It had been wet, now it's just dark. The day's earlier rains have given way to a cool, cloudy, dark night with enough wind that keep it from being as still as a ghost. It's a tad creepy, the creaking of the tree trunks, and the rustling of cedar needles. There's a fire going here, which though small, casts light for what feels like a country mile. There, sitting by the boulder, is the Uktena in crinos, working on carving something. Her spear leans against the boulder, while a satchel sits nearby, full of... something.

Wolves are not known for being able to mutter, but something about the small one pushing through the darkness between tree trunks definitely suggests it. He brightens at the sight of the fire, and trots toward it a bit more quickly; the current state of his fur suggests he was probably out somewhere during those rains, and the warmth is extremely enticing. Evening!

Little Silvertip looks up when the Gnawer breaks into a trot, smoothly dropping the knife and begining to reach for the spear behind her. Once in hand, she hefts it without getting up from her spot. ~Who the hell are you?~ She rumbles.

<OOC> Little Silvertip says "Sense wyrm."

<OOC> Lets-Them-Eat-Cake says "None! :) Well, none I know of, anyway."

The little wolf stops short, posture alert but nonthreatening, although there's a very brief flick of the ears low to the sides before they shift back to a more perked position. Lets-Them-Eat-Cake. Who are you?

Little Silvertip flips the spear around in her hand, putting it right back from where she came without ever having really got worked up. ~Little Silvertip Mauls the Horned Serpent.~ She replies, fairly simply. ~Watch out for Bogarth.~ She admonishes, while retreving the knife.

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake relaxes a bit at the return introduction, and starts to approach again. At the admonition, he tilts his head, then glances around while walking as if he might have missed someone or something in the clearing. Bogarth?

Little Silvertip shaves a bit off the stick with sharp strokes, like trying to hit the Gnawer with the shavings. ~Little imp like creature. Half my height in homid. Horrible little thing.~ She says, grunting a bit with each stroke of the knife. ~WHO I KNOW IS LISTENING.~ She says, louder.

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake edges around the fire to put it more between him and the flying shavings, although if there are any large enough to have been an issue that may well just mean he'll encounter burning shavings instead. Which is probably not an improvment. He settles onto his haunches, then, and looks around again, more slowly, in case he's missed some indication of this Bogarth hiding... somewhere. It speaks the tongue? Why is it bothering you?

Little Silvertip flick. Flick. Flick. Silvertip continues on her way. There's no sign of the aformentioned creature anywhere. ~It is in its nature to be a little shit. It's a Fetiling. Imagine a Gremlin, but even worse smelling. It probably doesn't understand you. Doesn't have enough brains to find its way out of a box.~ The rather small crinos continues on her task for a moment, before looking up at the Gnawer. ~Why are you? I don't think I've seen you out here.~

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake moves to all fours again, giving a good full-body stretch, and as he settles back down, shifts up to Crinos as well. He leans back on his hands a bit, watching the Uktena more easily across the flames now. ~Well, specifically I'm botherin' you because you have a fire and I was getting mighty cold,~ he answers, ~but as for bein' out here, been tryin' to be more. Although not exactly HERE here. I was helping with Groundskeepin' stuff again and then found a rabbit to chase.~ He hesitates, then admits, ~An' possibly forgot which just way was back from where I ended up. For a bit.~

Little Silvertip shaves at the wood for a few more minutes, before letting out a soft snort. ~If you went any further north, we'd start calling you Speed-Bump or Road-Kill. Caern is off in the moon's beams right now, follow them, and it'll get you close enough.~ She huffs, setting the knife and wood figure aside. ~Song of Vengance... her heart means well. But she understands the spiritual world as well as a baby understands how to sew a parka.~

The names get a little snort from the Gnawer, as well, though it seems like an amused one. ~Could update one of my cubnames and go with Dies-Thrice,~ he says, ~Would deserve it if I can't notice that road before I'm on it.~ He looks in the direction of the moon's beams, and nods. ~Thank you. Wasn't originally plannin' to stay out here this far into the night. So, why do you say that? Askin' as someone who prolly understands it about as well as a baby understands how to sew a tuxedo. The ruffled kind. But I'm tryin'.~

~She told me... lots of pride, she told me that the bawn was good for spirits, and it was swarming with them.~ She picks up a bit of wood shaving and throws it into the fire. ~'They know this is a pretty safe spot.' She told me. There are at least four major misunderstandings there. You help her, but... do either of you understand?~

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake tilts his head again, considering. ~No,~ he decides, ~Most likely not. Speakin' for me. If you're inclined to tell me, though, I'm inclined to listen.~ He looks as though he may be trying to work out what the misunderstandings may be on his own, anyway, but it's probably fairly clear some if not all don't click as obvious to him.

