Moon Phase :Full Moon

After rousing the group, the Wendigo elder moves to the central crystal and finds her reflection. For a homid, her passage is relatively quick and she doesn't wait long on the other end before she takes off after the flash of gold that is their Engling prey.

Blackriver drops into the umbra after Oncoming Storm, with a swiftness inherent to her breed. She bulks up into hipo and follows the Wendigo after the engling, glancing behind her once to make sure the other Fangs are following.

Hunts-Wisely moves into hispo as soon as the moot is done, following Jacinta's call and heading towards the central crystal as well. After the Wendigo he makes a comparatively slow and messy crossing to the umbra, tearing his way through even the thin gauntlet of the Caern. Nevertheless he eventually arrives in the shadow and takes off after the Wyrmfoe. Song-of-Luna slips through the gauntlet rather easily, though she hangs about waiting until 'her' cub makes it through. Once Cael appears, she slides up into hispo and dashes after the others. Starts-the-Fire follows Luna closely, but his crossing is slow and hampered by the distraction of the others. He's one of the last to make it through, but he does; he follows the example of the others and shifts up to hispo, still sticking close to Luna for the time being as he heads off after her. Steel-Claws shifts to hispo as well, passing in to the Shadow far more easily then Saul. Nose lifting to scent the Umbral air, her massive form gives a twitch, every muscle tense and ready. Then she is off like a bullet, following Saul's lead.

Team "Other", lead by Escapes-From-Money, coalesce once in the Umbra, taking up a position on the right flank of Oncoming Storm's lead pack. Leaves-None-Behind, the Gnawer Ragabash, falls in with the others, shaking herself all over before joining the chase. Spirit's Touch, the Fianna Theurge is immediately on guard for her safety and the safety of the pseudo-pack. Her ears are standing tall and tail at a stand-still. Leaps-From-Den, the young Get cub, has a lean and hungry air about him. Escapes lets out a howl of encouragement to her revelpack. ~Our teeth are sharp, our claws are fearsome, and hunger for the flesh of our foe~ she says, an odd note creeping into her voice. ~Today we shall bring glory on our tribes and our Sept~ With that, she turns and leads her pack after the Wyrmfoe.

Falcon's Wing bulks into hispo as well, flashing through some short time after Blackriver. He lopes after her, though not before waiting for Sewall.

Fog-of-War, once he actually makes it through the Gauntlet, is briefly distracted by the alien surroundings, then huffs out a breath and hurries to keep up with his tribemates.

Lara emerges shortly after Jacinta, and stays glued near her.

Once the garou are all into the shadow, the Wyrmfoe efficiently lines her troops up and gives them a quick briefing before leading the group away under the stark umbral moonlight on the trail of the engling that is tonight's chosen prey. The spirit's trail is not a hard one to follow, but what may give the Wyrmfoe pause, after maybe ten minutes' chase, is the snow that starts to cover the ground, though no snow lies on the bawn in the Realm at present.

Oncoming Storm looks a little confused by the sudden appearance of snow, and she growls at the ragabash to range a little further out. She lowers her head to better scent the snow, but she doesn't slow much as she continues on. The snow doesn't seem to bother Blackriver at all. In fact, she seems a bit more chipper than at the start of the hunt. She pauses for a moment to concentrate, and then she's somehow running on top of the snow like it's normal ground. Falcon's Wing's nose twitches, and he ranges as Jacinta tells him, though he whuffs that there is no scent of the Enemy, before he does so. Sun Clencher plows through and occasionally leaps over snow, tongue lolling as she forges her way along, next to her Alpha. Fog-of-War lumbers along as quickly as he can, a furry bundle of intense concentration and nerves.

