World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Walkies (Complete)

[Astra D.]

August 02, 2008. Approximately 2am PDT.

As the crow flies, the Epsilon Tau Sigma house was just under a mile away from Morgan's residence hall on the other side of the UCLA campus. Unfortunately, neither of the people currently making that trek in near-silence were corvids, and so they followed the meandering path around buildings and across grassy lawns beneath the moonless sky. The quiet was broken only by the scuff of a boot against the pavement or the click of the mage-girl's lighter as she fired up another of the black-papered cloves, and whatever had passed between wolf and woman earlier seemed strained and awkward in the waning night.

Her eyes were downcast as Declan glanced now and again in her direction, a tell-tale sign that her attention was turned inward, and the cigarette dangled listlessly between her fingers as she walked.

What the hell is going on? she wondered. It was just supposed to be a party... Just a way to relax a little before the semester started. Have a few drinks, have a little fun... Her pretty red lips curved downward as she pressed the filter of the cigarette against them, inhaling the scented smoke and then exhaling a silver plume of the stuff that left the fragrance trailing behind her.

"So," she sighed, shoulders moving slightly as she adjusted the weight of the bag hanging across her torso. "Interesting night, huh?"

[Owns-The-Night]

Silver eyes regarded the young woman thoughtfully as Declan matched pace with her, his bare shoulder almost, but not quite touching her. The darkness made him a figure of shadows punctuated only by raised areas that caught the glow of her cigarette and, of course, his eyes that glimmered even in the dimmest of ambiance.

"Not exactly how I pictured things endin', yeah." He agreed, his low voice quiet, a barely noticable worried growl underlying the words. He felt awkward too, his earlier certainty fading as he wondered what was going on in her head. Well, why not ask? he told himself somewhat impatiently. Biting the bullet, he did so with characteristic bluntness.

"Can I ask what you're thinkin'? Or am I out of line. Cos if I am, tell me to fuck off, okay?" He tried to sound sensitive, but life as a solitary nuzusul surrounded by humans who shunned him for reasons he'd only come to understand a few months ago hadn't prepared him at all for sounding sensitive. Direct sincerity was his strongest point, and that came across loud and clear.

[Astra D.]

The sound of Morgan's laughter, bright and unrestrained even in the wake of all that had transpired, seemed strangely out of place. Is she... mocking me? the Man wondered in a moment's anger and confusion, but the arch in her brows and the tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes spoke of relief and surprise, rather than insult.

"No, you're not out of line," she managed with a smile in her voice, angling her head slightly to grin sheepishly up at him even as her shoulders shook. "Sorry, sorry. It's just that usually someone would spend ten minutes trying to get me to talk about what's going on in my head, without actually asking."

She glanced down at the sidewalk, and another few steps passed quietly.

"I was just thinking about everything that happened. Meeting you, the cheerleader drama, the deal with Trent, that Graham guy... Crimson." She fairly spat the last word into the air. "I just wanted to hang out with Reva, have a beer or twelve, relax, maybe even go home with somebody," the art student confessed with no visible hesitation.

[Owns-The-Night]

"It ain't all bad then." Declan smiled and mock-ruffled her hair, then made a big show of ticking off points on his work-roughened fingers. "You hung out with your friend, you had somethin' to drink, you looked pretty relaxed to a point, and you're gettin' the safest walk home in the city." He tilted his head at her and gave her a crooked grin that was nothing short of charming, despite being wolfish.

"I'm not tryin' to say that the night hasn't had some drama, but overall it's a glass half-full at least." He chuckled wryly. "Plus you got to see a real live werewolf and live, of course."

[Astra D.]

She grimaced good-naturedly as he playfully mussed her hair, batting at his arm with her free hand before taking another drag off her cigarette.

Yeah, a real live werewolf. Only in LA...

"Actually..." She exhaled quietly, plumes of smoke snaking from between her lips. "I did kind of want to talk about that, if it's cool with you. And, really. Thanks for walking me home." Her smile softened by degrees, more girlish gratitude than womanly coquetry. "I'm less worried about Trent than I am about some random kid geeked on Crimson or something, but it's nice to know I've got the Big Bad on my side, just in case."

Honestly, having the big man strolling alongside her really did feel comforting. Had things gone differently- had he given her any reason to be afraid at all, or been anything less than honest- she knew she'd never have felt so at ease. ...Especially now that she knew what he was. If she was completely truthful with herself, she'd have to admit that it still made her nervous, but she was hoping he'd be as forthright as he'd been earlier and confirm or allay some of those fears.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Question time again?" Declan smiled easily at her, something that was rare to him before tonight. He was glad he'd managed to lift her mood somewhat, and his own was lifting in tandem. The breeze wafted her scent to him, and he delighted in it as he walked next to her, his eyes now and then scanning the path ahead and behind them.

"What questions you got in mind, then?" he asked her, his gaze on hers.

[Astra D.]

There was something a little exciting, and a little frightening about those silver eyes, and Morgan found herself wondering which was the more appealing as she thought about her answer.

"Okay, but most of these are probably going to sound stupid, and some you might not want to answer, so... Fair warning. If any of them are out of line, you can cheerfully tell me to fuck off."

She winked up at him, an elfin sparkle in her green eyes as they stepped off the pavement and back onto the grass behind Moore Hall. Then, she took a deep breath, and poured out all of the questions that had been running through her mind since she saw him in the glade earlier.

"Does it hurt when you change like that? Are you still conscious, with your own thoughts? What does it feel like? Does it only happen on the Full Moon, like in the movies? Do you actually turn into a wolf-man, or just the wolf? How long do you stay like that? How did you find out what you were, or were you born this way? Were you bitten by another werewolf? Are there many of you? If someone cuts you, is there fur underneath? What do you eat?" Man, I really hope it isn't people. "Oh! And what about silver, and wolfsbane, and all that?"

The near-ceaseless barrage of inquiries spilled forth from her lips in a torrent of curiosity, and she idly tossed the remains of her cigarette into a small bucket of sand as they continued to walk across the deserted campus.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan laughed quietly, little more than a slight shaking of his muscled shoulders and a smile. He didn't know why *Yes I do* but to see her so animated was like seeing the moon break through clouds.

