The day has warmed up as it moves towards noon, although not much. But enough that Trace is in the caern, currently shirtless and working through a series of forms drawn from various martial arts. He's going at it slowly, rather than pushing it, and his full concentration isn't on what he's doing either-- the Walker ahroun is still alert and paying more attention to his surroundings than the exercise. Whether it's doing much for the tension of the full moon is hard to tell. His jacket and shirt form a small pile next to one of the logs near the firepit, the fire of which is currently well built up.

There's probably been quite a lot of the sounds of people moving through the area over the last week or so, with so much of the Sept currently living in the caern and bawn. There probably hasn't been quite as much singing, though, and it certainly hasn't been in Felix's voice, as it is this time. "--tired and lonely, she sees me to bed. What set you free--" He breaks off as he steps far enough into the caern area to see the Ahroun, flashing him a grin and calling, "Yo, T!" He has, it seems, a fair-sized bag along with him.

Trace grins momentarily, going from mid-roundhouse kick at whatever invisible point to a jump that has him landing with both feet together at about the time Felix is coming into view. "Hola Felix," is offered, with a hint of a grin hidden somewhere underneath all the tension as Trace moves over to grab a small towel from the pile of stuff on top of his shirt. "How's it going?"

"Ain't too bad, considerin'," Felix replies brightly; the moon's pull doesn't seem to be having an obvious effect on his mood, today, though it's perhaps evident in the way his inner energy seems in even more danger than usual of spilling out in quantity. "How's with you? Heard I missed all the fun. ...most of it, anyhow."

There's a snort. "Oh yeah. You missed things going to shit faster than a new version of anything by Microsoft needing to be patched," Trace says, shaking his head. "We were damn lucky no one of ours got killed. I'm alright though." The ahroun seems disappointed at the next part that he adds, "Not even a scratch."

Felix quirks a brow. "What, didja want one?" he asks, "I always figured the idea was to fuck the other guy up as bad as you can while gettin' fucked up the least you can. Don't worry, I reckon there'll be scratches sooner or later. Took me a couple days to heal up after they dropped in on the moot." He unslings the bag from his shoulder and sets it on the ground, unzipping it and coming up with a couple beers, one of which he offers over.

Trace reaches over and grabs the beer before taking a seat on the log, and then lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "Doesn't quite feel like a real fight if I don't get hurt though," he retorts, albeit not quite seriously. His expression is rather feral and the tone of his voice is nearly ice when he continues, "I still kind of want to go back over that way and pick off any of their outliers that are wandering into our Bawn, but I'm not dumb enough to go do so by myself." There's a long swig of the beer, and a shrug. "I'm sure I'll get a chance one way or the other."

Having been carried in the bag for a while, the beer's undergone a bit of shaking, and needs some immediate attention once opened to prevent overflowing, or to be held away a bit to let it get on with it. Felix is quite happy to go with the former for his, and practiced enough he doesn't seem to give it much thought. "Well, next time if it's lookin' like you're comin' out unscathed we'll make sure someone scratches your neck or somethin'," he assures, with another grin, and steps up onto one of the logs, walking along it while he drinks. "Sounds like fun, though. Maybe we can get some people together an' get to that."

There's a bit of a nod. "/Tenemos un plan/," Trace says to Felix, a little bit amused. "It's a huge bawn." There's a grumble, tinged with anger as well. "Doesn't make this whole 'keeping them off it' thing exactly easy."

"It is fuckin' massive," Felix agrees, continuing along his log until he reaches the end, then making the jump to the next one. It's probably not quite as elegant a landing as he intended, but the wobble is slight and moves right into continuing along this log as well. "But none of 'em've shown any closer since then, huh? J said it's been quiet too."

Trace leans his elbows on his knees in between sips of beer, and watches both Felix and the fire. "Not that I've run into and I've been out there a helluva lot overall," comes the affirmation, "and the mage cat said similar several times as well." He shakes his head. "So instead we sit and wait and Gaia only knows what they're up to."