Hunts-Wisely slows for a moment as he notices the snow, glancing towards the Wyrmfoe for direction. With nothing directed at his group he continues on, signaling for the rest to stay alert as they continue to follow to Jacinta's left flank. Song-of-Luna snuffles at the snow as she moves, sending furrows of it this way and that with her massive snout. It proves a minor, brief distraction for her, however, and soon enough she's pushing her ears forward and following the Wyrmfoe with her full attention. Steel-Claws snorts loudly and huffs out a loud breath, but on the whole, pays little attention to the Umbral snow. Starts-the-Fire flicks his ears back and forth as the snow begins falling, but otherwise pays little other attention to it, just keeping pace with his group.

Escapes leads her group, maintaining their position on the right flank, her eyes occasionally flicking towards the Wyrmfoe as she checks their progress. She plows through the snow as if almost failing to notice it's there, raising vast flurries with her feet. Leaves-None's ears come up slightly in surprise from their running-ready cant at the addition of snow. There's a brief hitch in her pace but she certainly doesn't -stop- She does shift more towards the outside edge of her group, her senses sharp. Spirit maintains her watchful guarding position, while Leaps-From-Den bounds along enthusiastically, close behind Escapes.

As the garou progress along the trail the snow becomes thicker, though not thick enough to make the going difficult, especially for those who prefer the lupus form -- although Blackriver, safe in possession of the Fangly gift of dancing on ice, is perhaps the only one to actually be able to trot along with no additional effort. A few minutes more, and the garou come across a further puzzle; the trail of the spirit they've been hunting is broken by another trail, which goes left to right (or so their noses tell them) across it at right angles. This second trail is not just smellable, but visible, in the form of two deep parallel indentations in the snow.

Oncoming Storm halts as she scents the trail, slowly progressing until it becomes visible. She gestures for the others to halt, as well, and turns to those nearby with narrowed eyes, rumbling out a question. ~Does it scent of the Wyrm? It does not scent or look familiar, and I do not trust it.~ Blackriver pads a few feet closer to the tracks and sniffs at them. ~No Wyrm.~ She replies. Falcon's Wing ranges a bit to the other side of it, and reports, also, that it does not smell of the Wyrm. ~But trails sometimes don't.~ Lara waits, panting slightly. Fog-of-War, coming to a halt at the back of the group, perks his ears at the word 'Wyrm' and cranes his neck to squint at the new tracks.

Hunts-Wisely slows at the Wyrmfoe's signal, matching her pace as she approaches the trail. He growls at it as he draws close enough to look it over, shaking his head as it prove unfamiliar. Song-of-Luna's ears perk and push forward again, then flick to either side as she turns her head this way, and then that. Starts-the-Fire gets a brief ear-chomp, as he happens to be handy, though the gesture is more nervous than fond at the moment. Steel-Claws flops down on to her belly and yawns, looking bored at this halt in the hunt. Starts-the-Fire pulls to a sharp halt as the rest stop, head lifting and ears perking - though he abruptly gets that ear chomped. Rumbling a little, he jerks his head back to pull his ear free, and then gives his head a shake as he looks toward the winding tracks with interest, listening to the others.

Escapes raises a hand as she slides to a halt at the front of her group, responding to the Wyrmfoe's instruction, kicking a small spray of snow forward. Spirit looks puzzled as they come across the two trails. She nudges her muzzle into the air. Her ears flicker, looking across to the other Garou. Leaps-from-Den shrugs snow off his back and whiffs at the air, looking to the Fury Ahroun expectantly. Leaves-None comes to a restless stop when directed, ears raising to full attention. She circles tightly in place to sweep her eyes and hearing across the area warily. Escapes herself waits in a half-crouch, her eyes flicking either way down the grooved tracks, her ears pricked forward as she listens hard.

Oncoming Storm narrows her eyes, huffing irritably. ~Ragabash,~ she growls out, apparently including both. ~Scout ahead.~ To the others she indicates that the groups should range again, each of the flanking packs spreading a bit further to the sides while hers follows the trail most closely. Blackriver is happy to resume her steady trot behind Jacinta, eager for movement. Falcon's Wing obligingly fades from easy view and moves to check out the tracks, scentless and as quiet as he can be. Lara moves out a bit on Jacinta's flank, shifting to crinos for ease of movement. Fog-of-War moves closer to Blackriver as Falcon's Wing goes off ahead. He opens his muzzle, panting quietly, nervous despite himself.