"Wow. That's a lot of questions." he grinned again, teeth flashing briefly in the gloom. He looked up at the sky as though searching for answers there. Luna's face was turned, only the barest flash of silver there as the new moon shone over the smog-laden air of L.A. Other than the haze the sky was clear, and faint points of stars glittered through the residue of Mankinds 'progress'. He walked a few steps in silence as he ordered his thoughts, his footfalls making little sound on the grass. Then he looked towards Morgan.

"No, it don't hurt. Not if I don't fight it. First time it was painful as all hell, because I was afraid and trying to stop whatever-it-was from happenin'. Now it feels like..." he grasped for words "...like a really long stretch that makes you feel good, y'know, but more than that too" He shrugged, unable to fully convey the feeling. "There's not really human words for it, I guess. That's the best description I can come up with, but then I'm not too good with words. Maybe some other werewolf can do better."

"As for bein' conscious, yes we are. Got my own brain working in here and everything, no matter how many legs are attached. But the instincts get sharpened, the senses take over a bit. It's easy for a newly-changed to get caught up in that and go a little nuts." He looked at her. "That's where the biting comes in, by the by." He pondered for a brief moment, lining up the words in his head.

"Y'see I was born like this, but I only found out about it 6 months ago. I've always been a werewolf, but never knew what it was that made me feel and think different to everyone else. It's not much fun, that feelin'. Every cub goes through it, though." He smiled a bit. "Others can tell when a nuzusul... um, that's a werewolf that don't know it yet, is about to change." The word was strangely pronounced, a hint of a growl or snarl at odd parts of the structure, as though it wasn't made for a human throat or lips. "So if we meet one like that, we bite 'em. It doesn't turn them, but it lets the wolf that did the bitin' track the cub until their First Change, and then hopefully stop them fuckin' up everything."

"Y'see, we're not allowed to let the Herd - humans - know we're around. I'm tellin' you, but you're not Herd. Not to me anyway." He tilted his head at Morgan, giving a smile and a wink. "And there's some stuff we can do that helps keep us off the news. But a new cub can go over the line and royally screw the whole pretense, unless an older wolf is around to slap them around a bit till they listen." He chuckled then as he remembered his own First Change. "They had a hell of a time with me I'm told, but that's another story. Back to your answers." He stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders as they walked.

"The moon..." He looked up again, smiling distantly at Luna's face. "Luna, we call her. She's our mother. At least, that's the story. And She plays a big role in our lives. A werewolf's personality is reflected on the phase of Mother when we Change for the first time. I'm told that sometimes you can see what 'sign' a nuzusul is gonna take well before they Change. I guess lookin' back, that makes sense." Argent glimmering eyes glanced at her. "I Changed on the full moon. But not every werewolf does. When the moon is in our sign, we are filled with more life, and it makes us a little crazy. Though not to a stupid degree."

"Shapes. We have five in all. This one here, and a series ending up at the wolf. The next one after this is a big bastard known as Dalu. Looks mainly human, but big, hairier and more muscled. The one before the wolf is called Urshul. Like a big ol' prehistoric wolf the size of a small pony. The one in the middle..." He paused and looked at her. "I guess that one's the wolf-man you're thinkin' of. It's a bad-ass shape, and the only one that affects our thinkin' to a big degree. It's the shape of pure rage and killin'. It's like those stories about samurai swords: you only draw them to shed blood? That's the Gauru shape, and if you see a werewolf that's not your friend take that shape, you get the fuck out of the way and hope he goes for someone else first."

Declan let that hang in the air for a moment. He didn't want to terrify Morgan, but he definitely wanted to warn her. He smiled reassuringly at her and bumped shoulders, as if to say "Don't worry too much about it, but bear it in mind". He tried to move past the tense moment: Morgan's fear was a little palpable.

"Anyway, to answer the other questions: no, I'm flesh and blood under the skin. We eat meat, mainly, though we can eat pretty much everything you can. Meat sits better on our other stomachs when we shift though... and in case you're wonderin', which you are, it's forbidden to eat human flesh. That's not to say it don't happen, because for some sick reason human meat tastes great to us, or so I'm told, but it's against the Code in a big way." He shook his head and smiled. "You're in no danger of that from me, at any rate."

"Wolfsbane is bullshit, and silver... silver's pretty much as you've heard. About the only thing that can keep us down." He looked serious, even grim for a moment. "I'm trustin' that your pretty hands are still safe places to hold that info. It gets out and there's trouble." He smiled then, a slight curving up of his lips. "But there you go: the Werewolves Primer." He glanced around as they walked, then directed his gaze back to her, wondering what she would do or ask next.

[Astra D.]

And there it was, direct from the source: more information on werewolves than any of the rote-weavers at The Shadow Box could have given her, or would have, though Morgan had no way of knowing the latter. "Apostate," they called her, because she was something of a rogue element. No order, no formal mentor, and no especial desire to get caught up in the politics of and skulduggery involved in either left her somewhat out of the loop. Sure, Opinski and his cronies had explained the basics to her, but she hadn't exactly proven herself yet as a particularly trusthworthy soul.

And, when you had the potential to reshape reality with a thought and a few well-chosen words, trust was not an easy thing to earn.

She mulled that over, walking companionably close to the older man as she considered how much Declan must have trusted her to say what he did.

Or how desperate he was to be able to tell someone, the little voice in the back of her head quipped. Yeah, well... Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

They were almost as far as the rec center before she finally finished absorbing what he'd told her and spoke again, and her voice was quiet, thoughtful in the stillness of the evening.

"You know, I guess that all makes sense. All the ancient civilizations had myths about the moon, the sun... The celestial bodies that shaped their existence. People have lived by the moon since before time could be counted. They believe it... she," the girl amended, "influenced everything from the harvest and the tides to subtler things, like the human mind and body. The pale, fickle counterpart to the sun's blazing constancy."

Her teeth caught at her lower lip, pensively abrading the ruddy flesh for a moment as she studied the ground passing underfoot.

"We have a similar restriction, actually... Not being able to tell people, I mean. We call them Sleepers, though."

After a rather pregnant pause, she continued, flicking a glance up at him out of the corner of her eye. He'd been willing to share with her, after all, and that was saying something.

"So... Since I think you've pretty much exhausted my questions until I have time to come up with more, is there anything you want to know about me? And, don't worry. I wouldn't say anything about what you've told me unless you gave me the okay."

