done.

Dredge

Oh, and luv? See if you can't help them earn better deed names. I gave them the ones they have in the hopes it'd shake them up, but I don't think it worked. Show them how to be of the People. Thx, duck.

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[6:43PM, 21 Jan 2009]

"You have got to be fucking kidding."

She stared at the note in disbelief. They seriously wanted her to find a trio of wet-behind-the-ears pups, turn them into a cohesive force, and help them take a glade? What did they think she was, a nanny? Or worse, an Alpha?

Resisting the urge to slam her head into the tree trunk, Sarah carefully folded the note into a tiny square, tucked it deep within the inside pocket of her jacket, sealed it up with the velcro she'd sewn in place, and headed off instead toward Declan's house. Tonight was a night for fulfilling promises, doing her duty; if she survived, there'd be plenty of nights for playing Captain Nanny.

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[predawn, 23 Jan 2009]

"Are you sure about this, frail?" Declan's voice was rife with concern as he loomed over her prone form, mallet in hand.

Sarah nodded, her head barely padded by the black felt she'd wrapped around herself. "I'm sure. Best way to do it. Just make sure that note stays tight. Be kind of a mess if they try to do things without reading it first." She could see in his eye that his concern wasn't really quashed, but there was nothing to be done for it. All in all, this was the best option available to get a bit of shock and awe over the pups.

"And Dec? I'll see you as soon as I'm done." She pulled the last bit of felt up and over her head, then listened as Declan nailed the lid of the inner crate into place, then the outer lid.

Time passed interminably slowly in the darkness. For once, Sarah was happy when the sun finally rose to weigh upon her, pushing the vampire into daysleep and oblivion.

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[evening, 23 Jan 2009]

The nice thing about express freight is that it is, well, express. The not nice thing is that it's not cheap. Sarah's cash stockpile was getting very thin, and she wondered whether or not she was going to have to resort to taking cash from her dinners after much longer.

Either way, after fighting their way up the bumper-to-bumper traffic of the I-5 all day, two burly delivery men walked up to the door of Mr. Paul Chan just after sunset. Between them lay a long crate - stenciled "Educational Materials - Light Sensitive" - on a hand truck.

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"But... I didn't order any 'light sensitive' materials," Paul Chan argued. "And it should go the University, not my house."

The two big men gave the tall, pasty-skinned Asian guy a once-over and shrugged. "Ain't our problem. This is the right address, right?" he said, shoving the clip board under Paul's nose.

"Yes, but-"

"Here you go," they said, dropping it on the front step, and over Paul's objections, walking away.

The lanky man stood watching them for a moment. His hands balled up in fists as the Irraka watched them go. He wanted to chase after them and force them to be respectful, to scare them with one of his forms. But he remembered the last time he'd let the thing inside get the upper hand, and in the end, he just walked into his house.

It took another half hour, but he managed to get the heavy package inside the house using a couple of two-by-fours and a car jack from the garage. Once inside, he opened it, and got another nasty surprise; this didn't go to the university.

Pasty-pute,

Two rules:

1. Don't open until after sunset. You won't like the results if you break this rule.

2. Have Spit-take and Low-rider in the house when you open this thing. Again, you won't like the results if you break this rule.

"Great," he muttered, balling up the paper. "Werewolf crap." He couldn't express how much he hated this life that had been forced on him. Grumbling to himself, he called the other people who in this mind had similarly been cursed.

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[9:00PM 23 Jan 2009]

Three fucking hours. C'mon, what are you idiots waiting for?

She'd heard when the outer lid was opened; it had taken the entire day's worth of deadly sunshine for the box to be delivered, and she was awake through Paul's poor efforts to move the thing inside. She'd heard when he made a couple of phone calls, too; with the felt pushed aside now, she could hear just fine through the wooden crate.

And then? Two hours of goddamned bleeps and bloops from a video game. A video game! It seemed like forever before the other two arrived on the scene, and Sarah was working up some serious mad. And then, they had to stand around for another half-hour, trying to figure out what to do before pry-bar finally bit wood and shitty fluorescent light started seeping in through the cracks.

Declan was right: this is a shitty way to travel, Sarah thought as the lid was finally pried free... and some geek was standing there with a big cross in his hands, damned near quaking in his boots, while Mr. Computer-Games' jaw dropped open enough to let a bit of drool hit his pizza-smeared T-shirt. Completing the mix was what looked like a hooker of the five-and-ten variety. And sure enough, every one of them had just a hint of that primal beast-like feel to them.

Dear Luna, I found the Loser Pack.

The vampire's eyes were very open, very bright, and very unhappy as it stood up from the de-facto coffin. A growl rumbled up from somewhere deep within, and the geek switched out the cross for an ankh. Growl changed to sigh, and the undead thing spoke in a deadly serious voice.

"Hi. I'm your court-appointed mentor. And you can all see just how happy I am to be here." The Chinese computer slob's sweat stains were spreading, and Sarah could literally smell the fear wafting from the would-be exorcist that was now dropping the ankh in favor of a pentacle.

"First off, put away the toys, Benny. They don't work. Which, all things considered, is actually pretty damned good for you, Spit-take.

"You too, Low-rider, so might as well park it. And Pasty-pute: half an hour to move one lousy body-bearing box into your living room? Seriously? And you call yourself a werewolf?" The vampire sighed, shaking its head in disgust.

"OK campers, listen up. I'm Sarah O'Neally. I'm what's called a Dead Wolf. That means I work with the People and serve Luna. I've fought Spider Hosts and spirits, I've taken down man eaters, and I know my Oath.

"You three have caught the attention of the Topanga Pack. In particular, you've caught their attention by being fucked up pups. So fucked up, in fact, that they sent me here to teach you how to be werewolves. And if that doesn't piss you off, we'll work on it until it does."

She gave each a steely look in turn, and then said, "Any of you actually claim to lead your little puppy pack?"

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Like the other two, Juanita didn't ask for what had happened to her. She'd been minding her own business when the world had gone mad and thrust her into a nightmare. Unlike the others, she'd adapted better; her already-hard life, complete with the final, ignoble slide into prostitution, had hardened her to shocks like becoming a werewolf. That didn't mean she'd adapted well, and she was grumpy when she realized the full extent of the package that had come to Paul.

Pinche high and mightly werewolves, she grumped to herself before saying in her heavily accented English, "That would be me, chica." She put her hands on her generous hips and pursed her cherry-red lips. The silver eyeshadow literally glowed and her hair added four inches to her height. She had IT, and no fucking vampire could compare. Despite Sarah's assessment, she wasn't happy, though not because they'd sent a vampire. She was pissed they'd sent anyone.

"Yeah, well, we never voted or anything," Paul said. He swayed back a little when she twisted and glared at him. "You just started ordering us-"

"Paul, shut it." The snap in her voice could extingish candles.

Paul shut it.

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A smile spread across Sarah's face. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was, if anything, a smile reminiscent of the animated version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

"Well, I see who's the de-facto Alpha. Good. Nice to know someone has a pair here.

"First things first then, Juanita," she said, showing a bit of respect for what might actually pan out to someday be a leader within the People. "Who's who here? And by that, I mean moons... and tribes, if any of you actually managed to con your way into a tribe."

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"I'm Ithaeur," Juanita said easily, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for an Ithaeur to be a Latina lady of the night. "Paul's Irraka and Greg is Rahu."

Greg nodded enthusastically. "I want to join the Blood Talons," he said, grinning widely.

"I have been talking with an Iron Master in San Fran," Paul added. His tone turned slightly sardonic as he added, "Turns out, being able to lift heavy boxes isn't a requirement for that tribe."

