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Small Clearing(#3085RJ)
Here, the green ceiling of leaves parts to let larger lightbeams trickle
down from above to the mossy, leaf and needle carpeting on the ground.
The main cause of the break in the canopy lies opposite you, where a
once-tall tree lies partly on the ground, held up the slightest bit by
some support at the base and its branches, with a little more from a
small rise behind it. Around the rest of the clearing, the tall trunks
stand, perhaps the ones nearest the fallen tree somewhat scarred by
its passing, but all still unbent, reaching to the sky. Intermingled
with the buzzing of insects and the occasional bird call, you hear the
quiet burbling of a small stream someplace nearby, the rustling of the
leaves in the smallest breeze, and the rare popping of needles and
branches as some animal makes its way through the untouched forest.
The forest stretches as far as you can see in every direction. Over just
to one side of the clearing is a fallen tree, perhaps knocked over by
a recent storm, as it seems that the base is still somewhat alive. A
small seeding sprouts from its base, as its still-green leaves rustle
in the wind.

Quiet is dozing in the mouth of the cave, the puppies sleeping soundly
through the heat of the day.

Spirit-of-Words picks his way carefully through the forest, his step a
bit odd and deliberate. Yet he is still fairly quiet, or at least
quieter than most city-born Garou. He makes his way over towards the
cave, but lets out a wurf of greeting when he is still a good distance
away.

Quiet's ears twitch and she blinks her dark eyes. She still does not
appear totally aware.

Spirit-of-Words stops, and keeps a good distance between himself, and
the mother and her pups. He barks this time, a little louder, but
still in greeting.

Quiet raises her head, her ears flicking forward and in an upright
position. She snuffs the air as she pulls herself to her paws.

Currently on this breezy and hot summer midday in the general St. Claire
area, it is 82 degrees Fahrenheit (27.8 degrees Celsius). The wind is
coming from the south-southwest at 6.05 mph. The ground is wet. Skies
are hazy with a probable chance of precipitation.

Spirit-of-Words takes a few steps closer, and offers greetings,
Quiet-rhya. This one would wish to speak with you, if he may.

Quiet licks her dry nose, then chuffs an assent. Still moving with the
stiffness of the recently awakened, she disappears briefly into the
den. Satisfied, she soon reappears and moves further into the
clearing, where the cubs will not be disturbed.

Spirit-of-Words waits quietly, and when she returns he says that this
one a request, Quiet-rhya. His pack will be hunting one of his tribe
that betrayed the Sept and Caern he was raised in to the Wyrm. But we
cannot find him ourselves...yet. This one has been told by Thunder's
Claws that you know the Rite to find people, and askes if you would
teach it to him?

Quiet blinks again, tilting her head to one side. She says slowly, It is
not a rite I teach lightly, as it is easily open to abuse. You know
the name of the one that did this foul thing?

A slight growl starts deep in Spirit-of-Words throat unconsciously, but
it fades as he answers. He says with a bit of emphasis, this one knows
his name. All knew one another in that Sept, there were no more than
thirty Garou. He even taught me for a short time when I was a cub.

Quiet's ears tilt backward, her posture showing distaste before she
controls it. I can see your interest, then.

Spirit-of-Words nods. That that one did cannot be left unpunished. This
one and his pack intend to bring him back here to face Gaia's justice.
His manner and expression seems to have the fire of outrage kept
behind the mask of calm and control.

Quiet's left ear flickers. You and your pack go alone?

Spirit-of-Words shakes his head. There will be others. Thunder's Claws
is asking a few others if they will join us.

Quiet's posture reveals a conflict, muted. She glances back, toward the
den. She then says simply, I will try to teach you the way of this
thing.

Spirit-of-Words nods. Thank you, Quiet-rhya, you have my deepest
gratitude. This one wonders if there is something he can do in return
for you?

Quiet considers that, her tail flickering idly from side to side.
Slowly, she answers in the affirmative. Yes. Yes, I believe there is.

Spirit-of-Words tilts his head to the side, and waits for her to
continue.

Quiet chuffs. Since White Veils died, we have had no near-full of our
tribe. Even now, we have only two. A guest, one barely come to the
caern, and a mule who follows the Fianna until you would believe her
tribe otherwise. We have none to tell the true stories of the Gaians
that have died here, or the heroes of old. Quiet's posture is intense
as she says this, though her muzzle wrinkles with momentary sourness
as she makes reference to Casey Scott.

Spirit-of-Words inclines his head a little. And you wish this one to
tell those stories. This one knows some stories of Heroes of old from
you tribe, but not many. This one, does not know much of those who
have died honorably here. You would have to teach and tell this one of
those as well. But this one would do it, and be honored to.

Quiet's ears splay. I will be glad to tell you of these things, if you
are willing to listen to one not called to howl by Phoebe.

Spirit-of-Words nods. It is this one's experience that the story is not
told as is from one near full moon to another. Instead they take the
sory they heard, and give it their own telling. This one hopes that
his telling will do your tribe honor.