Hunts-Wisely glares at the parallel tracks in undisguised irritation, his body language clearly saying he thinks there is something wrong about them. With one last glance in the direction of the Engling's trail he signals for his group to fan out, taking a flanking position farther to Jacinta's left side and keeping an eye out for anything unusual or alarming in that direction. Song-of-Luna takes up the trot again as they begin to move, following the directions to fan out, though she's keeping a weather eye/ear on her cub. Steel-Claws grumbles to herself, then follows the instructions of her pack Alpha. Starts-the-Fire follows instruction easily enough, trotting after the others, though his posture has gotten a little more tense since they stopped.

In Escapes' group, Spirit listens carefully to the wyrmfoe's orders and staggers along behind with the rest of her free-formed pack. Leaps-from-Den drops to lupus and keeps moving in formation with his pack. Leaves-None's head swivels around as her auspice is named and rumbles assent, moving away from the group as the Wyrmfoe orders. While perhaps not as adept as the other newmoon, she puts her skills and gifts to work to check out the tracks opposite him. Escapes, having changed direction and alignment in line with orders, continues at her steady rate, ploughing her way through the snow.

As the garou follow the new tracks, they note that the lines stay a consistent distance apart, and head in a generally straight line, though they weave around trees and obstacles. The odd scent strengthens as they follow along.

Oncoming Storm keeps her pace even, exploring the scents and tracks for signs that will tell her what they face. She lifts her nose, once, ears twitching as she scents about for specific spirits as she waits for more information from the no moons. Blackriver is clearly somewhat uneasy about the scent, and she eases her pace a little to take careful, some would say almost paranoid, stock of her surroundings, periodically testing the trail for Wyrm scent. Falcon's Wing, also uneasy, at one point sneezes at the scent, thus betraying his position quite nicely. He is otherwise silent, ears flickering to listen closely for cues, also occasionally testing for Wyrm. Lara merely forges her way forward, tail waving in the breeze. Fog-of-War continues to stick close to Blackriver. His ears twitch this way and that, and he finds himself constantly looking around and upward.

Hunts-Wisely continues to keep his position off the Wyrmfoe's left side, trusting her group to follow the trail while he keeps a watch for danger. He growls as they continue to run, ~Too small for a car. Like a sled, without dogs. Or skis. Who has skis in the umbra?~ Song-of-Luna trudges along at a brisk pace, those two-short extra legs of her bobbing uncomfortably along her sides. She pays them little heed--she's eager, and the more they run, the more eager she seems to get. Her tongue is lolling out of one side of her mouth. Steel-Claws just looks bored, following along and waiting for something he can hit. Starts-the-Fire allows his jaws to part and his tongue to loll out as he pants, his attention perked on just about everything as he moves along.

Escapes' ears prick, and she growls, audible enough for everyone ~I can hear bells~. She seems almost surprised. Leaps-from-Den wonders if these tracks make anyone else think of the Weaver. Meanwhile, Leaves-None continues on her forward search, tracking the scent more easily as it gets stronger. She alternates between holding her nose low agains the snow and craning her head about warily like a radar tower for odd sounds against the muffling snow. Spirit, the Fianna looks on ahead with a scowl across her muzzle. She continues to follow the party, although lags behind just a tad. Escapes frowns at Leaps, without dropping her pace. ~What is weavercrap doing here?~

Those of the garou present who were raised homid and in a Western socirty may be starting to jump to conclusions. If they are, the conclusions are soon confirmed. Because in another couple of minutes, the source of the trail becomes clear. It appears to be a kind of wooden sleigh or troika, sitting there amid the umbral trees. It lacks the traditional flying reindeer towing it, but sitting on it there is a large figure, in the shape of a human (or thereabouts), clad all in red.