"I'm happy as a Ghost Wolf," Juanita exclaimed. Her fingers caressed the edge of her pants and the clearly visible edge of her underwear. "I'll make my own way."

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Crap. They're using the First Tongue words. Still, these were such common ones - well, as common as any really got, other than Uratha - that she'd more or less gotten the gist over the years, even if she could never speak them herself. Spit-take was a full-moon... which explained his Blood Talon fascination, but not his pencil-necked geekiness. Pasty-pute was on the other end of the spectrum, a new-moon (though neither than nor his apparent Iron Master affiliation excused his lack of physicality in Sarah's mind). And Juanita came in as a crescent-moon. And isn't that just fucking ironic?

"All right then. As luck would have it, I'm a crescent-moon myself." She watched surprise light up in three pairs of eyes before adding, "Don't be so shocked. Told you, I'm sworn to Luna, too, even if I'm a member of the unliving set. Though I'm tribeless, of course."

She sighed, looking around for a moment before finally taking a seat on the edge of the larger of the two crates.

"So, let me spell out what this is all about. Like I said, some folks in high places want you three to get with the programme. And part of that is going to involve a mission, once you're ready for it. You and I get to go find a lost glade, secure it, and add it to your territory.

"Speaking of which, this is the part where you should show me what comprises your turf. You do have properly claimed and marked turf, right?"

Click to reveal..
Puzzling out the oft-heard auspices (Int + Occult w/ Werewolf Lore Spec.)

(20:26:31) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 6d10 and gets 10,5,2,6,8,9.

No reroll on 10 due to clan weakness.

3 successes

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"Si, we all had instinctively claimed some territory," Juanita said, "and Dredge showed us how to mark it. Then we consolidated it." She quickly outlined the boundaries, with Paul and Greg both detailing it if she wasn't specific enough.

Sarah was forced to admit that they knew what they were supposed to do, and in some cases, seemed to be doing it. They were just so mediocore at the actual details of it. They were handling things right now, but if an emergency happened, they were fucked.

"So, how come they did send a vampire?" Juanita asked, breaking Sarah's desperate train of thought as she tried to think of how to pull these losers together. "I mean... you say you're sworn, but why'd they send you?"

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And she's smart, too. Which'll be great in the long haul, but pretty awkward right now.

"They have their reasons," she quipped. "Might be that they think little enough of you that this is all you get. Might be that they want to see if you can deal with an unusual situation. Might even be someone's idea of a joke.

"Or," she said with just a tiny hint more threat in her voice and a glare that was both red hot and ice cold, "it might be because they know that I'm Sarah Dead Wolf, that my word is my bond, and that when I'm given a job, it gets done."

She let that soak in for a minute before going on. "But that's not important. What is important is to figure out where you all really stand, get a baseline to work from. It's obvious that you all understand the fundimentals - you've got a good defensible territory, and some of you are even looking at tribes. Better start than some.

"So, I'll let you in on a little secret. My hope - my true and sincere hope - is that by the time this is over, you can ditch those shitty deed names that Dredge saddled you with and earn something you can wear with pride. In the meantime, I'll try and respect the low if you'll do your part and honour the high. We solid on this?"

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"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Juanita said calmly and pleasantly, "but you ain't the high here. We are; we're the werewolves. You're just a vampire. Now, I'll respect the low, but you gotta honor us, the high. Are we solid on that?"

Apparently, she'd gotten a full dose of the hubris that sometimes followed the change, but this would be a hard part for Sarah to argue - she was, and always expected she would be, an omega.

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This was a well and truly ugly spot. Juanita was of the People, Sarah wasn't, and that should have put the matter to bed right there.

However, Sarah was just as aware that letting this pup run over her would pretty much undermine any hopes she had of accomplishing a damned thing with this trio; they'd continue to stumble their way along, the glade would remain lost, and she'd be out of luck.

Time for a desperate gambit.

"Any normal situation and you'd be right," the Dead Wolf said in an even tone. "You're werewolves, and that puts you above some fucking leech. Something not to be forgotten, either.

"But," she went on, "I'm not just some fucking leech. First, I'm a Dead Wolf. I've been around the People since you were in diapers, and don't think I haven't used that time well.

"Second, I'm the Dead Wolf that helped the Ajo Runners bring down a major nest of the Spider Host, who dealt the felling blow on the man-hunter a few months back, who discovered the destruction of the Death Weavers of L.A. and made arrangements for the care of their totem, and who wrangled info out of the storm-totem of a major Blood Talon pack. I've got a wee bit more experience under my belt than you.

"And last but not least, I'm the Dead Wolf that the Topangas sent to get your asses together. I'm their representative. I'm your mentor and guide. And that, kids, puts me in the very damned unusual position of being a vampire who is a tad higher than you on the totem pole."

A carefully paced pause followed, and while the tension in the air was thick enough to cut into bricks, nobody made sound.

"So that's why we're respecting and honouring who we are for now. When this is finished - assuming it gets finished, and gets finished right - you'll be the ones back on top, and then you can dance a jig about it for all I care.

"If there's a problem with that, step on up and we'll settle it, my claws against yours. But I'll guaran-fucking-tee you that mine are sharper."

Click to reveal..
Presence + Intimidation, spending a Willpower for +3 as this is a do-or-die:

(22:12:54) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 6d10 and gets 8,5,10,10,4,10.

(22:13:01) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 3d10 and gets 1,9,9.

Six successes. Holy crap!

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Juanita looked a little scared, which was Sarah's intention. What happened next wasn't her intention, necessarily. "Ok," Juanita said. "You win. You're Alpha. But I'll be Beta, comprenda?"

"She's not a werewolf," Greg said carefully. " I mean, I like her being a vampire, cause, yeah, HAWT, but she can't be in our pack, right?"

"Dredge sent her to lead us," Juanita said, shrugging. "If he okayed it, its fine."

Paul just stood back, silent and looking miserable.

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Conflicting thoughts rattled around inside the dead grey matter of Sarah's mind as she realized just exactly what happened. To her credit, her jaw didn't fall open like a trap door, and her eyes didn't go as big as saucers, but the pause that ensued while she frantically tried to figure out what to do was a touch awkward... or would have been, if she didn't still have that intimidating glare plastered on her face.

The first instinct was to correct Juanita. Sarah wasn't their Alpha, and there's no way she could ever actually be such. She sure as hell wasn't part of their pack (and wouldn't join it if they begged her); hell, she wasn't even sure if they really were a pack, with a totem and all, or just calling themselves such. But any way around, the Dead Wolf knew that she was no Alpha.

Except.... Dredge had sent her here to whip these kids into shape. For all of Juanita's sass and spunk, she wasn't really up for full-fledged leadership yet. Paul and Greg were both just plain hopeless. If Sarah was going to pull them together, standing in as a temporary leader might be the way to do it.

And dammit, Juanita had folded like a cheap lawn chair. Hand her back the Alpha job now, and she'd have zilch for respect: none from the other pups, and none from herself. She needed to earn that respect back, or she'd wind up as a failed Alpha.

You just scared the shit out of them, undermined their Alpha, and barked your way into a job you were never meant to take. Congrats, Sarah. Whadya do for an encore - eat one of them? Fucking idiot dead girl.

With a silent sigh, Sarah did pretty much the only thing she could do. She ignored the incredibly awkward question from Greg - both because she didn't want to get into the details of Dead Wolves joining packs and didn't want to formally join this one, and instead nodded gravely at Juanita.

"Fine. You're my Beta, for now. Let's head to your locus. If you've got a totem, time for me to say hello." And I'll figure out how to tell it I'm not pledging myself to it when I get there. Nice fucking job, girl.