Felix reaches the end of the log and changes direction, walking backward across the log the way he came while he drinks. "Fuckin' hate waitin'," he sighs, shaking his head. "Reckon it's fair to assume they're plannin' to head here, seein' as the cat was right about Edgewood an' even if he weren't, it ain't a big stretch, but when an' what've they got planned for it? Rather not be goin' into the fight on their terms if we can avoid it." Slight pause. "Obviously."

The ahroun's grip, for a moment, slightly dents the can, though not so much that he can't drink from it or that it spills over, and Trace lets out a long, slow breath. "Something like that, /si/," he agrees. "Nearly walking into their trap once was too much as it is, and I still want to know what the actual fuck Samantha and Watcher were doing anywhere NEAR Edgewood."

Felix is quiet for the space of about three backward steps before he replies, "Watcher was comin' back along the bawn from down south in the park. 's where his pups are. Samantha, I got no idea. Ain't run into her yet."

Trace nods after a moment. "Neither have I," Trace says, "though I think Thane talked to her though, so I'm sure it's been covered." He shakes his head and shrugs, finishing off the beer in one long swig before reaching over to the pile of his stuff for the pack of cigarettes, which is offered to the Gnawer after Trace has retrieved one. "I keep wondering whether the fact that we abandoned Edgewood-- because the mage cat said something was going to happen-- spurred the attack that was launched. Self-fulfilling..." And then Trace grumbles, muttering to himself for a minute before giving up on finding the word, "whatever that thing is. /Vaticinio/."

"Prophecy?" Felix suggests, and glances at the proffered cigarettes, then (as one might have expected) wanders over to accept one. "Thanks," he says, finishing off his drink as well and dropping it into the still-half-unzipped bag he brought. "...I dunno. I reckon they woulda anyhow. Ain't like leavin' the place made 'em MORE aware of it existin'. Or made it a better target, really."

"Prophecy, yes," Trace agrees with the offered word, screwing his eyes shut for a moment and shaking his head-- vigourously-- before opening them again. "Made it easier to take over and wait for us, though," he says. "If I was considering targets, I'd choose the one that doesn't have a high cost of entry before the one that does, like here." The pack of cigarettes is dropped back on his stuff, and the Walker grumbles. "It's a strategic location, so yeah they probably would have gone for it either way, but still."

Felix shrugs, stepping up onto another of the logs. "But it would've been a waste of time an' energy an' bodies if we hadn't shown up, an' from what I heard it don't sound like the =ambushin'= part of things really worked out so hot for 'em anyhow. If we'd still been there, they woulda been showin' up while folks were sleepin', or showerin', or shittin', or eatin' lunch. I dunno, I just don't reckon us not bein' there really helped 'em out any."

Trace leans back a bit, though he's still leaning his elbows onto his knees. "Whatever they try next won't work out so well for them either," Trace agrees. "We'll be ready." He rolls his eyes after that. "I do miss the damn shower, though. Haven't had more than just a quick dip in a stream since shit went down."

"I miss the shower too," Felix says dryly, despite the fact that =he= seems just as un-Gnawer-stereotypically fresh and clean as usual, "Smelled J today?" He grins, shaking his head. "Quick dips ain't too bad, though, beat nothin' all hollow. Better'n wet wipes, too. Especially if you got a sponge or washcloth or somethin'."

Trace grins. "Nope, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to," he retorts to the question. "Haven't seen anyone else for more than a few minutes since I met Emma the other day, really." There's a shrug. "Spending a little less time in lupus when I don't absolutely need to be helps too. Sometimes," and Trace grins for real this time, a little more relaxed than he was earlier, "you don't /want/ to be able to smell more accurately."

That gets a bark of a laugh. "Ain't that the truth," Felix says, and eyes his cigarette consideringly as he exhales a breath of smoke. "Y'know, I never did find out whether smokin' pot in the caern's disrespectful or not," he muses, and glances to Trace when he looks up. "What'd you think of Emma? I only ever run into her once, yet."