Oncoming Storm slows and then stops when the sleigh comes into view, and a growl builds in her throat. She looks to where the Ragabash have gone, waiting for a report. She looks to the leaders of the flanking groups, silently signaling them to wait as well. Falcon's Wing doesn't actually stop and stare, but he does report, ~It's... not Wyrmy.~ Lara actually does stop and stare. Blackriver's ears slick back as she spies what appears to be a human in the umbra. ~No Wyrm.~ She rumbles to Oncoming Storm in a mirror of Derrick's report. Fog-of-War screws his eyes up with squinting, then opens them wide, then wrinkles his muzzle in a rather ruffled, irritated kind of way.

Hunts-Wisely's body posture conveys both surprise and further irritation at the appearance of the red-clad figure. He seems glad to stop at the Wyrmfoe's order, baring his teeth in the direction of the sleigh. This is all wrong. Song-of-Luna cheerfully provides the verbal explanation (or what she thinks it is), and she does it with glee, though she doesn't step forward, nor does she say it overloud. ~Santa!~ Steel-Claws steps in front of Son-Of-Luna, looking down at the Metis and grunting. Song-of-Luna seems faintly cowed by that, as her ears flick back, but she can't help but add, ~Well, it is.~ When the sleigh comes to view, Starts-the-Fire looks both startled and irritated, muzzle crinkling a little in confusion. Those gathered in his group get a restless glance as the cub pulls to a halt, and he rumbles uneasily to himself.

Escapes takes a couple of steps forward, dropping into a crouch, ready to launch an attack at the figure at the slightest word from the Wyrmfoe. Leaps-from-Den snorts and briefly lets his tongue loll out in amusement, then snaps back to attention, eyeing the apparition suspiciously. He is only a cub, but he has heard of weaver spirits. Spirit dips her head, looking around the others to see what is to be seen in front of them. Her ears perk up. ~What is ahead?~ she growls at the other members of her pack. Escapes looks back over her shoulder. ~Father Christmas~ she growls back. Leaves-None pauses in mid-step and tilts her head to one side in silent inquisitiveness at the sight before her. Then she lowers her lupus body as low as she can in the snow and slinks slowly forward in a wide angle of approach to investigate further.

The red-clad figure turns to face the garou. Its face is old beyond imagining and yet somehow young. ~And what have we here?~ it says in perfectly comprehensible Mother's Tongue, or what seems to be such to the garou. ~Have we been good garou this year who deserve presents? Or bad, naughty ones who deserve something else?~

Falcon's Wing also fades into the snow and starts fanning out, in the opposite direction as Masao, to see what he can find. He quite thoroughly ignores Santa.

Leaves-None's ears pin back briefly in surprise at the figure but continues to move in her small arc, heading for the front of the conveyance at least. She, too, opts to not answer the Santa-like presence for the now.

Lara says flatly, ~I don't believe in you.~

The figure either doesn't see, or chooses to ignore, the two ragabash who are keeping a low profile. To Lara, however, he retorts, ~And I don't believe in you.~ And in that instant, Lara is gone. Vanished. Blinked out of existence.

~...Or maybe I do,~ he adds, and Lara flicks back into existence once more.

Oncoming Storm growls and takes a step forward, her hackles rising. Uncertainty laces her posture, this threat not one with which she is familiar. ~What is your purpose, here?~ Blackriver flattens herself against the ground as Lara vanishes, only somewhat mollified when the Uktena reappears. She glances over Jacinta as well, clearly expecting (or hoping) that the Ahroun has a better grasp on the situation than she does. Falcon's Wing continues looking for other threats. This may not be a winning proposition. Lara, meanwhile, doesn't seem aware that she's been gone, and merely looks confused at Jacinta's uncertainty. Fog-of-War is standing dead still right now, a statue covered in pale fur, motionless but for his head, which twitches as he looks at Lara, then "Santa" and back again.