[Owns-The-Night]

He pondered that for a moment as he walked. He had shared in a spirit of loneliness mixed with trust, or the need to trust. Sometimes they could be confused. But the Wolf wasn't usually wrong, as he had learned the hard way. He had a good feeling about Morgan - Okay, he had a lot of 'good feelings' about Morgan, but this one was a Good Feeling good feeling, one that came straight from his highly-developed instinct. The Wolf liked her... which was odd, because the Wolf liked practically no-one that wasn't Wolf themselves. His shrink at the V.A. was perhaps the only other person who qualified. He was aware of Morgan's green eyes occasionally darting over to him, and glanced back at her, meeting and holding her gaze. Something jumped between them; from him to her or from her to him, he couldn't tell. Verdant and argent irises locked, and neither looked away for a long moment that didn't seem to have enough air in it. Declan nearly stumbled on a beer can lying on the grass, and the moment passed with a nervous chuckle from them both.

"Well," he began, trying to focus on conversing rather than... well, the other thing. "You can do magic, right? So what are the limits? I mean, you obviously can't turn assholes into toads." He grinned slyly, hoping she saw the funny side of that.

[Astra D.]

"Well, I can't," she replied simply, utterly deadpan. She was still a bit flustered from the spark of something that had passed between them, and searched desperately for a way to think of anything else. The opportunity to talk about magic was a welcome shift in topic, so she drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to think of the simplest way to explain it.

"Like I said, I'm pretty new at this. I can tinker with things in really small ways, most of which no one will ever see. Not that that's a bad thing, mind. No fireballs, no lightning from my hands, no turning assholes into toads, or toads into princes. Supposedly, though..." She shook her head, wonderingly. "Supposedly, there are some who can do just that. Theoretically, if I study hard, and really dedicate myself," and survive long enough, came the unspoken implication, "I'll be able to do some pretty wild things." The corner of her mouth turned up in a mischievous, slightly crooked grin. "Ever wished you had a magic remote that'd let you pause life, or rewind things to see what you missed? Maybe even fast-forward, so you can see what's going to happen? In theory, I'll be able to do that one day."

There was a note of pride, and not a little excitement in her voice as she continued. Shaping the universe, or even the potential to do so, was heady stuff.

"See, the way we look at the world, everything's organized into ten types of energy, more or less. Life, Death, Fate, Time, Matter, Space, Mind, Spirit..." As she recited the names, she ticked them off on her fingers, both as illustration and reminder. She hesitated after the eighth, wiggling the ring finger and pinky of her right hand and pursing her lips in thought. "...Forces, and Prime. Ha. We all manipulate one or two of those, with varying degrees of aptitude, and there really aren't any that are forbidden to us. We're pretty much just limited to our own ambition. Opening portals? Sure. Creating living things, or changing them into other things? No problem. Reading minds? Yep. Talking to ghosts and spirits? Can do. Some can even cross over into their worlds, or so I've heard. I've never seen any of this, myself, but apparently it's all possible. Anything that can be imagined, can be done, in theory."

As she spoke, her hands moved seemingly of their own accord, emphasizing a point here, punctuating a word there, or spreading expansively in an all-encompassing gesture that indicated infinite possibility. She didn't seem to notice, but kept walking, chattering on as if she were absolutely certain he understood every word she said. How different could werewolves be, anyway?

"So, for example, I can see changes in Fate, or even eddies in Time. I can alter probability in small ways, do divinations and auguries, or see what happened in a place before I was born. Before you ask, though, no, I can't tell you the Cash 5 numbers."

She laughed quietly, pausing only for a moment before forging ahead.

"But, I've only been doing this for a few months. There aren't many of us, which makes it harder to learn, and we can't let the Sleepers see what we do. Just by not believing in magic, they can completely unmake what we weave. Still with me so far?"

[Owns-The-Night]

He nodded. Surprisingly, it wasn't that far above him in basic concept. Mages manipulated stuff like artists manipulated materials to get different results: Gotcha. Once you accepted that magic was real, that werewolves and vampires were real, the universe became a little more comprehensible, if only because you weren't saying "Huh? That can't happen!" all the time. Something she said chimed a discordant note with him, though, and his brow furrowed.

"You said mages can talk to spirits and cross over into the spirit world?" he looked at her a little concernedly. When she nodded, he frowned. "That'll cause problems later on if you're not careful. You see, we believe we have a role to safeguard each realm from the other. We need to stop humans from messin' up the spirit world, and stop spirits from messin' up the real world. It's like our big sacred duty from the old times, or so I'm told. I'm not sayin' you're going to mess things up, but just be careful not to tamper with that sort of thing unless you either don't care about the local werewolves gearin' up to come after you, or you're working with the local werewolves so they can trust you won't fuck up." He grinned at her. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to point out if you do anythin' wrong."

[Astra D.]

"Right," she nodded, tucking this new tidbit of information away. She had a feeling that she wasn't likely to find anyone else as close to the subject who was quite this forthcoming. "But I don't think that'll be an issue, at least not for a while. I haven't even learned to see them, much less any of the other stuff."

Yet.

"Have you ever seen a spirit yourself? What did it look like? How did you encounter it? What did you do?" Her eyes were wide with guileless curiosity, an expression that suddenly made her seem much younger. "How did you guys end up being guardians, and all that?"

As they continued to trudge across the campus grounds, Morgan found herself pausing now and again as she spoke, or playing balance-beam with the curb. She knew it wasn't a particularly long walk, but here was someone who could, more or less, empathize with what she was, and she spent almost as much time subtly drawing out the experience as she did heading toward home.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan picked up on her dallying pace and abruptly took her hand, changing direction slightly and walking off the path and through the night-cooled lawns. He was in no greater hurry than Morgan to get to their destination, and for much the same set of reasons. He reflected that he had never expected much from tonight, never expected to meet someone that would have an impact on his psyche. Maybe it had been the meeting with Amber first: the taste of kinship, of fellow-feeling, had awakened a hunger for more of the same. "Go with no expectations" the doc had said, and Declan made a mental note to buy the head-shrinker a drink for that.

"Yeah, I've seen a couple of spirits. Not many though. I've actually only been Changed for six months, and spirits tend to stay away from Rahu- ah, full moon wolves." Again, the word had a funny growling component that made it hard to reproduce. "As to what I did, I sent them back across the boundary between worlds, the hard way. They were rat-spirits, weak ones, but they have a nasty habit of gnawin' at the boundary and weakenin' it so nastier stuff can cross."