Trace blows out smoke in a long plume up into the air, and closes his eyes for a moment. "If you ask me," he says, "I'd think it would depend upon whether you were smoking pot just to get high, or if there was thought and reason involved to it. But that's just me, and I don't make the rules here," he finishes, shaking his head momentarily. "I like her," Trace says, "I think. We talked about guns and claws a while, and ideals." Another shrug. "And I think that I could learn a lot from her, as well."

"Well, most often 'cause I'm a lot more fuckin' relaxed after," Felix says, shrugging as well, "Less inclined to rip off heads that maybe don't so much need rippin'. Generally speakin'. But just straight up gettin' high ain't bad neither." A quick grin, and he continues wandering along the logs, backward and forward, periodically jumping from one to the next. "Reckon you prolly could, from everythin' I heard she's damn good."

Trace nods a moment. "I'd ask some time the moon isn't quite so heavy," he notes. "Though I know the feeling. There's plenty of heads that /do/ deserve ripping off, no need to go for the others too." The tone of Trace's voice suggests that if he weren't currently sitting, there might be actions to his words. As it is, the ahroun tilts his head to one side and a few moments later ends up sitting, in lotus position, on the log. It looks like it should be a bit precarious, but somehow it isn't. "Yeah. I actually know her dad from back..." pause, "in L.A., decent guy, good theurge, helped me out more than once when I was young and stupid. He's still down there helping people get out."

"Yup," Felix agrees, and glances sidelong to the Ahroun, noting the tone. "You happen to wanna join me later, pretty sure it ain't a problem somewhere on the bawn." A slight pause, and just a hint of the wicked grin Trace has seen before, around the eyes and the corner of his mouth, "'s a BIG bawn." He stretches, still moving; the Walker has likely noticed he's generally fairly active, but he hasn't actually been still for more than a couple seconds in a row, today. "Her dad, huh? ...does he still outrank her?"

Trace sits up a little bit for a moment, and then furrows his brows, and finally after a long moment, ends up shaking his head and answering. "Nope," he says. "She's athro, he's adren, but from what she was saying it doesn't sound like that makes things awkward or anything between them." He considers Felix for a while, and then asks, "Do you ever sit still?" It seems to be teasing, though, at least.

"...maybe not awkward, but it's gotta be kinda weird. I'd feel weird if my kid outranked me. I mean, I guess proud of her an' all that shit, but. Weird." Felix laughs again at the question, eyes the log he's just stepped onto, and does a cartwheel along it, cigarette in his mouth and reclaimed smoothly by his hand during the landing. It's really quite a good cartwheel, objectively, though this does not necessarily make it all that much less silly than a bad one. "Buncha teachers an' shit in Memphis'd tell you no," he says, and does manage to stand more or less still for at least the length of, "Reckon they're closer to right this time of month. Some days're more squirrelly'n others." Another shrug, and he's walking again, but there's a grin, as well, "Couple things help for a while, I s'pose. Always bothered other folks more'n me."

Trace snickers and watches the cartwheel, then claps briefly at the conclusion of it. "If it works for you I'm not going to gainsay it," he points out. "Though I suppose some of those teachers did." The ahroun shrugs. "I suppose there's worse things than squirrels. I always got still when I'm thinking or anything. Had a teacher once poke me to see if I was alive, they thought I'd just keeled over and stopped breathing, when I was daydreaming." He shrugs, and ends up falling backwards off the log, although remaining in the lotus position for a long moment until he rights himself to standing. "And if I have to concentrate on sitting, and sitting still, I'm less likely to tear someone's head off. Or at least, it usually works."

Felix laughs, shaking his head. "Did you do that?" he asks teasingly, given the timing of Trace's fall. "Ain't never been a teacher didn't always know for sure I was alive. Even when they wished I wasn't. ADHD, they said." Another shrug. Whatever! "D'you do the lotus thing 'cause you hafta think about it more'n sittin' normally?"

Trace grins and laughs, and lifts his shoulders in the air. "Not /quite/," he says, "but I'd had my head down on my desk on one of the days I wasn't ditching class or something, and when they poked me I busted their jaw because they got too close," comes the rest of the explanation. Another shrug, and Trace sits back down, on the log, and back in lotus position after that. "Pretty much. It's not uncomfortable, either, at least not anymore. It was when I started with yoga and everything as a cub, though. But that bit of having to think about it more helps me to focus, and then that focus keeps the rage from eating me alive."