Santa is not his to deal with and Hunts-Wisely makes this clear. He signals to his impromptu pack to stay alert and perks his ears, turning slowly to see if elves (or anything else) are preparing to make a sneak attack from the rear. Steel-Claws's ears lay back and her hackles lift, as she growls low and loud. Song-of-Luna seems thoroughly confused by this most recent occurrence, and now, far from eagerness, she seems considerably wary, both by Santa himself as well as her fellow Garou. Her ears flatten entirely against her head. Starts-the-Fire bares his teeth in surprise and unease as Lara disappears, his ears falling flat. He eases only slightly when she reappears, and he looks briefly and uncertainly between his groupmates before turning his attention back to 'Santa'.

Escapes remains frozen in tableaux, eyes fixed now on Santa, posed ready to attack. She tenses when Lara disappears, and doesn't really relax when she reappears. Leaps-from-Den fights the impulse to respond to the strange spirit's question, keeping his expression neutral. When he sees the Uktena vanish and reappear, his tail starts to droop and his ears pull back for half a second, then he regains control of himself. The Fianna, Spirit, looks horror-stricken as the figure before her makes the Uktena disappear and reappear. She freezes in her place and watches the wyrmfoe's pack respond. Leaves-None, with her attention captured by circling the sleigh, utterly misses the visual exchange. She sniffs around the stationary object and inspects it from a distance first, attention flicking up at the red figure cautiously.

~I already told you that,~ the figure says to the Wyrmfoe with just a hint of annoyance. ~Have you been naughty... or nice?~ Its eyes look from one garou to another, and they seem to glow... and in that moment, each garou finds him or herself compulsively reviewing the past year, its deeds, misdeeds, glories, triumphs and despairs. It's like watching a speeded-up movie being played on the viewer's own eyeballs. The experience lasts about ten seconds, and then ceases with a flash of the last moot and revel which brought the garou here. ~I see,~ says the figure then, nodding sagely. ~Very well. Line up, all of you. The youngest first, of course... the cubs.~ It gestures to the open patch of snow in front of the troika.

Oncoming Storm takes another forward step, hackles fully lifted. ~We do not know you,~ she growls. It's clear from her posture that the Wendigo is confused by this situation, the moon bringing with it an itch to battle, but something gives her pause. Falcon's Wing, off in the wilderness, does not line up. And Lara? Lara stares at him, nostrils flaring. And then she says, ~I said. I don't believe in you. No.~ Blackriver tenses, clawing at the snow as she's given an unwelcomed year in review. When it's done, she looks back between the figure in the sleigh and Jacinta, fur bristling in annoyance. Fog-of-War lays his ears back and bristles with suspicion. His gaze cuts sideways to Blackriver, looking to the older Fang for guidance.

Hunts-Wisely, to most appearances, is completely ignoring the red-clad figure. He /does/ keep an ear pointed in that direction and his hackles are constantly raised but most of his attention seems to be focused on scanning the area to their left and rear. Song-of-Luna's year has not been the greatest of experiences, and the sudden review invokes a startled yelp and a series of whimpers from her. Even when it ends, she's left trembling, her tail tucking low against one leg. ~I don't want you to hurt my cub.~ Steel-Claws gives her head a shake and then snarls, posture stiff as she takes several stiff steps towards the red-clad figure. Starts-the-Fire bristles noticeably, hackles raising and lips peeling back from his teeth. He gives his head a rough shake after the visions clear, and he takes one step forward, but it's only to go closer to Luna, and a growl starts up in his chest.

Escapes seems taken aback by the sudden flood of pictures. At the demand for the cubs to be presented, she gives a low, defiant, negative growl. Leaves-None shakes her head vigorously at the imagery, at first unable to suppress a small whine at the speed of it all. When it ceases she backs up from the sleigh with her gaze riveted on 'Santa', hackles raised and forcing herself not to growl. Leaps-from-Den shakes his head after the review is finished, then displays surprise mixed with suspicion. The Litany says the greatest in station get the first share. ~Is it a manifestation?~ asks the Fianna Theurge. Then, she has the visions of her past and gives a whine of distress. Once the vision clears, she shakes herself and looks annoyed.