Quiet's ears flick forward again. She says, with an air of relief, That
is well. It will be good to have a near-full to again tell the other
side of the truth to those that see only what they wish. Her tail
swishes once, in remembered irritation.

Spirit-of-Words inclines his head slightly. This one understands. It
seems some take things farther than they should.

Quiet shakes her ruff, clearing unwanted thoughts. Shall we begin?

Spirit-of-Words nods. This one would like to, yes. His tone and
expression seem a little warmer, and some of the formality faded.

Quiet motions with her head. Let us go further away and shift. This is
not a ritual well-suited to this form.

You make your way through the trees to the northeast into the heart of
the forest.

Ancient Forest(#2044RL)

Majestic trees surround you, jutting into the sky like monuments to the
strength of root and branch. Their trunks stretch upward to form rough
columns supporting a roof of leaves. Beams of light occasionally break
through the green ceiling above, catching the dust-motes in the air.
The age of this place seems like a palpable force pressing inward on
all sides; it's as if the forest has a soul, and that soul resists
civilization with an adamantine will. The silence is almost unnerving,
broken only by the occasional whispering of the leaves.
Obvious exits:

Forest

Spirit-of-Words comes up from out of the forest.

Quiet contorts and blurs as she is transformed.

You shift into Homid form.

Spirit-of-Words contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Spirit-of-Words blurs and shifts into Homid form.

A tall young man who appears to be in his late teens or early twenties.
He looks around with confidence as he brushes a few stray strands of
his fine, jaw length, strawberry gold colored hair from falling in his
eyes. His features are well defined and classically attractive.
A black t-shirt fits snugly over his athletic frame, and a brown leather
bomber jacket covers his broad shoulders. He wears an old pair of
jeans that are splattered with dried bits of red, orange, and green
paint, along with a pair of worn-in hiking boots. A plain steel band
encircles his left-hand ring finger, with etching along it's edge. A
small stone feather hangs from a simple leather cord around his neck.
He moves with grace and authority beyond his years.

Andrea(#1358Pc$)

Thick black hair is braided loosely out of this woman's face, with wisps
of curly bangs above the twin slashes of dark eyebrows. Andrea is
dressed in new clothing that looks warm: a dark blue flannel shirt,
blue jeans, and short tan moccasins. Around her waist is a leather
belt, with a brightly-colored woven bag hanging from the left side.
She wears a diamond stud in her right ear, and a gold chain bracelet
with a heart locket on her right wrist. On her right hand is a carved
wooden ring. Looking to be in her late twenties, Andrea stands at
about 5'3"; her build is slender but well-muscled. Two shadow-dark
eyes look back at you from under thick black lashes, distant but
serene. Her skin is a creamy tan.

Andrea unbuttons her shirt, showing the grey fabric of a sports bra. She
then rolls up the sleeves, sweat already showing on her face. "I need
to remember to get more appropriate clothing next time in the city.
This outfit isn't bad in the Umbra or at night, but daytime..."

Currently on this breezy and hot summer afternoon in the general St.
Claire area, it is 83 degrees Fahrenheit (28.3 degrees Celsius). The
wind is coming from the south at 9.55 mph. The ground is wet. Skies
are hazy with a probable chance of precipitation.

Scott nods,"Yeah, I know what ya mean." As he speaks he slips his jacket
off, and then shoulder and back holster that holds a relatively long
knife.

Andrea settles down on the soil cross-legged, ignoring the dampness. She
then laces her fingers together. "How many names would you say you
have, Scott?"

Scott crouches down, resting his wieght forward on hs toes, and his
elbows on his kness. "Two, I guess." He hesitates, and his expression
turns a little dark,"Well, maybe three, but I feel I only have two."

Andrea nods. "Most Garou keep only two names as the ones that they
choose to define themselves: their birth-name and their deed-name.
Most have many names beyond these, but they have not claimed those as
their own." She grins, suddenly. "I answered to my totem when he
called me Weird-Eyes, but I do not believe that name ever defined who
I /am/."

Scott half smiles. "Yeah, I understand. Does that mean thatone must find
the name the person you seek considers their own, or will any do? I
know the name has some importance..."

Andrea shakes her head. "With the gift of the new moon, the name helps.
With the rite, the name is everything. Without a name, your stone will
never pull you to the one you seek." She pauses, thoughtfully, "The
person must claim the name for the stone to know the essense, but it
need not be only one name. It is possible, if barely, that my old name
of Snow-In-Her-Fur would still find me, especially if the ones seeking
had something of mine to aid."

Scott nods in understanding. "So if it is the name they claim as there
own, then it lets you find them better, but if it isn't, you can still
find them, as long as you have other items they possessed? I assume
the importance of the item to a person makes a difference as well. The
more important it is, the better the Rite will work?"

Andrea raises a cautionary hand. "You might find them, if you had an old
name and an item. It might not. You really need the name, to whisper
to the stone. As to the object, it depends. Hair or blood is best, but
an object works at times."
Andrea chuckles. "Rituals are not easily broken into a science,
unfortuantely. Except for perhaps the Walkers."