Felix laughs harder at that, nearly falling off the log. "Oh, shit, that's awesome," he says, "Did they chuck you out? I didn't hit any teachers, far's I recall." Which one would expect one would, surely. "...well, not after I was old enough to do 'em actual harm, anyhow. Reckon there was a few times when I was five or six."

Trace interlocks his fingers and stretches them out in front of him. "They didn't," he says, and tilts his head to one side. "But I dislocated the teacher's jaw and never had to go to that class again, and I got some kinda note on my record and had to go to court, too. And I was suspended for a week, which was kind of the best part." He grins. "Not like the in-house suspension for the next two weeks after that, which just sucked balls."

Felix grins broadly at that. "I never got suspensions," he says, then pauses, "I mean, I GOT them, I got a shit ton of 'em, I mean I don't understand 'em." He presses a hand to his chest, eyes wide, and puts on a startlingly believable 'innocent and alarmed': "Oh shit, I can't spend all day hanging out where I don't wanna be anyway? Please, Br'er Fox, don't throw me in that briar patch!" He drops it with a snort, shaking his head. "We didn't have in-school suspensions, though, just detention an' the normal kind."

Trace gives the galliard a suspicious look at the very first part of the sentence, and then grins. "In-house suspension was basically detention for the entire day instead of just after school or just one or two class lengths." He shrugs. "And you weren't allowed to go to recess or lunch or clubs or sports or any of the few things that were actually fun. I didn't mind the part where I didn't have to go to my classes, though." He grins. "They preferred that over out-of-school suspensions because I guess it 'kept us from getting in trouble'." Trace makes visible air quotes around the last part, and snorts.

"Well, it at least makes SENSE as a punishment," Felix says, "...but I would've just ditched it anyhow. ...an' got in trouble." Grin. "Heh, when I guess people started to sense the rage an' most of my old friends disappeared, the new set started out from detention. I don't think that's what they had in mind when they sent me there."

Trace snorts again, and grins. "Probably not, no," he agrees. "I mean, who ever thought it was a good idea to put all the troublemakers in one place in the first place?" He pauses, and ducks a nod. "Okay, so you get them all out of the way, and yet the potential for shit to happen increases by a power of ten."

Felix nods, hopping down off the log and actually sitting on it. "'s same as sendin' folks to juvie or prison, they make new friends an' learn useful shit for when they get back out. Just smaller scale, when you're just talkin' detention. ...I don't think they would've ever punished us for ditchin' if they could've got away with ignorin' it. Don't reckon they wanted most of us there any more'n we wanted to be there."

The ahroun shrugs. "Even community service was the same way," he says, "except that our parents were off to one side all bitching about how it took time out of their days." Trace shrugs. "My mother because she needed to work. Some of the other parents because they just couldn't be bothered." He grins. "It gave me an appreciation for the many many uses of paint thinner."

That gets another laugh. "Had you removin' graffiti?" Felix guesses, "Man, makin' folks' folks be there... that wouldn't've gone over well. I wonder if anyone would've turned up?" He rolls his shoulders back and slightly toward each other and then is on his feet again, finishing off the little that remains of the cigarette.

"It was either community service or juvie," Trace says, shrugging his shoulders, "but /sí/. None of the parents were very happy about it. My mother went on and on for months." He shrugs, apparently not very bothered by this, or at least no more bothered than the phase of the moon already has him. "I sure as hell wouldn't have turned up if someone hadn't been making me, though." The ahroun slowly unfolds from lotus position and stretches his arms out above his neck.

Felix snorts. "Yeah, me neither. Reckon that woulda meant the juvie option next time they got hold of me though." A shrug from him as well, and he looks briefly as if he's going to say something else, but doesn't, taking the last drag off the cigarette as if he had a personal grudge against it and pinching the remainder out similarly. It's the closest to the surface his rage has seemed today, and he pauses his walk along one of the logs to glance toward the sky, shoulders rolling back again. "Anyhow."