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Despite their wet-behind-the-ears status, the kids were able to take her right to their territory and their locus. It was up in the hills over Somona, looking back down on the town. They stood in a grape field, and green rows of the terreced plants bordered them. The view, Sarah admitted silently, was beautiful. But they weren't here for the view.

"Alright," she said, "someone's going to have to pull me over."

"You mean... you can't sidestep yourself?" Paul asked. Now they all looked doubtful again and Sarah moved before they could entertain thoughts of mutiny.

"No, I can't," she said evenly, crossing her arms. "But you'll find that I can do a bunch of things you kids can't dream of."

"Like?" Greg piped up.

"Like you'll figure that out." Sarah wasn't about to get into a discussion of the benefits of the Kindred over the Forsaken. "If you're cunning enough and keep your eyes open."

"Oh, I'll keep my eyes on you," Greg said.

"Chill, chico," Juanita said as she grabbed Sarah's arm. "This is serious business, not a way to get your rocks off. Oh, and I know what you did last summer."

As Greg blushed and sputtered, Juanita looked in the shining gold reflective surface of her bracelet and pulled Sarah over. The weird night of the Hisil was all around them, with the spirits of the wild stretching out around them. Below them, the city spread out, empty of life but full of roving shapes. Above, a sliver of silver marked the time of the month. Greg and Paul followed immediately after, their forms appearing as if from thin air.

Beside Sarah, Juanita smiled dreamily. She looked, for that one moment, at peace, and as she gazed up at the phase she shared with the provacative young werewolf, Sarah understood why. After a moment, Juanita dug in to her purse and pulled out a ziploc baggie filled with dried green leaves. As Sarah entertained horrific thoughts about what might be in said baggie, exactly, Juanita up-ended the bag on the ground. "Here, Tail-High. Come here, chica; we have a gift for you and a new Alpha to meet."

The grape-spirit shifted and a form gracefully slid out. Sarah blinked; it was a house cat the size of a Border Collie. Sure enough, it was holding its tail high in the air. It looked at them with golden eyes before pouncing on the pile of catnip.

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Sarah looked at the huge cat for a long, long moment, her own eyes shining in reflection of its golden orbs, before looking up and whispering thanks to Luna. She'd hoped - prayed, in fact - all along the long walk to the locus that there would be some way for her to communicate directly with the pack's totem without using one of the pups as a translator... and now, here stood this beautiful, sleek cat spirit before her.

Kneeling down respectfully to roughly the same level, the Dead Wolf began doing one of those things she'd mention that the pups couldn't do: in softly growling and mewling tones, she spoke in the language of cats to Tail-High.

*Greet-you, Tail-High. I Sarah Dead-Wolf. Here help your pack. For short time - maybe to big moon - lead your pack. But not become yours. Just here help them grow, be strong, learn, seek and find. Ask you keep secret. Bring you more catnip when come back. And fish.*

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The cat paused in its mauling of the catnip and looked at her, blinking carefully. *Secret-keep for now. Build pack strong. Bring offering. Bring many offering.* The implication was clear - continue the bribes or the beans would be spilled. Sarah wasn't surprised - spirits were often like that. They were selfish creatures, unable to understand other's needs or balance that need with their own desires.

The cat-spirit spoke to the werewolves in that strange, harsh spirit-tongue. When it was done, Greg turned to her. "Welcome to the pack, Rose de la Nuit," he said with a near-leer.

But the most disquieting reaction was Juanita's - her expression was one of pure relief.

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Yup, congrats. You're officially stuck. Good fucking job. And by the way, Greg's gonna try to jump your bones at the first opportunity. Have fun with that.

She wanted to turn and stalk away in disgust. In fact, the Dead Wolf came very close to it at Juanita's reaction. Only two things stopped her: the fact that it would leave these pups effectively lost, and that it would leave her stuck in the Shadow.

Forcing a smile that probably came a bit closer to a grimace - and certainly showed a bit of fang - Sarah addressed what was, for the moment, her pack. "All-righty, then. First things first: a run of the bounds. I'll need to get a feel for the territory, both her and back in the physical world. Then I'm catching some sleep at the locus." In the ground, was left unsaid, though they'd eventually get the idea. "Tomorrow night, we'll start working."

In a smooth, easy and utterly alien transition, Sarah made the switch from girl to wolf, and waited for the pack to do likewise in the Uratha way. As the four of them set out at a run, Juanita taking the lead to show the bounds, Sarah couldn't help but feel a bit of elation through the worry and fear. This is the closest I'll ever come to being an Alpha, she knew, and even if it's not real, even if it wasn't what I planned... it feels good.

Click to reveal..
Vice of Envy: Recover 1 point of Willpower.
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[6:30PM, 25 Jan 2009]

The honeymoon was over, and the bloom was well and truly off the rose.

The first night of real work had been a disaster, and as Sarah pulled herself up from the comforting earth of the pack's locus, she reflected on the previous nights frustrations and fiascos.

When she'd slid into the soil two nights ago, to sleep the night away in preparation for the first full night of training and effort, a heady feeling of accomplishment had tinged her dreams. What she had planned wasn't exactly firm. But she was sure that it somehow resembled a training montage from any of a few dozen '80s movies. A wirlwind of hard work, and these kids would be winning the state championships, beating the conceited bully down the ski slope, getting their Camaro up and running, and having great dates to take to the prom.

That training montage had turned into a bad spoof Saturday night.

As a Beta, Juanita was doing an incredible job of being an Omega. Relieved of her leadership tasks, she'd merrily slid into submission the likes of which Sarah hadn't seen since... well, since her own efforts with Declan, she had to admit with a red face. Sarah had hoped to whip the Sonomas' former leader into form, but all that sass and spunk had pretty much evaporated with the weight of leadership.

If Juanita was an Omega, then Paul was something even lower, some kind of sub-Omega. Maybe an Omega-squared, Sarah rued, brushing the last bits of soil from her denim as she took a good careful look around the locus after waking. I mean, I know new-moons are supposed to be on the quiet side, but this is ridiculous. It didn't help that the Asian computer programmer was entirely outside his element anywhere more than five feet from a power strip. As they ran through the fields and vineyards and occasional bit of forest around Sonoma, Sarah could see him almost wincing at each new brush with nature, hoping to find a laptop and router somewhere amid the pines.

And then there was Greg. Greg, the Rahu. Greg, the would-be Blood Talon. Greg, the kinky horn-dog. Apparently, Mr. Dungeon Master wasn't just interested in pen-and-paper dungeons, and the idea of a female vampire tripped switches in him that made Sarah want to gag. He'd taken rather perverse pleasure in showing himself off in the wolf and dire-wolf forms, displaying just exactly how much he liked Sarah in no uncertain terms. There would have to be a talk with him pretty soon. It was possible that talk would be accompanied by the firm application of a boot to those regions of display.

None of this was helped by a wave of out-and-out despair that had washed over Sarah as they scouted out the bounds in the Shadow sometime in the very wee hours of Saturday morning, shortly after they'd declared Sarah as Alpha. She'd have chalked it up to the utter wretchedness of the Sonoma Pack, except for the hauntingly keening cry that had caught her ears and her soul, echoing through the spirit world and picked up by countless voices after the first... including, she realized after a moment, her own mournful howls, and then those of her "packmates". It had felt a distant but still potent thing, and Sarah's thoughts turned to home, to family and friends and worry for where they were now. It had cast a pall upon what was left of the night, sapping the four of what little success they had seen so far until Sarah finally sent them home and scouting alone until the feeling had lifted, a touch of the earlier euphria returning before she slid into Gaia's arms once more.