"As to how we ended up with the job: that's a long story." Reaching a tree, he smiled at Morgan and sat down with his back to it, gently pulling her down to sit alongside him. "I'm no tale-teller, but if you want to hear it...?" Morgan nodded almost before he finished the prompt, her eyes gleaming and a smile on her red lips. "Okay then." Declan settled back against the tree and tried to remember what he'd been told.

"Once upon a time, there was one continent, like the eggheads say. Pangaea. It was no Biblical Eden: it was a savage, pure and wild place, unspoiled and perfectly balanced. The baddest hunter in Pangaea was Father Wolf, Urfarah as we call him when we're in our furry shapes. The boundary was weak then, and spirits and mortal critters, Man included, would be crossin' it like it was the Mexican border. Father Wolf kept the balance from bein' too tipped one way or the other. Y'see, mortals ain't supposed to mess too much with the Hisil, the Shadow World, and spirits don't belong here either. So Father Wolf would hunt the strays and send them back where they belonged, killing when he had to. He was the fiercest and first of us all, and he was the embodiment of the Rage we use as a weapon against our enemies. No-one messed with Urfarah" Declan looked up at the night sky, considering. "Well, not twice anyways."

"Now ol' Father Wolf had fallen in love with Luna from afar as she rode high above him, and told her so when he met Her walkin' along the boundary between the realms, just as She does today. She liked what she saw too, because Father Wolf was brave and smart as well as strong and good-lookin', just like all his kids." Declan winked at Morgan, making her smile, but she was nonetheless rapt as she listened to the tale. She imagined in her mind's eye that meeting, mythical and fabulous though it sounded, and something in the tale stirred her soul. "So the usual thing happened, and Luna gave birth to nine strong kids. But here's the kicker: she was wearin' the shape of a woman when she did this, but the babies were born as wolf cubs. That was a sign, y'see? From Mother Luna we gained the power to change our shape like she does all the time, and from Father? Well, he raised the First Pack, those nine cubs, and taught them how to hunt and fight and to be brave and honorable. He showed them how to cross the boundary to defend it, and they helped him in his duty. That was the golden age, when the balance was at it's best. Then the bad part started." Declan looked sad and thoughtful.

"It was age, you see? Father Wolf eventually got old, wasn't able to do the duty anymore. Spirits and men both took advantage of his weakness and started abusing both realms. So he needed to be replaced. But the only way to do that was to kill him. That's pack law: if the alpha can't do his job and won't step down, they're killed. So most of the nine took this duty on themselves and killed Father Wolf, who couldn't defend himself from this because of a Ban on him. Turns out he couldn't defend himself from his children if they wanted to actually kill him. Dominance fights were one thing, but if they struck to kill, they got what they wanted. And as Father Wolf died, he howled his pain and grief out and shattered the world." Declan's voice was full of quiet emotion, the tale singing in his blood down through the centuries. "Mother Luna saw what her children had done and cursed us, and it took awhile for her to forgive us somewhat. To this day, we're still under it to a degree, because it was such a terrible curse. It's the silver thing: Luna's sacred metal is our death."

"So we carried on in Father's name. Keeping the boundary secure, stopping spirits runnin' wild over here and stoppin' mortals strayin' over where they have no business." He glanced over at Morgan. "And that's the story of how we got the duty, pretty much. We're born to it, it's as much part of us as changin' our skin, and we'll continue it until the stars fall and the whole damn universe ends."

[Astra D.]

There in the grass, listening enraptured to Declan’s story, all of the evening’s madness faded away into the dimness of memory. Ripped stockings, crises, conflicts… All of these things paled in comparison to the visions he wove from sound and emotion across the fabric of her imagination and, dreamy-eyed, she could almost see the images he described coalesce from the patterns of light and shadow that surrounded them as he spun myth and legend into being like some tale-teller of old. The strength and pride of Father Wolf, the pale beauty of the Lady he loved, his fall at the rending fangs of his own children, and Luna’s grief and despair at her loss… These things were rendered vividly by her mind’s eye against the dim canvas of the night, and made all the more poignant by the tremor of emotion in his voice as he recounted them.

Morgan had no reason to doubt that it happened precisely as he described, and when he had finished, silence reigned. She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite or silly, so she simply nodded and gave his hand a brief squeeze. The renewed contact of his work-roughened fingers was simultaneously comforting to the young mage and marginally erotic in its implied intimacy, and she quickly withdrew it again to push her hair back from her eyes.

Knock it off. You are not going to sit out here and cuddle with this guy, she chided herself.

“You know, I believe you. I guess because mages seem to have a similar story… At least, in terms of ancient history.”

[Owns-The-Night]

He tilted his head at her, a smile on his lips as she squeezed his hand. The story really got to him, too. Like the Cahalith that had taught him had said, some things were just in the blood and spirit passed down through the eons. The Tale of the First Times could never fail to move an Uratha, but Declan was glad to see (and feel) that it had moved this beautiful young woman also. He experienced a flicker of disappointment, a sense of her withdrawing as she sat up a little straighter and moved her hand out of his.

He fought it down and nodded at Morgan, still smiling a little. "I'd like to hear that tale if you want to tell it. Do mages have a duty? Or was there a Father Mage?" He grinned wolfily at her. "I think the modern werewolf should be as educated as possible about the other specials he shares the world with, don't you?"

[Astra D.]

“No,” Morgan laughed, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. She had to admit, ‘Crazy Perault’ had quite the roguish charm when he wasn’t scaring the pants off students who got caught littering. “No Father Mage. Like your story, though, this one finds its roots so far back in history that everything it describes is mythical… So much so, that none of the masters have even been able to pierce the mists of time to learn what really happened, or if any of it really happened at all. And, yes. I think it's definitely wise to find out as much as you can about the other things going bump in the night.”

The glossy material of her skirt creaked in protest as she slid her bag off her shoulder and stretched out, full-length, on the foot-worn grass to stare up at the hazy night sky. Leo was just visible from here, its outline prowling the sky like the beast of Nemea that had inspired it; with a faint smile, she lifted a finger and traced the curving, reverse-question-mark line that marked its head and chest. When she spoke next, her voice was soft, and faintly reverent, without the pop-culture slang or swearing that typically characterized her speech.