Trace gets up to pick up a piece of wood, carrying it back over to the fire once he's done so. "You brought lunch with you, right?" he asks, grinning. "And yeah. All that shit seems like forever ago, anyway, and more and more so by the day. Everything before my first change... it was a different life." He shrugs. "If someone would have told me then, that I was a werewolf and would be fighting bad guys for the forces of good, I'd have told them that they were nuts." Trace pauses. "Or high on a really bad acid trip."

"My mother told me the werewolf part of it," Felix says, taking a moment to watch the Wyld tree, "...accidentally, when I was 14 and she was plastered. Only time she ever mentioned it, an' she wouldn't talk about it after." He hops off the log again, this time heading for the bag, "...she didn't mention the fightin' for good part." He rummages briefly, and comes up with a fair-sized take-out style box, and then another; one gets offered over. If opened, there's a burger and fries from the truck stop diner in there. "Yeah, I brought lunch."

Trace grins widely at the box, and as he's opening it promptly offers to Felix, "You're the best." The praise is sincere, too. There's a nod that follows even as Trace is shoving some fries in his mouth, and talking around them for a bit. The butt of the cigarette gets shoved into one pocket for the time being. "I mean, I'll hunt if I have to and I'm not even usually that unhappy about doing so, but this is way, way better." Another pause, a few more fries, and Trace continues, "That must have been kind of odd at the time."

Felix hands over a beer, as well, and sits down on the log to start in on his own. The beer's probably better behaved this time, having had a rest. "Thank you, thank you, no applause please, just throw money. ...eh, who'm I kiddin', applause please. AND money." He grins, and has a good bite of his own burger. It's all fairly cold by now, but beggars, choosers, etc. "...yeah," he says after several seconds of chewing, with a small, crooked smile, "Kinda odd's one way to put it. Said I was just like my daddy." There's something about the way he says it, too light and precise on those last few words, faintly brittle. Another shrug, and he tilts his head back, tossing a fry upward to try to catch it in his mouth. It bounces off his nose, but he manages to catch the end with his teeth afterward and draw it in.

"If money and applause gets me burgers and fries and beer, I'm all for it," Trace points out, gesturing with the hand with the beer can in it before opening it. Which might not have been the wisest idea, waving the beer around, since it results in the beer threatening to spill over, though the Glass Walker takes care of that rather quickly by drinking it down, then setting it in the corner of the box while he goes for the burger. "Been thinking a lot," he says, "one of the things Thane was saying was he wants everyone to pack, given what's been going on and that we are at war."

"Money an' applause'll get you burgers an' fries an' beer a buncha places," Felix replies, much more his usual tones, "...hell, most of 'em don't even require the applause." He grins again, and opens his beer, having a fairly decent drink of it himself to ward off any residual ideas it might have about escaping. "...yeah? I didn't get that bit of news, yet," he says, and glances sidelong at the Walker. "So whatcha been thinkin' about it?"

Trace chuckles, and takes another bite of his burger. "Sure, but a bunch of places aren't here where I am now and for at least the short term of the future," he says, lifting one shoulder. "/Sí/," he affirms. "All garou who are not in an active pack to either join one or form one." The ahroun doesn't say anything for a long moment, leaning his elbow on his knee and humming slightly, not quite any one phrase of melody. "A lot, actually. You guys had mentioned me meeting your pack's totem, and all that. Have to say it sounds..." another pause. "Good." The quiet tones, though, suggest that that's not the end of the thoughts, although the Walker picks up his burger again and takes a bite, falling silent.

Felix tilts his head in acknowledgement of the lack of local sources for these delicacies, and continues partaking in them while the Ahroun talks. And hums, for that matter; the Galliard definitely pays attention to both, though. "Yeah? I reckon he'd like you." A small pause, and he adds, "We do." The shrug with that is fainter than most of the others, barely more than a twitch of the shoulders. He lets it be quiet for a fair part of Trace's bite, long enough to finish chewing and swallow his own, before he says, a touch more serious than usual, "I know I ain't specifically said, 'cause I reckon J can be pushy enough for alla us." A small smile there. "An' also 'cause I reckon packs mostly ain't a thing to rush, either side. But speakin' so far, anyway, I could see packin' with you." It's a simple statement of fact -- quite possibly an understatement of fact, but the lack of pressure is probably intentional.