As the Dead Wolf made her way down into town, she shook her head at the mess she'd made. "How the fuck am I supposed to lead these kids?" she grumbled, heading toward the nearest corner grocery she'd found with a fish counter.

Twenty minutes later, she was nearly back at the locus, a nice chunk of salmon wrapped up in newspaper in one hand and a bag of catnip in the other. Ahead, she saw the three of them waiting, and sighed.

Here we go again. "Evenin', folks. Let's cross on over an' give Tail-High her due."

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"Yeah, let's go," Juanita said cheerfully, reaching out to catch Sarah's arm. Greg reached for the other one, but Juanita snapped her fingers at him. "Hands off, loco chico." As Sarah silently sighed in relief - she always felt vaguely dirty when Greg touched her - Juanita took a solid grip on her and pulled her forward. The real world faded around them and the spirit world came into existance.

High-Tail was waiting, sitting primly like an Egyptian statue. Her tail was still waving behind her gently. The only thing that broke the image was the half-eaten mouse-spirit between her paws. Her eyes lit up at the sight of more food and she stood, stretching. Hello, dead-whom-I-keep-secret. I see you bring tribute.

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Sarah smiled as she crouched down before Tail-High, already unwrapping her offerings. *I do bring tribute. And do work hard with pack. Pack is young, needs much help. Takes time. I will help them be strong, and keep my bargain with you.*

Once the cat totem was merrily tearing into the salmon, she turned to the pack and took them a bit away. Cats like their privacy when eating, she knew; no need to antagonize her erstwhile ally.

In the shade of a tree-spirit, the Dead Wolf sat in indian fashion at the base, motioning to the Sonomas to do likewise. With everyone seated, she tried something new.

"For a pack to work, we need to know each other like brothers and sisters. I know little of you, beyond what Dredge told me and what I've seen for the past two nights. That's not enough, not anywhere near enough."

She took smooth, easy breaths, her back against the rough bark of the tree-spirit, trying to be more at home here in the Shadow. The effort wasn't a complete success, but then, some things simply don't come overnight - especially for something as resistant to change as the walking dead. "We don't have a gibbous-moon, but you don't need to be one to tell your story. I'd like to hear your stories. And then I'll tell mine in turn. Juanita, as Beta you pick who tells first."

Declan had taken this approach with his would-be pack, or so Sarah had heard. And it was a common technique with some of the others she had run across. With luck, their mutual stories would help the pack to truly bond, to see each other on a closer level, and that might be part of the trick needed to get them to act as a pack instead of an after-school club.

She didn't expect Juanita to suddenly get her sass back. "Fine," the Latino Ithaeur said, "I pick you, Sarah."

There was a brief - very brief - flicker of amusement across Greg's face, right before a slight cringe (perhaps thinking that his new Alpha wouldn't react well to being put on the spot). To his credit, Paul's head tilted slightly, a curious look spreading across his features... like a good new-moon should, Sarah realized once she was past her own surprise at the unexpected return of Juanita's backbone.

For a moment, she thought to order the Beta to pick someone else. It would certainly be within the right of an Alpha to do so. But entirely aside from the fact that Sarah wasn't really an Alpha, she had told Juanita to pick; undermining her at this point could set back some of that renewed willingness to take bold steps.

"All right then," she finally said, "I'll tell the tale of Sarah Dead Wolf."

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"I was born to the Wren clan, back east and up in the hills. The family was pretty much all of the People or at least wolf-blooded, and no exceptions were expected. They didn't count on twins. My brother Shane turned out to be strongly wolf-blooded... and I wasn't. Broke my Mom's heart, but that didn't stop how things changed.

"From that point on, I was at the absolute bottom of the totem pole. If there was a shit job, it was mine, all the time I was growing up. Got to where I resented the hell out of everyone, all except Shane. He and I always had an understanding; I guess it's like that with twins everywhere. That lasted up until we turned eight, and he started having seizures. The clan shaman figured it to be a very early First Change, and they took him away. That was the last time I saw Shane; they wouldn't tell me, but I figure he's probably dead.

"So being headstrong and resentful, I decided that I would find a way out, and the way I found was school. Pushed myself as hard as I could to excel, and it paid off in scholarships. First to a community college where I got my bachelors, then with a full-ride deal to UCSF for medical school. I was finally out of there, and starting to live my own life.

"That lasted right up until my cousin pulled her big stunt. She also wasn't hot on the clan, but she had the blood of the People running strong in her. Stole my uncle's pickup truck, and lit out for parts west. This I got to find out when my father showed up at my dorm, dragged me bodily back to his truck, and drove me clear 'cross the country back to the clan."

All three of the Sonomas were paying rapt attention by now, trying to figure out how their Alpha came to be as she was. Sarah was getting to that.

"I got hauled up in front of Grandma Wren - a mean ol' Storm Lord who could make grown full-moons cringe with a look. She tells me that I've been tasked to go find Amber, to drag her back home. They gave me a piece of shit car, some money for gas and food, and directions to the next pack west so I could barter with them for spirit info. And so I was on the road.

"Made my way all across the states, following that trail. Packs were none to happy to see me, and some of the services they demanded for help - those that didn't chase me off, anyway - well, I'd just as soon not talk about that. But as the months turned into years, I made progress, and started to think I might find her. Right up until the car finally died in the middle of June. Along one of the lonliest highways in southern Arizona."

A look of nearly empathetic worry overtook Paul's curiosity, while Greg gave a half-knowing smile. For her part, Juanita kept her feelings under wraps - for the most part - but Sarah could tell that there was a touch of sympathy in those deep brown eyes of her.

"So I'm on foot. I was on my way to the Ajo Runners... and that was a good week's walk away. So I started out.

"Water lasted until the start of the second day, and I didn't have any food to speak off. Dehydration was kicking in pretty bad, and shade was as scarce as spun gold. Night would come along, and I'd trade blistering heat for bitter cold - it's surprising how cold the desert can be at night. And I'd swear as I got fitful bits of sleep that I heard wolf howls in the distance... like they were following me, maybe mocking.

"Third day was the end of the road. I was barely alive, and crawled into a culvert to get out of the sun. Crawled out that night, and could hardly stand, just nothing but skin and bones and tough stuff left to move them. You can have the strongest will in the world, but if the bare necessities for the body aren't there, you won't make it. And I didn't. I sort of remember falling, and when I fell I was looking up at Luna's crescent," she said, looking up at the slight fingernail of moon, "just like tonight. It was almost like She was smiling down, saying it was OK, that I could go. And as I died, I could hear the wolf howling."

"What happened then?" Greg blurted as Sarah paused, only to be elbowed by Juanita. "Shhhh! Let her tell the story!"

The Dead Wolf gave a little chuckle, then went on. "I felt something burning its way down my throat, something incredible. Vision came back to my eyes, and it was still Luna's smile, but now it was saying, 'Welcome back; you're one of mine now.' The wolf I'd been hearing for the past three nights was a Dead Wolf, and when I died, he brought me back in his own image, to serve Her."

Sarah smiled wistfully before continuing. "He taught me a lot in the year we had together, taught me things that I couldn't have understood when I was just a mortal. How to speak with animals - any animal, not just wolves. How to find haven in Gaia's arms. How to hunt - really, truly hunt. And he taught me the code, things I didn't understand before but made sense now.

"We were together for a year before our paths finally took us to the Ajo Runners, as I asked to pick up Amber's trail again. Turns out the Ajo's were having huge problems with the Spider Hosts. I wanted to prove myself, wanted to so badly that when the Alpha there asked if I'd be willing to do so, I agreed without asking how. And that's how Old Juan and I wound up going to war with the Spiders.