“These stars, and the stories that would mark them, were hardly more than dreams then, when the nights seemed endless and horrors without number ravaged the world: spirits, ghosts, monsters… They all preyed upon mankind without mercy and without end, and no matter where Man went, he found himself unknowingly trespassing in the realms of creatures he couldn’t hope to understand, and could only occasionally placate. They lingered perpetually on the edge of destruction, prevented from ever progressing beyond the simplest of societies, and intent only on survival.”

“Then, for no reason that anyone could discern, individuals all across the lands began to dream of an island none had ever seen. From the center of the island rose a spire that pointed at the pole star, as if the island itself was the center of the whole world, the axis on which everything turned. It is said that they dreamed of dragons there, nesting at the top of the spire, and every night one of them would take flight, soaring away and vanishing across the horizon.”

“When, finally, the last of them had flown, the empty island called to the dreamers, who then set out with their kin, and those souls who were brave enough. They sought this island, this spire, in the hopes that they might claim their own destinies far from the beasts that harried them nightly. When they arrived, it was exactly as they had envisioned, and they found, too, that travellers from all across the world had also come.” Here, she looked up at Declan and added, “Some of us think this is where the idea of the Tower of Babel originated, because all of the people who found the island agreed to live there in peace, despite their differing cultures and languages."

“But the dreams didn’t stop there. The island continued to speak to them, showing them how to retreat into themselves in meditation and solitude, to travel into the astral realms where they met the secret twin of their own soul. In this way, they were tested, judged, and those who failed were never again able to find these dreaming roads, waking or sleeping. Those who emerged victorious from these challenges, however, had made contact with the Realms Supernal, and brought something of its radiance back with them. They could manipulate the very essence of Creation, shaping flesh, matter, and thought with equal mastery- True Magic.”

“Eventually, these earliest of magi began to wonder why they, and not the others, had been blessed with these gifts. Since none had done so before their arrival on the island, despite hermitages and pilgrimages and meditations, they believed that it must have been the island itself that provided the key. After all, it was the island that had called them, drawn them through dreams and shown them the path to their Awakening from the sleep that still veiled the eyes of their fellows. They built, then, a great city atop the crystal-laden caverns of the isle, and though it's had many names throughout the ages, the one for which people still search is the most common: Atlantis."

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she paused to recall the next part of the story. It hadn't been long since she'd first heard the legendary heritage of the Mage, but not all of it, she knew, was intended for the un-Awakened... even one who wasn't a Sleeper himself.

"As time passed, and Atlantean society flourished under the guidance of its magisters, some few of them began to question the order of things. It wasn't enough that they might transcend mundane Humanity, touching the Supernal Realms through the multitude of veils that created the illusion of separation between the various planes. They wanted a more direct conduit to the source of their power, a way to bypass the endless cycles of reincarnation that souls suffered. ...And, so, these few, blinded by hubris and possessed of more power than wisdom, began a war that would last generations. They drove out the opposition, and created for themselves a great ladder that rent the veils asunder and stretched through the heavens to the Realms Supernal." Part bitterness and part sorrow, her voice was quiet and dark with mourning at the idea of what had been sacrificed; it was this grief, this regret that had forged a link of empathy with the older werewolf and his equally tragic tale. “They bypassed the astral realms, the meditations, the introspection, and instead claimed Celestial power for themselves and their petty ambitions. They had everything, and it was not enough. They wanted to be gods. But their folly had consequences: when the higher and lower worlds met, united by the dissolution of the veils that divided them, the very fabric of reality began to unravel. It was then that the exiles who had been cast out in the war returned to do battle with the heretics, ascending the same ladder that the betrayers had used, and their confrontation shook the very pillars of the heavens. When it was finally over, the losers from either side were cast down into the lower realms.“

“The ladder splintered, forever removing the victors from the grasp of those forced to endure below. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Where the ladder had been, reality itself cracked, shattering into an endless gulf that once more separated the realms, but in an utterly unnatural way. We call this void the Abyss, and even today we feel the effects of its creation. No longer was the way between the worlds of matter and spirit permeable, and with the destruction of that blasphemous ladder, the great city they had built crumbled into the sea. Gradually, the ways of magic faded into the memories of the survivors of that cataclysm, and mankind drifted into Sleep.”

“It is said that then, five great Atlantean kings- some of the sages who had returned to fight against the creators of the ladder- saw that if the flame of magic was allowed to flicker and die completely, Man’s eyes would be forever closed. They broke off from the fighting, and by some secret means erected five Watchtowers within the Supernal Realms. It is by these towers that the energy of creation may be pulled across the Abyss, and shaped by the inheritors of their legacy. We can no longer work our wills freely, as we did then, but must be mindful of the Sleepers, for the Abyss works through their unbelief and destroys what we would create. It falls to us, most believe, to protect the Sleepers from themselves and from the things they cannot understand… And, one day, to see the world again Awakened.”

When she had finally finished, she turned her head slightly, glancing from the stars above to the moon reflected perpetually in her companion's eyes.

[Owns-The-Night]

He got comfortable next to her, propped up on his side, his eyes watching her profile as she spoke. He marked the difference between Morgan the party girl, Morgan the slightly shy young lady, and Morgan the mage in storytelling mode.

The common notes of the story were not lost on Declan either. A paradise, lost through error, pride and strife. Though the beginning times from Morgan's tale sounded a lot like the Uratha paradise: where humans were kept in their place along with the other creatures. He wondered if the mages had arisen as a result of the spirit world's interference in mortal affairs, or if their Awakening was natural, a response to the basic drive of all species to evolve. He mentally shrugged: a question for older and wiser heads than his. When she finished her tale and turned her head towards him, his face was not more than a foot from hers, his head propped up on one hand.

"So, you protect Sleepers, we protect the Herd. We use fang, claw and spirit powers, you use this True Magic. But basically, we're on similar lines. That's strange, but cool." He smiled at her. "So how long have you been a mage?"

[Astra D.]

He was talking to her.

She could tell, because his lips were moving and she was enjoying watching them immensely, but the sudden realization of how very, dangerously close he was short-circuited the speech centers in her brain. So, like an idiot, Morgan just stared up at him, caught in the subtly reflective silver orbs that seemed to bore into her. Part of her was well aware of the ridiculous expression on her face, and was viciously kicking the other parts to get them working again... but with limited success.

"Um... How long...?" she murmured absently. "Oh, well... since the spring? March, probably. Yeah."