Trace picks up his beer after he's done with the bite of the burger, listening as the Bone Gnawer talks. There are a few small nods, and his shoulders rise and fall before a small smile follows. "Yeah. That whole... not rushing thing is why I never got back to it before," he says, still quiet. "It'd be good, though. I could see it too, though it's taken me a bit to come about to the whole idea." He grins. "Especially given that I've butted heads with Justin half as much as I've hung out with him, but that's kind of par for the course when you stick a few ahrouns all in the same place."

Felix can't help grinning at that, as well. "Yeah, y'all're like that," he half-teases, "Good thing us Galliards're so chill." Probably not actually an adjective that has been frequently applied. But, y'know. Things are relative. He has another bite of burger, looking more or less pleased with the current state of Things. "We'll take you to meet Ohno! later," he says, and glances at the sky, this time more appraisingly, "...tonight, maybe, long as we ain't all on assigned patrols or somethin'."

Trace grins a little, fidgeting with a few of the french fries before eating them. "That would be awesome." He snorts quiet laughter, continuing, "Patrols are kind of what I do these days," he points out, grinning, "but I can definitely make time, and it's not really quite so much... assigned as such. Plus, the other side needs patrolling too, even if I don't do that as much in the run of things." The beer is picked up again, and there's a sidelong glance over towards the Gnawer, followed by a quiet, "/Gracias/."

"'s true. All the things need patrollin'. This side, that side..." Felix takes a sip of his beer and adds innocently, "It's a big bawn." The grin escapes again, then, and he aims to take another good bite of burger, pausing at that last addition to return the glance and ask, "...for which?"

Trace lets out a breath, and takes another drink of his beer, tipping it backwards. "Everything," he settles on after a moment of pause that the question gives him, and pauses a little bit longer before he continues. "Putting up with my crap, me, all that." The moment of seriousness passes quickly enough, followed by an easy grin. "I'm getting pretty fond of the view from on top of that boulder," he says. "It's a damn nice view, and you can see out for what's probably miles."

"Oh," Felix says, considering this for a breath, and then grins again, "Well, you're welcome." It sounds at least as sincere as it is teasing, though there's definitely some of each. He polishes off the last of his fries, washing them down with some of the beer. "Yeah, it ain't half bad. Plus that thing's kinda fun to climb."

"Yeah," Trace says. It's hard to tell what that's in response to, the first part or the second part, or possibly both of them. "I jumped off it a few times over the weekend too, that was pretty fun." He finishes off his burger, and his fries, and tilts his head in the approximate direction of the aforementioned boulder. "Want to come along on patrol?" he asks, with a grin.

Felix pops the last bite of burger in his mouth, washing it down with the last of his beer, and collects the now-empty boxes and cans, putting them back in the bag. "Sure," he agrees, zipping the back back up and slinging it back onto his shoulder as he straightens, "...an' save your lack of fork. There's pie."

Trace grins, getting to his feet easily enough before bending to grab his shirt from under his jacket, pulling it on and rolling the sleeves up. "Please tell me it's that strawberry-rhubarb pie, or that at least my piece is?" Next comes the jacket, cell phone and wallet, guns, cigarette box, and various things that had made their way into today's pile of stuff. "Who needs a fork anyway. Going to go by the Sept compound first, then up to the northern part of the forest and pretty much all the way to the highway and possibly also the railroad tracks," Trace says. From the sound of it, the Glass Walker has gotten to know the Bawn pretty well during the time he's spent out here so far. "Hope you're up for a hike." There's a pause and a grin, and he amends, "Another hike, that is."