"If you want an accounting of the battle, you can ask most any Cahalith and they can tell you; the word has spread. By the end of it, we'd won... and I'd lost my sire, cut in two by one of the big ones before I went into the Rage and killed it. The Ajo's recognized my merit then, and sad as I was, I came out of it wiser. That was when I took the Oath, their Cahalith translating for me. You see, I don't speak the First Tongue, and probably never will."

There was a little look of shock at the revelation of that weakness amongst the three, but by now they were rivetted by her tale. She went on.

"So I kept going, pack to pack, back on Amber's tale. I was a Dead Wolf now, and while that's not universally respected, it got me a lot better treatment than before. Still, it was years before I finally found myself on the hills looking down at Los Angeles. And that's where I found her. But things had changed.

"You see, I'd come to realize something. Grandma Wren was wrong. Amber had set out to find a better life for herself, and she had the right to do so. I'd been sent out afterward on what turned out to be a suicide mission. And I came to the realization that there was no way I'd take her back to that, even if I found her. Which I did.

"But sometimes," Sarah said with a sigh, "finding something isn't as good as the searching. Oh, I found Amber all right... and she wanted nothing to do with me. Far as she was concerned, I was dead and gone, and she had a lot of her Grandma in her. So the last of my family shunned me, and shuns me still to this day."

The look of sympathy in Juanita's eyes deepened, and Sarah realized that she'd probably struck a familiar chord with her fellow crescent-moon.

"But I found others who didn't. Owns-the-Night gave me a fair chance, and I him, and we became good friends. And I proved myself, from challenge to challenge as I became established in L.A. And then the day came when the Topangas told me of a pack far to the north, one in need of some help to find its way.

"And so," Sarah finally said, "the story comes to include you three, and Tail-High. And we'll see where it goes from here."

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"Greg, you're next," Juanita said after a respectful moment.

"Man, I don't wanna go after Sarah!" he whined. "I'll look like a loser compared to her story."

"You already look like a loser," Juanita sniped, modifying her voice so it was a near-perfect imitation of his tone. "Now, tell your story. If you tell it right, it'll be as good as hers."

"But I'm not a near-full moon," he groaned.

"Neither is she," Paul said patiently, "but she still told a good story. Just... just tell it from the heart."

"That's what she's talking about, Greg," Juanita added, nodding and giving him a rare smile.

Greg was quiet for a long moment, then he began. "I always wanted to be Conan." He paused and waited for the snickers; when they didn't come, he relaxed a little and continued. "I admired big, tall men. But I wasn't born like that, so I role-played it. It didn't help - I stayed small and weak. But it let me pretend.

"I met this girl, through the games. Man, I liked her immediately," he said, grinning a little. "And she was smart and pretty and she liked me. It was awesome. She was awesome. We weren't perfect; she liked World of Agony. I was a Warhammer man. But we worked it out. We..."

His voice trailed off and Greg reached out and snapped off a blade of grass. The tiny spirit creature screamed soft condemnations at him as he absently played with it. "She was it. I thought we had forever."

He fell silent again. After a moment, he said, "I had longer than her. She was with me when I Changed."

Nothing more needed to be asked. "There are times that I think I should have died, then, too. We were forever, but that wasn't long at all." He looked down, frowning. "And then there was you guys, but you know how we got here."

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Greg's story was one all too common amongst the Uratha, one Sarah had heard before. The First Change was never a gentle thing, and loved ones were usually the first things within grasp of a suddenly monsterous and uncontrolled beast.

It was a story that happened among the vampires too, she knew, as an unholy hunger threw the unfortunate new embracee into a sudden frenzy... and with the number of sadistic sires that existed out there, loved ones again were all too often very nearby to provide that first crimson meal.

She'd been lucky, she realized; her own first nights had been in the sole company of Juan, and he'd seen to her first hunt taking down desert animals rather than a relative... or a lover, as had happened to Greg.

"Good story, Greg, and thank you. Not the easiest thing to talk about."

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Juanita swallowed and said, "When I was six..." She stopped, her entire body tense. She closed her eyes, but not before everyone there saw the tears welling in them. "Sorry, I need to get this out and it's not easy."

Surprisingly, Paul scooted over and put a hand on her back. Paul who, as far as Sarah was concerned, had the common sense of a kumquat and the empathy of a thrown brick, quietly offered support to his packmate. And she didn't push him away. After a moment, Greg moved around to her other side and took her hand. It was clear to all, that whatever was going on, was incredibly difficult for the young Uratha to speak about.

"When I was six, my step-father... he came into my room one night, and he hurt me." Greg wrapped his other hand around their linked hands, while Paul made a sound between a sigh and a growl. "He... he..."

"It's ok," Greg whispered. "You don't have to... to say it."

"I've never told anyone," she whispered back. "But I want to tell you guys this. I need to tell my pack that... my step-father raped me."

Paul leaned into her, supporting her in a way that a human might have found intrusive. After a moment, Greg joined him, pressing his shoulder into her other shoulder. Juanita was silent, her head down, but everyone knew she was crying.

After a moment, she lifted a face wet with tears and said, "That went on until I was fifteen, when I ran away. And then on the street, there was only one way to make a living, and I did it. In time, it was just a way to make money, when I could have done something else.

"I managed to stay off drugs, though I was a big party girl," she said. "I'd wake up in strange places, with a hangover and a stranger. That was normal to me; I'd never known anything else. So when the Change started, I barely noticed - at first."

She sniffled a little, then continued, "But I noticed this guy following me. It wasn't unusual; johns sometimes did that before approaching you. Then he bit me. Came closer, and I was thinkin' he wanted to negotiate, and he grabbed me and bit me. And just as I was thinking I'd have to fight him off, he let me go and ran off.

"He came back later, when I was struggling to not change, fighting what was in me. He started to do this ritual to me, throwing blood and shit, literal shit on me, and I thought, 'I just let the thing inside me tear me apart, like it feels it's going to, and at least I'll get away from this nut.' And I blacked out.

"I came to on his body, my hands buried in his entrails. I was a wreck, all messed up. I still don't know what happened, only that he was doin' something bad to me, and I stopped him by the only way I could."

Her dark eyes, still wet, looked up at them. "I know I did good stopping him, but it still ate a piece of my soul. What I did was wrong. I have two vows I made that night: to never kill another human - though with the Oath, it's now human or Uratha - and to find out what he was doing to me, and what it's done to me."

"I'll help," Paul said instantly, and Greg echoed him. "We're pack now," Greg said, "we'll help."

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Her story was gut-wrenching, even for someone like Sarah that lacked living guts anymore. And while she had planned to keep a certain emotional distance from these three pups, had every intention of heading back to Los Angeles as soon as they were on their feet, she heard - with some surprise - her own voice say, "Might take time, but in the end, we'll find out, Juanita."

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After a long silence, Juanita whispered, "Your turn, Paul."

The Irraka didn't hesitate. "When I was twelve, I hacked into a police databank and got my older brother's speeding ticket erased. Didn't do much good; they had the paper copy, but it really slowed things down and would have worked otherwise. But it was an epiphany - these 1's and 0's could impact the real world.

"I was a geek, back before it was cool. My dad wanted me to be a jock, and my mom a doctor. I ignored both of them and became a hacker. I used my degree in Computer Science as a cover, and even my job teaching basic computer courses at the University. I've never been caught, though I've had a few close calls.

"When I saw the dark face of Luna, I understood what drove me, for the first time in my life," Paul said, smiling a little. "I don't like being a werewolf; it's scary to do what I can do. But understanding that my years of being a virtual burgular had purpose... it's amazing. I just wish it didn't come with the 'Grr-argh' part."