Somewhere, the portion of Morgan's personality responsible for social interaction and witty banter was drooling on itself. She hardly noticed.

[Owns-The-Night]

The realisation hit Declan's forebrain at roughly the same time, reinforced by the widening of Morgan's green eyes and the slight tremble of her lips. Wow. *What are you, a moon-mazed cub?* snarled the Wolf eagerly. *The Female is willing: Kiss her!*

Declan tried to reply to Morgan, to make conversation, but the sudden surge of vitality that uncoiled in his gut and swept through him made nonsense of his words before they even formed in his throat. With a soft growl that was almost a purr he dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to hers.

[Astra D.]

OhgodohmygodohmygodOHGODWhatthehellamIdoing?!

Frantically, the Mind clawed, begged, screamed for Morgan's attention. Deliberately, the Body ignored it, kicked it into a closet, and bolted the door. The pheromones surging through her climbed with startling rapidity, and the sound of her heart beat a fierce, pounding rhythm in her ears.

There may not have been bells ringing, or choirs of angels praising the union of soul mates or some such nonsense, but, oh.... There were fireworks. They sizzled outward from the first tentative contact of his mouth on hers, sparking through her veins and exploding in a thousand tiny nerve impulses just beneath her skin. Eagerly she returned the kiss, her questing fingertips sliding upward and over his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle and bone with a sudden, feverish intensity.

Nothing else mattered but this, the eloquent and unmistakable expression of desire that she craved, that she'd been trying all evening to stave off. Need finally won out, leaving everything else to dissolve in a wave of sensation.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan was fast accelerating beyond thought, his heart thundering in his ears and against Morgan's shapely form as her arms went around him. The young mage's fingertips on his night-cooled skin were burning trails of silver ecstacy, her lips on his were sweeter than spiced honey as he felt her breath gasp and her body arch against his. Faint squeaking noises came from the vinyl garments as his hands, rough of skin but gentle of touch, smoothed over her hips and around, grasping her insistently and pulling her to him. His own breath was coming in deeper pulls, the hardened muscles of his torso pressing against Morgan's breasts in their corset. A deep, seductive growl rose and fell in rhythmic waves, thrumming through both of their bodies.

Untaught and unlearned in such matters as he was, a lifetime of solitude could not deny the Wild's call, the need to touch and be touched that the two were sharing in this white-hot moment. One hand ran up Morgan's spine and gently cupped the back of her head as he continued the kiss, feeling the silken fall of her black hair. His lips trailed off of hers, gentle nibbles leading him down the length of her jaw, his breath hot against the tender skin just below her ear. Here he breathed her in between kisses and nibbles as though her scent were air itself, without which he could not, would not survive.

[Astra D.]

The sensation of his teeth grazing her skin, the rasp of stubble against the pale column of her throat sent a ripple of liquid heat through her abdomen, leaving her gasping, fingers clutching at his bare back in an attempt to grasp something solid. The world spun, and she could feel every singing nerve ending cry out in an aria of exquisite hunger where his hands moved over her. No thought, no care for the world around her penetrated the haze of blatant and instinctual lust that overwhelmed her so completely in this single moment.

Salt sweat, grass and earth, and something definable only as “male” lingered on scarlet lips that pressed ardent, open-mouthed kisses across his shoulder and collarbone. She savored the taste of him on her tongue, exhaling slow, cool breaths across heated skin and reeling at the pheromones that clouded the evening air; she was practically drunk with desire, all other concerns having fled.

“Too many clothes,” she mumbled breathlessly against his neck as one hand slid down to work the hem of her skirt up her stocking-clad thighs. Either she had forgotten they were in the middle of the UCLA campus, or she was too far gone to care. All she knew was that she needed this, needed him at this precise moment, and nothing else mattered.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Yeah... too many cloth-umm" His words, dulled by desire's flame as they were, were stifled by her mouth finding his once more. Her tongue flickered in and out of his mouth teasing against his, luring him on like a will-o-the-wisp to the destruction of his reason. The scent of her, the heat of her, was like a furnace against his brain, blinding him to anything else.

Almost.

He felt a ripple in his mind, a strange pushing from the Wolf. It snarled as his hands fumbled with the laces of Morgan's corset top. It filled his mind with the urge to take her, to shred her clothes and couple with her moon-pale form right there on the lawn until their voices were made hoarse from their mingled songs of joy. And he wanted to. He wanted to badly.

NO! Not an animal! Man AND Wolf, not Wolf in Man's skin! He drew back, looking down into Morgan's eyes as the Wolf was forced back into it's corner of his soul. How dare you try to take this one as though she were meat! You bastard son of a bitch! The Wolf whimpered as the Man raged. Not for you: for us. Both of us together, or not at all. Wolf bared it's fangs at that.

*You think it wasn't both of us? You think she only wants the Wolf? She likes the Man, and desires the Wolf. What cause have you to hesitate?*

I'm... not sure. And he wasn't, Declan realised. Not about Morgan: he had never had such a connection with anyone, not least a beautiful girl who panted for his kisses. Take it slow, right? Let her get to know me properly. She's got a shitheel for a boyfriend at the moment... do I want to be next shitheel? She deserves someone who'll value her. And if that don't make me a fucking nutcase I don't know what does!

Morgan noticed his indecision and tried to make up his mind, nipping at his throat in a strangely she-wolfish manner of her own as she pressed against him. But he gently sat up with her still in his arms and placed a hand on her cheek.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly, lust and desire for her still making his eyes glow lambently. "I don't think this is a great idea right now." He saw her expression and hastily interjected. "Not because of you! I think you're... well, fuckin' fantastic. It's just..." he trailed off as he tried to express his concerns.

"I want to get to know ya better. Corny soundin', I know, but I think you're worth gettin' to know, not just to sleep with. Does that make any sense to you? Or am I coming across as weird?" His silver eyes searched hers, their faces still close enough to feel one another's breath.

[Astra D.]

Shock and confusion warred with desire in Morgan's eyes as she stared at him across the inches that separated them, followed rapidly by disbelief. She couldn't believe it. As fantastic as she'd felt just rolling around in the grass with him, it was impossibly jarring to suddenly be required to engage in rational, reasonable, and apparently meaningful conversation.

How much better does he need to know me? she wondered in the few moments of stunned silence that followed. She was nothing if not a creature of impulse, and she had assumed he was much the same. She couldn't fathom a connection more honest, more open than the one they'd come so close to sharing, so his attempts to explain, sincere as they were, rang hollow and empty in her ears.