Scott's smile widens, and he gazes at the ground before returning his
gaze to her. "Yeah, I guess they wouldn't be. I just want to learn
this well. If I'm a bit over eager, that's the cause. Okay, you were
saying...."

Andrea chuckles again. "There is no crime in wishing to learn well, nor
in being eager for knowledge." Despite the formal phrasing of her
words, there is real warmth in Andrea's dark eyes.

Scott says softly,"Okay." He hesitates, and nods a little, waiting
quietly for her to continue.

Andrea continues. "The first thing you must really understand is the
relationship between a name and the person that claims is. For some
straightforward people, one name shows all of themselves that they
wish to bind to a name. Many humans are this way. Though they would
dislike the comparison, so are many Garou lupus. Only 'Blood Fang'
would have ever found BloodFang, no matter what human name he took
when he was forced to."

Scott furrows his brow a little. "I'm not sure if I understand."

Andrea frowns a little. "Who do you know well, among the lupus?"

Scott takes in a deep breath. "I know few well. In all honesty, I really
don't know any well. Blinks-at-Fire would be the one I could say I
know best, for what that is worth."

Andrea says dryly. "Indeed. Well, Blinks is not one that I would have
chosen, but he will do. To my knowledge, he has not even taken a human
use name. Even if he was to call himself 'Bob Smith' in the city, he
has not allowed that name to define him. Do you understand?"

Scott nods. "Okay, yeah, I understand now. If he, or anyone doesn't
consider it their name, then it won't work."

Andrea nods. "Exactly. He may allow others to think it was his name, but
he does not consider it his own. The same with false names, with those
trying to hide themselves."

Scott bite his lower lip, and the frown deepens. He says quietly,"So if
Kilcade, that's the name of the one we hunt. If he no longer considers
that his name, if he has taken others as his own, then we must find
another name to use to find him?"

Andrea says with some sympathy, "It's possible. That is the rite's only
real weakness. Was Kilcade his human name?"

Scott nods. He says quietly,"His family name."
Scott says "Jerrand was his given name."

Andrea nods. "Then the name Jerrand Kilcade is likely to find him." She
smiles, ruefully, "We homids, more than the lupus, tend to cling to
what we were before. Even after turning to the enemy, he likely thinks
himself as that one."

Scott nods, satisfaction showing on his face. He says simply,"Good."

Andrea nods. She brushes back her damp hair with one hand. "So, think on
it for a while. What is in a name?" Her eyes flicker, and she rocks
back on her heels. "For example, your own. How does Spirit-of-Words
define who you are?"

Scott watches the ground. "I suppose it re-afirms how I feel about
things. That one should hold to the spirit, not letter of the words.
I've seen too many dissemble around the word they have given, for
their own benefit." Sadness touches his voice,"Sometimes, I think that
is the way of my tribe."

Andrea nods again. "So Spirit-of-Words means that to you. And what of
your homid name?"

Scott rolls his shoulders, seeming somewhat uncertain. "I'm not sure.
It's my name, but I don't know that it has any meaning to me. It's not
as if it was chosen because of who or what I was, nor did I choose it,
yet, it doesn't seem inappropriate either. I don't know."

Andrea nods. "Let me tell you of my name then, and let you see."

Scott nod again, waiting for her to continue.

Andrea begins. "My name is Andrea Rachel Datson-Wyatt. Andrea comes from
the old language, meaning 'womanly.' Certainly the Gaians have a
reputation for celebrating their sexuality. Where I don't the way the
tales say, I am a mother. I have never forgotten that I am a woman,
even when I fight for the Mother. My second name is my mother's, given
me to carry on. She made me as I am, and there is much of her in me.
My maiden name was a gift from the man who thinks he is my father,
which I carry in pride, even if his blood does not run in my veins.
And the last name, from a mistake I once made. I no longer consider
myself bound to my husband, but he is part of who I am as well."
Andrea smiles after such a long speech. "So is your name. Rich in the
history of your past, whether that past is what you would wish or
not."

Scott watches, and some amount of undertanding shows on his face, along
with a small bit of awe. "I certainly had never thought of things that
way. I have no idea what Scott means, but I'm the last Van Traeling of
house Wyrm-slayer, so that has some meaning, I guess." He says again,
a little more quietly this time,"But I hadn't thought of things that
way before..."

Andrea nods again, smiling gently. "This is why 'Andrea Wyatt' is likely
to find me, where 'Bob Smith' would not find Blinks. I /am/ Andrea
Wyatt. I /am/ Moon-Laughs-Quiet. Blinks might be called Bob Smith, but
he would have to give a part of himself to that name before the stone
would recognize it."

Andrea speaks with Scott for a time longer before the cooling air lets
them know the afternoon lengthens. As they part, she waves, "Remember
to practice tying knots."

Scott nods. "I will, and thank you, again. May Gaia's grace go with
you."

Andrea's final answer is a widening of her smile. Her form flows back to
its normal shape, and she returns to her cubs.

Andrea contorts and blurs as she is transformed.

You shift into Lupus form.

Scott smiles, and watches the other return to her cubs before shifting
down and heading out into the forest.

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