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "I haven't had much of a life, or even much tradegy, not like you guys. Next to you all, I'm pretty lame. But I guess... what I'm getting out of this is that I'm your lame. And, that's good, even if I'm not a very wolfie-werewolf."

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A smile creased the dead flesh of Sarah's face. Every once in a while, someone came along who wasn't touched in a tragic way by the Change, by their life as one of the People. Paul, it seemed, was one of those rare exceptions, and his story served as a positive note at the end of a litany of dooms. "Welcome to the club, Paul," she said in good humour - despite the irony of not being a full member of that club herself - "and don't sweat the lack of drive to the 'Grr-Argh' stuff; you're new-moon, and Luna's dark face suits you, from what you've said. But we've gotta get you to where bein' out here isn't an issue."

With a whispered thanks to the tree-spirit, she pushed up and away from it, standing before the pack. "I want to thank you all for your stories; it's good for us to know where we've been. Now it's time to find out where we are, and then where we're going. Need to step back over to the real world for a few - I've got a call I need to make - and then, I think it's time for us to honour a particular aspect of the Oath: 'The Wolf Must Hunt'. We're gonna have a group hunt, an' see how we work together.

"Juanita, would you take us back across?"

The Beta nodded, and in short order the four stood beneath the spreading arms of the physical reflection of the tree. As Sarah stalked off a bit through the high grass to make her call, she could hear the pack behind her, whispering. Concerned that it might be an uprising, the Dead Wolf tuned her sharp ears to the task, even as she started dialing on her phone. But what she heard wasn't conspiracy; it was, surprisingly enough, commiseration and the beginnings of camaraderie. By Luna, she realized as ring tones came across the line, it actually worked; they're starting to come together as a pack.

"Yeah?" The voice from across the airwaves wasn't just gruff, it was irritated. Maybe she'd called at a bad time.

"Dec? Sarah. You sound pissed; you OK?"

"Mother-humper of a headache," her would-be Alpha replied. "Some weird shit went down round here the other night. It's still hurtin'"

Same thing as happened here? There had been, a couple nights before, that wave of sorrowful howl, that had brought those of herself and the Sonomas into the mix. But the effect had been relatively brief for her, not lingering. Must be something else, she decided. But if a set of sharp senses were needed....

"Sorry to hear it. You need me to try and scoot down there to help with whatever weirdness it is?"

"Nah. Looks like there's plenty of folks interested already. You got important shit to get on with up there." The unmistakable sound of Dec chugging something - probably milk - could be heard for a moment. So what's up, girl? Still runnin' the show?"

She sighed, despite the seeming success of tonight's story-telling efforts. "Yeah. It's a fucking mess up here, honestly. The former Alpha's tucked her tail competely. The computer guy hates nature. And the full-moon keeps wanting to jump me, and not in a fighty way. Only good thing is I can actually talk directly with the totem without a translator; it's a cat-spirit."

"Sounds like you got your hands full." The line went silent for a moment before Declan went on. "Best bet is to crack down on the alpha harder. Make it plain you expect more from them. Set 'em goals to acheive while you ain't around and make it plain it's her ass if its not done right."

Sarah replied with a dry chuckle. "You know, I was just about to ask your advice. Looks like you've joined Lucien in the mind-reading brigade."

"Didn't figure you called just to hear my singing voice, frail," the Blood Talon said with a chuckle of his own. "As for horn-doggie, kick his ass. Make it plain in no uncertain terms that you ain't interested. You're the alpha bitch, you get to pick. And the male who doesn't respect that gets bit."

There was a pause while Sarah considered his words; before she could comment, Declan continued. "Once he heals up from the crushin' rejection, tell him that you got a boyfriend that couldn't just kick his ass, but could make him kick his own ass."

She couldn't help but laugh out loud at that comment. "Actually, I think I'm gonna smack him around with the Oath. The werewolf shall cleave with the human, not the fucking vampire. And..." she hesitated for a second "...and I took that Oath too. I've heard of Ghost Children, and I don't want to take the risk that a werewolf-vampire mating could make something kinda like it, but chock-full of death spirit."

"Heh. Good enough. Now, the tenderfoot..." One of Declan's deep sighs rumbled out over the connection. "I got no ideas there. If I was there, I'd bully and browbeat and go on at that kid until he showed some fuckin' spine. Push him to breakin', make him hate my guts, then build him back up again."

"I've heard worse ideas. Not like I've got time to run him through 4-H or some shit. He needs to grow a pair and get with the programme, and I'll just have to push. And I'll have to do it quick; I've... um, well, I've got a bribe system going with Tail-High to keep it secret that I'm not dedicated to her. I can only keep that going so long before I run outta cash for fish an' catnip."

"Yeah, push the wimp. He's got to grow a pair, like you say. You need any more money up there? Could Fed-Ex you some."

"Hoping to get things working better up here before it gets to that point. But thanks for the offer, Dec." She sighed. "Things actually got bad enough at one point that I think sorrow-spirits or something finally decided to let us have it. Had us all howling out pretty sad."

"Sorrow, eh? Yeah, I had that too." A pause, then: "That was the something freaky we got down here. You didn't get headaches?"

Sarah's eyebrows knit in confusion at the question. "Headaches? I haven't had a headache since I died, Dec. But everyone was pretty badly out of it afterward. Finally sent 'em all home to bed and hit the dirt myself."

"Yeah. People here got screwed up royally." Another deep rumbling sigh. "I got to go. Tryin' to find out what the hells going on down here. You take care, girl."

With concern evident in her voice, Sarah said, "Will do. Let me know if more weirdness hits, and keep safe, Dec. G'night."

The call ended, and she looked back up at "her" pack across the field, coming together in the moon's pale light. If things were going off the rails back home, what on earth was she doing up here? Shouldn't she be on the next bus - or at least in the next crate - heading south? No, you shouldn't. Declan would've asked you to come back if you were needed; he's not subtle about that stuff. You're job is up here, getting these kids on their own track... and getting yourself on track while you're at it. And it's time to get back to work.

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[8:00PM 28 January 2009]

Well, they're getting better. Let's see what we can do with that, Sarah thought as she looked at her young charges.

The first night's hunt had been an embarrassment to werewolf-kind. Four wolves, plunging through the Shadow with all the coordination of a palsy victim. Their "Alpha" trying to bark orders and winding up with just more confusion at a result, the pups fine with First Tongue but not used to true wolf-speak. Prey-spirits of various sorts not even having to particularly hurry to get out of the way, and even taking malicious joy in mocking the three Uratha and their Dead Wolf leader. By the end of it, with nothing to show and an increasingly hungry vampire on their hands, the werewolves resorted to the ignominy of McDonalds, and Sarah to making a snack of one of the patrons down the street afterwards (to the werewolves' dismay). She'd given them a look, one meant to be more or less a 'what did you expect', but could sense their uneasy regardless. Well, except for Greg, who seemed more turned on than ever. She was really, really going to have to do something about that.

Monday night, she grilled them beforehand on wolf-speak, making sure that they could at least communicate. She outlined some basic flanking concepts, ideas on how to circle prey. She also growled in anything but a friendly fashion at Greg when his attentive look shifted into another leer (not that it helped). But set into motion, the pack was every bit as dysfunctional as the previous night, running helter-skelter across the grey spirit lands, Sarah desperately trying to coordinate them in what seemed an increasingly futile task. The choice in meals for the mighty Uratha that night was Chinese... and so was Sarah's, to Paul's horror, as she took one of the restaurant workers in the alley out back when he went to check the grease traps.