She swallowed her disappointment and wiped the smudges of scarlet, evidence of her ardor, from around her lips. They corresponded nicely with the ones smeared across his neck and shoulders, she noted with some bitterness.

"It's fine," she lied easily, the words tripping off her tongue without thought or effort. How many times had she said precisely that phrase throughout her lifetime? She almost believed it herself, by now, but she couldn't even summon up the energy to be angry. He was a decent guy, and surprisingly sweet... which was precisely how Morgan then came to the conclusion that things were doomed from the outset. "Really, don't worry about it." She even pressed her lips together in a thin little smile that implied the vulnerability-and-resilience combination of so many movie actresses. "I should be getting home anyhow, right?"

Bracing one hand on the tree, she hauled herself up to her feet and began the task of getting laces and buckles back in order again.

[Owns-The-Night]

Fuck, fuck, fuck and double fuck! Or rather, no fuck, no way. Declan screamed mentally as he stood up. He saw the life go out of her eyes, the tightness return to her expression, and heard the laughter of Wolf from his corner. This last spurred him to action as he rose from the grass. He reached out and grabbed her arm firmly, stopping short of bruising force as he pulled her inexorably towards him. He saw her green eyes look up at him, anger flaring there, and let her see the Wolf for just a moment. Just a flickering slice of a second. It was enough. Her face paled, the color of anger draining from her cheeks.

"See that?" He said in a low growl, desire and frustration still evident in his voice. "You have any idea what it took to hold back?" He let go of her arm and stepped away, his eyes gleaming with some unfamiliar emotion. "I wanted you to understand. I thought you, out of anyone who wasnt Uratha, could. I want you. I like you too, and that's the problem. I can't treat you like another type of goddamn prey!" His voice raised to a rumbling growl before he got control, his fist smacking into his thigh in frustration.

"I'm not good with words," he went on in a near-rush. "I've been awake to what I am for six months. And in that time this has never been an issue. My whole damn life, it's never been an issue, because no woman would be with me unless dared or paid, and both types turned me off faster than a sledge to the head. And now I meet... you." His hand went up as though to reach for her, but dropped. "And you're right out of my dreams, showin' me a wider world, with skin like the moon and lips like blood, and a kiss that burns like silver..." He shook his head as though to clear it. "I... I don't want to be nothin' to you. Does that make sense? And I don't want you to be nothin' to me. What's in me, what's a part of me, tries to take control sometimes. Like just now. It... me... I wasn't thinkin' about you, but about mating. Fucking on the lawn. I'm still thinkin' about it. But I like you too much to just have you as a... meal for my dick. And that's what I'm worried about. I don't want you to regret it." He hung his head finally, seeming to deflate a little as his growling voice sank to a murmur. "It'd be a fuckin' awful first time."

[Astra D.]

This was not the way Morgan had expected things to go when Declan had offered to walk her home. Hell, it wasn’t the way she had expected things to go five minutes ago, when hands and mouths were all over each other… And that, she conceded, wasn’t exactly planned, either. She was torn between impulses, each generated by completely different sets of desires: the first, and the most immediate, was to vent her frustration through anger, while the second required a measure of tact and empathy she wasn’t sure she could muster at the moment.

Lacking any other options, Morgan did what any other self-respecting Mage would do:

She cheated.

With a surge of Mana, she parted the veils between possible courses of action, narrowing it down to the two that were currently the most plausible, and watched.

::**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**::

“You don’t want to be ‘nothing’ to me, and you don’t want me to be ‘nothing’ to you. Tell me something, then, Declan.” Without so much as a hint of the discomfort she’d shown at the sight of the Wolf moments before, Morgan grabbed his hand, pressing his palm flat against the upper swell of her left breast so that the pounding of her heart became a tangible rhythm below his fingers. “Does that feel like ‘nothing’?!” she asked angrily, her voice rising. “What exactly is it that I’m supposed to understand? I’m not one of you, and that’s not going to change.”

She paced away, seething with frustration, anger, disappointment, and pent-up lust that roiled beneath the surface of her thoughts, and then whirled again to face him.

“Would that make it easier?” the enchantress asked, vitriol almost audible on her tongue. “Would you know me well enough then? Because, honestly, just how much more do you need to know? I got a pleasant surprise tonight when I actually met you, had the chance to talk to you. Y’know what? I like you, too. I really do.” She shook her head, laughing quietly, bitterly. “But I’ve got more than enough drama in my life right now, and this was obviously a mistake of epic proportions. See, I thought you understood me. You’re a nice guy…”

Her sigh broke the pace of her rant, and she heaved the bag over her shoulder as a wince flickered across her features. “Find yourself a nice girl.”

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan was dumbfounded at first. The only person he had confided anything in, and it was thrown back in his face. He remembered laughter in school halls as he passed, the scornful masks of girls hiding their uneasiness as they sneered at him. He wanted to scream at her/them, to lash out, to hit and hurt with fists the way he felt flayed open by her words. A faint golden glow rose in his eyes as Rage threatened to swamp his reason.

"Is that who you are? A bad girl? Is that why you think you deserve fuckin' assholes like that guy back there?" his voice was a strained growl, as though he were having trouble controlling his vocal chords. "You're not bad at all. You're a fuckin' victim for anyone that wants to use you. And you let that happen, because it's the only way you can understand the goddamn world without movin' outside your own head!"

"Find myself a nice girl?" He bit off each word, and his teeth gleamed whitely as he snarled at her. "Don't fool yourself: I did. Pity she's fucked-up nice!" He turned and stalked away, head lowered and shoulders bunched. His last words to her were a near-sepulchral growl that drifted back out of the shadows that engulfed him.

"You know where I am if you want to be alive, rather than be someone's prey."

[Astra D.]

That could've gone better, Morgan grimaced, mentally setting that outcome aside to examine the alternative.

::**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**::

“An awful…?” Oh. Oh. "Oh." Inwardly, Morgan cringed at that admission, and while her frustration remained, the urge to fight, to wound with words this obviously conflicted man, fled completely. Mentally, she groaned, and resigned herself to the diplomatic approach. He seemed worried, almost vulnerable as she studied his expression and the way his head dropped forward, and upset as she was, she couldn't bring herself to make it worse. It looked entirely unnatural on him; gone was the vigor, the pride, the mischief, replaced instead by a troubled countenance that kindled the light of compassion in her soul. It was late, and it had been a very long evening.