~I am not garou,~ the red-clad one points out, ~and am not bound by your litany. But very well. In that case... perhaps you would split into two groups. Those of you who believe in me, over by that tree.~ He points. ~And those who do not... over by that one.~ The other hand points. And as the fingers point, the garou find their feet moving, as though of their own accord, towards one gathering spot or the other.

Falcon's Wing trails out of the woods, looking confused.

Lara, meanwhile, grits her teeth. And somehow, she manages to stay stock still.

Leaps-from-Den is being led to the non-believers, looking down at his paws with a drooping tail and ears pulled back, an unhappy whine escaping his throat.

Blackriver's paws start to move her towards the believers group. She lets out a low growl and tries to fight the movement, resulting in an amusing and awkward little dance in the snow.

Song-of-Luna does not, does not, does /not/ like her feet moving on their own, though her hindquarters seem to be dragging her toward the 'believers' tree. That's not likely to shock anyone, really. This soon after the year-in-review, however, has her whimpering and trying to stop herself unsuccessfully.

Hunts-Wisely involuntarily turns to face the spirit and takes a few steps forward before baring his teeth and forcing himself to a halt. He glares up at the spirit and, finally, addresses it, ~You exist, you are here. But your question is too broad. Be more specific in your demands if you want a proper answer. This is not a two choice world, spirit.~

Leaves-None makes a noise in her throat that's not quite a growl and yet not quite a whine but is full of uncertainty. It takes a bit before her paws move and then, at first, they sketch a sort of shaky circle path before straightening out. The compulsion finds her at the Believers Tree with ears and tail sagging.

Escapes remains frozen in her ready-to-attack pose, and growls warningly, the claws on her hands digging into the snow as she battles to resist the compulsion.

Falcon's Wing, as if dragged, heads toward the believing group, snarling, ~You're not askin' /what/ that means to me. Because it isn't /manger scenes/.~

Fog-of-War resists the urge to move, crouching down and digging his claws into the cold, snowy ground. ~I believe what's in front of my eyes,~ the cub says stubbornly, still bristling. ~But it was my /mother/ putting gifts under the tree each year.~

Spirit just saw the Uktena disappear. She clearly looks as through she isn't about to be the next one to disappear. ~Seeing is believing, faith is blind.~ she growls and seems to edge herself towards the believer's line, although not really looking like she is in an actual line.

Starts-the-Fire finds his feet stirred forward toward the non-believer's tree, and this causes some concern - especially when he notices Luna is going in the opposite direction. He /snarls/, all froth and temper, shaking his head roughly. He /digs/ in his claws, and tries to head over toward the believer's tree, though his success is somewhat limited.

Oncoming Storm turns a small circle as the others all find one tree or another. She growls, low, and stares first at her paws and then up at the creature in the sleigh. ~What are you?~ she asks, the growl growing deeper and firmer, a glint in her eye as anger begins to override caution and curiosity.

The red-clothed one looks at the group that is fighting categorisation. ~Why are you scared to decide? You are garou. You are brave... or supposed to be. If you fear to offend me, I promise you I will not be offended if you tell me you do not believe in me... though I may be saddened. You will not be hurt for disbelieving.~

Oncoming Storm's growl rises again, and she takes a step toward the apparition. ~We will not be made to fall into your boxes.~

Lara snorts. ~I don't care if you're offended or not,~ she says, barely managing to stay in place. ~I just don't want to be /forced/ into /anything/.~

~Define yourself!~ Hunts-Wisely growls, ~What /you/ are you talking about!? You in front of me or you who humans tell stories of!?~ Steel-Claws growls in increased anger as she is dragged towards the non-believer's group, growling and struggling towards the red-clad figure as she goes.

As if moving through thick custard, Escapes' feet slowly, unwillingly, drag her over toward the "Believers" group. ~But only sort of~ she growls, as if she's losing coolness points by the second.