Little Silvertip huffs, giving her head a solid toss. ~Spirits aren't one thing. Take the little bastard skulking around us. Fetilings? They're not Gaian. Many spirits you see in the spirit lands aren't. They aren't bound by the pact, and do not care about what happens to the grandmother. They don't care how natural the bawn is, they're more interested if you shit in someone's cooking pot, or warn others of a fire in the middle of the night. Others couldn't care that she thinks this is a 'safe place' for them - which it's not. So many naturae, and it's like saying deer are safe on the bawn - they'll start fighting amongst themselves, preying on eachother. You can't make the bawn great for Helios's children and deep shadows. Unicorns don't like Wolverine. I could go on.~

The Gnawer actually looks rather pleased at some of that. ~I was thinking, I've been a few places, not countin' caerns, that had what I'd call a lot of spirits. But in the city, more spiders; at my old Sept we would have to clear out webs at the places we were able to keep more Wyld. An' there was a particular buildin' just swarming with banes before it got dealt with. There's others that don't belong to any of the Triat?~ He shifts position a bit, not good at staying particularly still for long. ~I've seen a cat spirit chasing a mouse spirit. Not here, but in the city. Can't say the mouse looked like it felt real safe at the time, though. So that makes sense.~

Little Silvertip hesitates a moment, before letting out a huff. ~It's not a predator-prey thing. I used a bad example.~ She pauses a moment to think. ~Mouse and cat... those two... that's a sacred relationship. It's when their spiritual essences are opposed. You can't have a hot cold thing. And you can't please both a spirit of unbridled war and a spirit of peace and reconciliation at the same time. And that's not even touching how everyone seems to think we should listen to what the 'spirits are saying.' A lot of them are idiots. The ones who aren't tend to be alien to our hopes and needs.~

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake nods to the further explanation, looking thoughtful, although the bit about the mental capabilities of many spirits gets the Crinos equivalent of a grin. ~So you can't ever make it hospitable to all spirits, since if you make it... I dunno, let's say full of water, fire spirits probably won't be lining up to visit. But you could do things to make it nicer for whatever types of spirits generally do like the place, couldn't you? I mean, even if they ain't the sharpest knives in the drawer, don't we still want 'em around an' happy?~

~Some of them.~ Silvertip says, flicking a bit more in the fire. ~Others, we don't care as much about. This is what the Groundskeeper can be - keeping the /right/ spirits happy.~ She pauses, like she hears something off in the distance. The Uktena rises for a moment, staring off into the woods, nose twitching. False alarm, apparently, because slowly, the petite crinos settles back down. ~Complaints of the old. That's all it is.~

~Decidin' whether it's the water or fire spirits you really want, more or less?~ Cake glances in the direction the Athro looks, and then briefly around them, before Silvertip settles again. ~Seems to me like the sorta thing you'd want the Theurges decidin', which ones are the right spirits. Advisin', or whatever that'd be.~

~It's a sept leadership decision. And it has as much to do with the caern totem... totems, for us...~ Little Silvertip groans as she settles back down. ~I need to get the little bastard back here for binding before tonight's over. I need to have everything ready for tomorrow. Do you need any more help getting back to the Caern?~

Lets-Them-Eat-Cake glances toward the moon's beams again, and starts getting to his feet, shaking his head. ~I think I got it from here, now. Thank you. And for the talk. What's tomorrow, and is there something I could do to help, aside from gettin' out of the way?~

Little Silvertip shakes her head in the very homid style, though manages to make it look very alien indeed. ~Ask me in a couple of days.~ She reports simply. ~The trees have ears.~

~Will do,~ Cake replies, and shakes out his fur again before melting back down to lupus again. Good night! Another quick look around for any imps that might be in evidence, and then he's off, rather faster than is probably wise given the darkness of the night once one gets out of the clearing. But at least he's going in the right direction.

On the way back, a steaming pile of something terrible wizzes by his head. Should Felix look about for the source, no devilish creatures are in the offering.