She could afford the luxury of empathy.

With studied care, she grasped his hand, guiding it up to rest just beneath her collarbone. She pressed the calloused palm firmly against the vinyl-enhanced curve of her breast, giving him a moment to feel the mad thrum of her heart beneath alabaster skin. Simply touching him, especially this way, made her pulse surge wildly, and her fingertips brushed lightly across his knuckles as she gazed intently up at him.

"Tell me that this feels like 'nothing' to you, because it doesn't to me. Whatever else it is, it's honest, and... And honestly, I wasn't thinking about you, or me, or, hell, anything at all." Her kiss-swollen lips curved into a rueful smile. "It just felt right, but I have this bad habit of acting on impulse."

"I'm sorry," she said, stroking her fingertips up his wrist, following the tensed muscles of his forearm to the shoulder and back again in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture. "I am, really. Not for what (almost) happened, but because we both seem to have expected different things. It may sound awful, but I don't think I would've regretted it. And you're right," she continued, forcing herself to forge ahead. "It's hard for me to understand because I'm not like you, and never will be. I guess we have that in common, too, huh?"

Her words trailed off into silence as she thought about the disasters of the evening, and where this one rated on the list.

"Look, I don't want to sound like a martyr, or anything, but my life is..." She hesitated, glancing heavenward for inspiration. "Complicated. Sex is simple. Does that make sense?" It was her turn to search his face for understanding as she tried to explain one of the thorniest aspects of her life and her personality as simply as she could. There was nothing else about the way she lived that could be reduced to something as basic as physical contact, so she tried to maintain that link- however tenuous- when she could find it. Between school, her own mystical experiences and Awakening, working with the band, and dealing with Trent, sex was a liberating union of mind, body and purpose that gave her a chance to completely experience another person. It hadn't occurred to her, until he admitted this was unfamiliar territory, that he might not feel the same way. "How much more do you need to know, before it's enough?"

[Owns-The-Night]

He nodded slightly, some of the light coming back into his eyes, quickening them from lifeless grey to the eerie silver as he raised his head and looked at her.

He flesh was warm and soft under his hand, her words warm and soft in his ears. Her heartbeat was not the sound of prey... It was the insistent throb of an alluring song that drew him closer, the solid echo of the ethereal song that had drawn him into the woods as a child. He didn't care how complicated she was (according to barracks rumor, weren't all women supposed to be complicated?), he just knew that her touch was right, she was right. And she didn't seem to think so. A faint sadness and curiousity rose in his eyes.

"I don't need to know much more right now, I guess." He smiled softly at her, loving the feeling of her fingers on his skin. His muscles relaxed under her caress, and with wry internal humor he exerted a little effort to avoid rolling onto his back and asking for a belly rub. "We are different, like you said, and I don't think we'll able to finish each other's sentences or see where the other is comin' from a hundred percent, but at least..." he shrugged and tenderly cupped her cheek in his rough hand before continuing, his eyes on hers. "At least we can make the effort, y'know? If we think it's worth it."

"Sex has never been simple for me. Hell, you're the first woman I've ever talked to, I mean really talked to." He stepped a little closer to her, his hand still on her breast feeling her heartbeat, his other hand gently stroking her cheek. "I want to know you more. Whatever else we do together, and..." he colored a little, but smiled, his eyes glinting. "...and I'm curious about that. Burnin'ly so. But whatever else comes, I like you and I want to be your friend too. That's about the simplest way I can say it."

He let that hang in the air as he gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, soft as the breeze and cooling as it was reassuring, then looked into her eyes again.

[Astra D.]

It was a little more intimate than she was completely comfortable with, but definitely the lesser of two evils. Observing the second scenario, she admonished herself to take more care in the future. Whatever else he was, he was a person with emotions and hopes and fears of his own, and it wasn't her right to treat him otherwise. Still, she couldn't yet see beyond the next few moments, and thoughts of Trent (and all her bizarre relationship with him entailed) continued to haunt her.

With a little trepidation about the eventual outcome that lay beyond her vision, Morgan made her choice.

::**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**:**::

The kiss was sweet and soulful, gentle in a way that was both unfamiliar and strangely thrilling; she did her best to sort through the myriad of sensations it inspired, and found herself unconsciously leaning forward even when he'd pulled away. Whatever it was he was doing, she wanted more of it.

Oh, wow. This is going to be tricky.

"Yeah," she nodded, the tip of her tongue darting across her lips to catch the fleeting taste of him that lingered there. "Yeah, I think friends... Friends would be good. Maybe we can keep things from getting too tangled up?" A sudden vision of a particularly perverse interpretation of 'tangled' flared to life in her brain, and she swallowed hard as her cheeks flushed pink. With obvious hesitation, she pulled away to retrieve her bag.

"So," she started, desperate to fill the sudden and unusually awkward silence. "I guess I'll see you around, then?"

[Owns-The-Night]

"Count on that." Declan smiled at her softly. The silence hadn't been awkward for him, not when he could feel her leaning towards him even as she stepped away and picked up her bag. The werewolf could smell her on him still, the scent of her excitement was still strong in the air, but he had a grip on himself now. He looked around and gestured in the direction of her dorm.

"That's you right over there, right?" He indicated the building and nodded as she murmured an affirmative. "Go on. I'll watch you to the door."

She shyly backed away and, almost coltishly, turned and walked swiftly to the lit building. Will she, won't she...? he wondered, then grinned as the beautiful girl turned at the dorm's entrance to seek him out. He waved from the shadow of the tree, letting her see him there, then watched her walk inside.

Turning away now, Declan stretched out his arms to the sky, feeling as though a knot of tension had been removed from his heart... to end up elsewhere. He laughed softly, then unfastened his jeans once more.

Two minutes later, a large dark wolf padded from the edge of the trees overlooking the northern part of the campus. Eyes that never saw color gazed at the moving lights of the traffic below the embankment, then turned to zero in on a single dormitory building maybe half a mile away.

The song Declan "Owns The Night" Perault sang to the sky and his Mother that night was not one of territory, or war, or Rage. The song held a gentler note, and the sound which to many that heard it was the mindless crooning of an animal evoked different feelings in one set of ears. As she fell asleep, she wondered at how such expressiveness could come from a bestial throat.