By Tuesday night, she was working past frustrated and into angry. "You call yourselves werewolves?" she'd ranted. "You call yourself the children of Luna, and you can't even hunt? We take something tonight - and I don't mean something cooked - or I'm writing you off and telling the Topangas that you're untrainable!" A look of sheer mortification crossed three faces, and Sarah immediately felt bad for her words. But, she had to admit, they did have effect, as the crew started to show more attention to the task, more care, and even a touch of coordination.

Six long hours later, and the pack stood proudly over their first group kill. The little rabbit-spirit wasn't much to look at. It had about enough blood in it - actual blood, Sarah found to her excitement and relief - for one careful shifting of form, and the meat was only a snack when split between the three living wolves present. But by Luna, it was their kill: they'd done it together, with Juanita making a calculated run to startle it into action, Sarah and Greg nipping from the flanks to keep it on target, and quiet Paul laying in wait until the moment came to snatch it out of mid-leap.

Luna's hidden face was weighing heavily on Sarah, and she undertook a careful and solitary hunt of her own back in the real world afterward - with at least three more rabbits, a raccoon and a wild dog going down to her hunger that night - but not before congratulating the pack on their first group kill. The mighty hunters bypassed the restaurants that night; instead, Greg treated them to a surprising cooking skill on his part after a meat-heavy raid of the local Safeway. There was even some hope on Sarah's part that she could start supplementing her bribes to Tail-High with fresh spirit-meat from pack kills.

Now it was Wednesday night. Once again, the pack was gathered for the hunt. But this time, there was a confidence that had previously been lacking. There was a knowledge that they had done this, and could do it again. There was, even on their leader's face, pride.

"OK, Sonomas. Tonight, we feast on deer!"

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In retrospect, Sarah thought, it could have gone worse. A lot worse, really. And maybe it had been for the best.

The night had actually started out pretty well after her venison announcement. They'd gone across to the Shadow - an act that Sarah was almost starting to get used to - and she'd made her bribe of catnip to Tail-High, with promises of fresh meat later in the night. A quick huddle established the basic plan: Paul and Sarah would scout ahead on distant flanks, a series of coordinated yips would signal that the quarry had been found, and Juanita and Greg would hide in waiting for the deer-spirit to bound into range to be taken down.

While the real-world Sonoma Valley had seen serious decreases in its wildlife over the past hundred years, the Hisil still teamed with the true essence of the land. Game was plentiful, with deer-spirit and even the occasional bear- or cougar-spirit in evidence through the strange grey landscape. So it wasn't all that long before the scouts had their target in sight: a six-point buck, lapping up essence from a tiny nascent locus. A few coded yips later, and both Paul and Sarah bounded from the northeast and northwest respectively, startling the spirit and driving it due south: right into the waiting trap. With hunters' instincts, Juanita burst from cover to clip a leg, and the deer-spirit started to fall... and as its neck came down, Greg was right there to latch onto it. By the time Paul and Sarah were on the scene, it was largely over: a final few bleats in something like a cross between a deer and First Tongue, and it was over.

The pack was exuberant. This was no mere rabbit; by Luna, this was real game, and a promising feast for all! They had just started to drag it back toward their waiting totem and locus when everything changed in one impossibly loud, impossibly frightening snort.

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Even in near-panic, Paul still managed to stick to wolf-speak rather than slip back into the First Tongue. *That can't be....*

Her own mouth gone momentarily dry, Sarah had to try twice before responding. *We're in trouble. Flankers flank!*

What they were flanking simply shouldn't have been... at least not, in any sane world. But the world of spirits is far from sane. And to that world, a massive stag the size of a Buick, sprouting wickedly sharp antlers that much have had three dozen points, an impossible ungulate with pointed teeth and hooves that shone like steel, was just another day in the Hisil.

The thing - effectively a dire-stag and probably some manner of Jaggling - lowered its massive head, struck a hoof on a bit of stony ground so hard as to send sparks up into the Shadowland night, and charged.

With at least a ton of angry venison headed her way, Juanita did the sensible thing: she broke to the side and ran, joining Paul in taking the monster's right flank. Sarah was already moving as fast as her paws would take her around its left.

But Greg, the Rahu who dreamt of a Blood Talon brand, did not run. Instead, he doubled in mass in the blink of an eye, precious essence taking him from Urhan to the mighty Urshal far faster than the change would normally take. He was stong now, power rippling through his bulky frame as he braced for what was to come.

Even Luna's blessings of the dire-wolf didn't blunt those terrible sharp horns when the stag not only hit him, but lifted its head while doing so. For one horrid, sickening moment Sarah saw Greg there, impaled on wicked antlers, the dire-stag's neck straining with the effort to heave the Uratha so. And then he was flying free, tumbling through the air with blood forming a mist around him as he went crashing into the grass easily a dozen yards away.

The remaining three looked to each other, first in fear, but then in resolve. There was no telling at that moment whether Greg was conscious or not, or even alive or dead. But they would not leave their packmate unavenged.

With savage fury, Juanita and Sarah lunged, tearing tooth and claw - very sharp claws indeed, in Sarah's case - into the mighty spirit's flanks. It bellowed in pain and rage, swinging its bulk around to send Sarah spinning off to roll into a crashing stop against a spirit-oak and Juanita holding on for dear life. With the Beta's teeth still deep into the creature's hide, it loomed over Sarah's prone form, ready to gore her to ribbons against the base of the tree.

And that was when Paul proved himself as an Irraka. Cloaked in the gifts of his kind, none had seen him scramble away from the immediate melee, nor had heard as claws fought to find purchase in ancient bark. None had caught sight or scent of him as he made his precarious way out onto a large branch. And so the dire-stag was caught completely unaware when a solid quarter-ton of angry Uratha dropped on him from ten feet above, teeth sinking deep into its throat as claws first caught and then raked along its back.

In the spirit's strangely alien mind, it realized that the situation had just changed immensely. All thought of attacking the dead thing were gone as it struggled to shake loose the wild thing on its back, thrashing and even slamming itself into the tree to no avail.

As Sarah's vision cleared, she saw the final major act of this predatory play as the huge Urshul form of Greg - still oozing blood from a dozen places - leapt from the tall grass into the dire-stag's side, crushing it against the tree. She rejoined the fight, braving flailing hooves to go for the throat, but by now the fight was no longer in question. Even as the jaggling tapped the last of its essence reserves, the three Uratha and their Dead Wolf ally were opening wounds that it simply would no longer close. With a crash, the dire-stag hit the ground, and there was silence.

They'd licked their wounds afterwards, Sarah supping on the blood of the first prey of the evening to try and regain enough strength to heal broken bones. Juanita and Paul's minor scrapes were gone in minutes, and they set to work - after shifting to the Dalu form - building a skid of sorts to drag the unexpectedly large second kill home.

Greg was by far the worst off of the bunch. He'd taken the full-on charge of a jaggling stag, and his hide was pierced all over the front of his body. One eye was simply and painfully gone, though Sarah knew from long experience with the People that it would likely be back by the end of the night. Frankly, he looked like hell. But for all that, you couldn't have pried the smile from his face.

This wasn't the expected hunt for the night, and the pack had taken their lumps and some. But, Sarah realized as she settled into the ground before the next morning sun, they'd finally proven themselves.

Maybe, she thought as the daysleep overtook her once more, it's time to start looking for that glade.

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After their victories, the pups were walking taller. Even in their human forms, their heads were held high; in their wolf forms, Sarah had never seen tails carried so high in her life.

That enthuasism and pride didn't dim much when Sarah told them it was time to get to work. They sobered up a bit, but they were still damned proud of themselves.