Blackriver notices that Sewall's still unsorted. And hey, that's /her/ cub left standing there. She lets out a soft growl and tries to claw her way back to the Ahroun.

Song-of-Luna leans one shoulder against the 'believer's' tree, but she immediately looks around for Cael, nostrils flaring. Huff.

Leaves-None looks at the others at the tree with her and lifts her ears slightly at seeing she's not alone. She doesn't look any less uneasy, though.

Starts-the-Fire gives up trying to go over to the other tree, and paces restlessly, the growling and snarling never relenting. ~If you were real you'd be able to tell where we should go instead of forcing us!~ he finally snarls. Frothfroth.

Fog-of-War abruptly shakes his head, angry and disgusted. ~Fine, you're a fake, then, and I call you a fake.~ He's too well-bred to make a rude gesture, though his tone's rude enough. And he stomps over to the non-believers' side defiantly. ~You're no different from the peons dressing up in the--~ He hesitates. No word in his Mother's Tongue vocabulary for "mall". ~--for money!~

Spirit remains firmly in the believer's group, although she is also attentive and worrisome about the outcome of this situation. The Theurge also looks towards Cael with disappointment.

Falcon's Wing flops down on the ground once he gets to the tree and looks glum.

~My boxes?~ the spirit says to the Wyrmfoe, looking at the wrapped parcels on the sleigh for a moment. ~Ah. My categories. But you see, sometimes you must choose. Sometimes there is only white or black, up or down, yes or... no. And the fact that you speak to me, and argue with me... and attack me,~ it adds, as Laora struggles towards it in an evident effort to do so, ~suggest that you do believe in me. On some level.~ The Yuletide spirit turns to the non-believers. ~I promised you no harm would come to you. And it will not. Your bawn is safe for now. Go back to your realm and think about the magic that is missing from your lives.~ The spirit gestures, and the non-believers are gone in an eyeblink. ~Which leaves you, the believers,~ the spirit continues. ~Some of you believe in me on a level that shows the innocent child inside you remains alive. Some are lupus born, and will retain their view of the world through the wolf's eyes, that trusts the evidence of its eyes and does not try to rationalise everything away. Some believe, but see me as a possible threat to your bawn; in which you are misguided, but still, your bravery does you credit. And so to all of you who remain here with me,~ the spirit concludes, ~I give you a gift. A gift from the Wyld which created me, long before the Weaver tried to twist me out of shape, or the Wyrm used me to wreak corruption in my name. Go in peace and safety. But... do not forget me.~ And with that the believers, too, blink out of existence in the Umbra, and find themselves at the caern stone in the realm, reunited with the unbelievers.

Leaps-from-Den does not seem frightened once he has returned to the Caern, but he is unhappy. His heart belongs to the Mother and Great Fenris, not the spirit of the human theurges.

Once the revelers find themselves back at the caern stone, Oncoming Storm growls frustration and circles once more, gathering any who would still follow to go after the engling that still runs the bawn.

Song-of-Luna is certainly willing to continue the engling hunt, but this time she does so with a bag around her neck. Squee.

Hunts-Wisely is there as well. With a bag around his neck. Growl.

Spirit is a bit gleeful with the turn-out, unlike the rest. Weird Theurge.

The spirit is soon tracked down by the Wyrmfoe and her cohorts, and despatched with summary vigor. It's odd how the garou seem able to vanquish it with ease. Almost as though the first encounter of the night lent them some extra oomph, or skill, or just plain luck.

Fog-of-War is, if anything, even more eager to hunt. He's almost as pissed-off as the Wyrmfoe.

Starts-the-Fire is restless, growling and huffy. This one /will/ go. He's ...not pleased.

Leaves-None's head cants to listen to the spirit, ears gradually lifting as nothing ill happens. In fact, when she finds herself back in the caern, she actually yips and bounds to her feet to outright -scamper- around the caern stone. The bag around her neck thumps as she jumps and then joins the Engling hunt.


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