"So where do we start looking?" Paul asked. "Before, we were working street by street, but it was slow going because of some particularly tough spirits in some areas. And it was slow because it was a grid. We really don't know what we're looking for, beyond 'a Glade.'"

They looked at Sarah, wait for her to make the call.

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[7:30PM 29 January 2009]

Sarah looked back to her young charges, then pulled out a ratty gas station map she'd acquired along with catnip and salmon on her second night in Sonoma. As she spread the map on the ground beneath the new sliver of Luna above, the Dead Wolf explained.

"A glade is a very special place. Usually, it's land that hasn't been overly tainted by the Herd, a place where Harmony is strong. Sometimes though, it can be at something tended but respected, like a peace memorial or something. A glade is a place of peace, and you defy Luna herself to try to harm someone within it."

Scanning the map, she looked for anything that would stand out as a likely location for such... and when she saw it, a wistful smile came to her face. Memories of hours, stolen away from chores, reading about the struggles of Buck to rediscover his true instincts, the tales of One Eye and his fight with the lynx, the youth of White Fang, all brought so vividly to life by one remarkable author.

Stabbing at a green swath near the top of the map, Sarah declared, "That's gotta be it. C'mon folks; let's go take a peek." As she lifted her finger from the page, the clean type of the location was revealed:

Jack London State Historic Park

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Paul was quiet as the others argued the merit of the park. They weren't arguing directly with Sarah; more they were stating their own opinions in an open manner. Sarah's eyes kept going back to the tall Asian man; he was thinking, and she'd learned that he'd earned his Cunning brands.

"I agree with Sarah," he said finally, "and I know where to look. My teacher in fifth grade dragged us up there, and made us do a tour. There's one place that matches what Sarah said about Glades - Jack London's grave." He tapped a little triangle on the map. "It's a really nice place, and he didn't erect a stone, just a rock of red lava over the spot his ashes were placed."

He looked at his brothers and sisters. "I say we start there."

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[9:50 PM]

Seeing the gravesite of Jack London was something close to a religious experience for Sarah. She'd grown up with his works, lost herself in the stories he'd woven of life in and as the wild. They were, in a twist of irony, her escape from a life surrounded by exactly that, albeit one marooned on an island of mundanity in their very midst.

She had to admit, as wind whispered through the surrounding valley, catching and singing in the pines, that this place was nothing short of beautiful in the pale moonlight. Even the scents were somehow cleaner here, more pure. The lights of mankind had faded as Greg made the winding drive north out of Sonoma and past the outlying homes and farms, down to a few final sentinals shining down on the parking lot... and those were now lost behind a tangle of woods. Only Luna and the stars shown down on this place of peace.

So why is it lost?

"We'll need to cross over. Unless you want to go all the way back to Tail-High's hill, might as well see if there's a locus around here. I've no sight for that kinda thing. Paul, I believe this is your show now."

The Irraka nodded and set to work, the blessings of his auspice guiding the way. Nothing was apparent in the immediate surroundings of the gravesite, but the old London Ranch wasn't small, and soon they were moving along darkened trails, seeking that hint of a connection to the Shadow.

~~~~~

[11:45 PM]

Almost two hours later, Paul came to a sudden stop, his hand raised and bringing the rest of the group to a halt. The young man was alert, his senses straining so hard that Sarah could see his ears twitch even in human form. There was a strange ripple across his skin, and he shifted to the near-man form. Another long moment went by while he concentrated, then pointed ahead and said in a rough voice, "There."

"There" was a massive ruin of stone. Chimneys poked up into the night, cold and dead with not even the memory of a warm hearth remaining. Arched doorways led into darkness - or, in some cases, moon-lit hollows within the ruin. The entire place told a story of majesty long lost to the ages.

Greg's reaction was obvious and immediate: the Rahu was now a huge wolf moving up to Paul's side. Juanita took a less drastic option, seeming a true wolf in all but the predatory air about her. Only Sarah stayed as she had always been. "OK," she whispered, not wanting to disturb the stillness that seemed to sit like a shoud over this place. "Let's go." With that, the Sonomas stalked toward the Wolf House.

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Juanita was the first to cry warning. As they entered the preserved remains of Wolf House, one of her eyes glazed over, becoming an indigo field dotted by stars. But the moment the transformation was complete, the Hishu-shaped woman stiffened, her hackles rising. She quickly yipped, Strange-wolf, other side! See us!

Greg went into a defensive crouch, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see across the Gauntlet with his own, much less precise way of peering over. Instead of seeing both worlds, he only saw one, but whatever he saw had him jump to the side. Paul just disappeared into a shadow, his heightened frame shrinking away.

Sarah had no way of knowing where to go; she couldn't peer over if her life depended on it. And as the massive Garou form appeared in front of her, it was clear that it did.

A huge hand-paw swung at her, but Sarah was crushed under by a sudden weight - a weight that was amost immediately relieved by the Garou's hand. Juanita went tumbling, her blood fanning out in spiralling arcs as she flew through the air.

Sarah couldn't see where she landed because Greg was over Sarah in an instant, his own Garou form bowling over the one threatening her. There was another one, a near-man-form holding a massive blade - one which gleamed with a sickly pallor in Luna's light. Lifting it over his head, he brought it down on Sarah.

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The helpless wolf-blood - surely such, with no call of primal urge and so defended by the Forsaken Uratha - lay prone, right up against Wounding-Land's feet. With a roar, he brought his klaive down upon the weakling. If she died, it was one less future Forsaken... and if she lived, the corruption within the blade would make her a prize when the enemy Uratha were killed.

In his pride, Wounding-Land didn't see the savage gleam that came to the pathetic girl's eyes. Nor did he perceive wickedly sharp ebony as it erupted from her fingertips. But even as his sword tore into her side with a massive slice that left a greasy ichor behind in its wake, he felt utter agony as claws the like of which he'd never experience tore into and through skin, sinew, muscle and even bone. With feet that no longer obeyed him, the massive Balehound Dalu went down like a cut tree to crash on the stony ground.

Click to reveal..

Wounding-Land: full-out swing on the "helpless wolf-blood". +2 to his attack, but loses Defense.

Pool of 12 + 2 = 14.

(10:51:39) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 14d10 and gets 5,6,1,5,7,10,4,9,9,3,1,10,2,9.

(10:51:45) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 2d10 and gets 7,4.

Five lethal to the Dead-Wolf.

Sarah: going for hamstrings on Wounding-Land. Spending Willpower for +3 (3 remaining). Spending Vitae to pop claws (10 remaining).

Pool is 4 + 1 for claws + 3 for Willpower - 2 for targetting = 6

(10:45:24) ChatBot: (Sarah_O'Neally) rolls 6d10 and gets 2,7,9,1,9,9.

Three Agg to the good ol' hamstrings. Big guy goes down.

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Greg struggled with his enemy, but he was younger, weaker and just not as good as the Balehound. The Balehound found one hole in his defense, then another. And while Greg was getting his own blows in, he was losing. But that knowledge didn't stop him, or remove the savage fire from his eyes.

Juanita was suddenly there, leaping onto the Balehound's back. Her Urshal claws and teeth tore into his neck and shoulders, mauling the Balehound. The two packmates were relentless in their fury as they rent open the Uratha.

Paul was a little more circumspect; as Sarah rolled onto her side, ready to face her downed but still dangerous foe, Paul leapt out of the shadows with a stick in his hand. He began to enthusastically pound the Balehound into submission. Whether he could hammer him into unconsciousness faster than the Balehound could heal. It was an Oath-conscious choice, but perhaps not the best one.

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