"It is strawberry-rhubarb," Felix declares, "...no ice cream, though. Next time I oughta get some kinda cooler." He's already as put together as he arrived, and now that he's not eating, the constant movement is clearer again. "Gonna wear out my soles, at this rate," he says, though it sounds more like a yes than a no.

Trace glances down at his own boots as he gets stuff settled and finishes tucking in his shirt, which are starting to show signs of distinct wear and definitely at the very least haven't been shined in weeks. "I hear that," he says, with a bit of a chuckle. "I mean, the alternative is do it in lupus," the ahroun muses, "but I prefer walking the bawn like this. I don't entirely translate the lupus sense of direction well if I don't do enough of the territory on two legs."

"I like doin' both," Felix says, "but it makes the whole pie thing slightly trickier. ...although not THAT much, I guess, 'cause I dedicated the bag for more or less that reason, get here quicker. I'm down with stickin' to two legs, though."

Trace grins. Once everything is together, the ahroun turns his attention momentarily to the fire, using a stick to poke at it and adding another piece of wood before they make their way out of the caern. "Plus," Trace points out, "it is a lot harder to shoot anything that is trespassing where it should not be when I don't have hands to use guns with."

Felix stretches, watching the fire-poking, and saunters alongside the taller Garou as they head on their way. "Yeah, I'd s'pose so," he says, looking somewhat thoughtful. "I wonder if there's a way to make a lupus or hispo usable gun? Prolly hafta shoot it completely different, though..."

"Or some sort of a fetish, maybe. I mean, there are fetish guns-- I've known a few people who had them-- so I don't know how much of a stretch it would be," Trace suggests, as he makes his way up the path to the forest and out of the caern, glancing back down at it once or twice as they walk, and then picking out a path into the forest that's not along the slight bit of more commonly used trail. A few steps further, and the ahroun pulls a watch out of his jacket pocket, slipping it on and glancing at it before picking a direction. Or more accurately, at the compass at the edge of the watch. "I bet most of the traditional types would think it wholly improper though."

"A gun fetish for your gun fetish," Felix says, grinning broadly, "Eh, traditional types'll think usin' guns in the first place is wholly improper, so fuck 'em. If the spirit was willin' it can't be =that= wrong. Plus, you're a Walker. You're allowed to do that shit."

Trace snickers, and there's a feral grin. "No, no," he says, mock-seriousness. "I don't want to fuck them, they're not nearly worthy of that." There's a clear joke somewhere in there, or at least, Trace seems to think there is. He moves over to another tree a few feet ahead, bending down for a moment to look at some paw prints that he decides are clearly perfectly fine and supposed to be there. "Weather earlier said it's supposed to be sunny by the end of the week. I missed the sun," he says. "It's always so cloudy here."

"Hmm, good point. Plus, bein' traditional types, next thing you know they'd have you up on first Litany charges," Felix replies, just as mock-serious, "TOTALLY not worth it." He idly pulls out the set of Linnaea's infrared binoculars he's been keeping in his pocket and uses them to scan around periodically as they go, including a glance with them up at the sky at Trace's comment. "Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo, here comes the sun, an' I say, it's all right," he sings. "It ain't =always= cloudy. But yeah, kinda a lot, 'strue. Gonna start gettin' hotter, too." There's a slightly thoughtful pause, there, and then a sigh, and a small shake of his head.

"It's been a long cold lonely winter, little darling, it feels like years since it's been here..." There's a quiet half-singing, and then Trace hums a phrase or two more of the melody of the song that Felix sings, fingers drumming in time on his knee. "No 'invisible' intruders? I hope," he asks the Bone Gnawer in clarification. The pace that Trace sets isn't particularly fast or grueling although it'll cover the distance well enough, leaving plenty of time for observation and enjoyment of the surrounding forest. There's a quiet raised eyebrows and tilted head of unspoken question, turning to face Felix, in reaction to the sigh.

"Nope, not unless they got better at the invisibleness," Felix confirms, continuing to check periodically as they go. At the unspoken question, he says with just a touch of woe, "Any day now it's gonna get warm enough for all the shorts an' miniskirts an' li'l halter-tops an' shit to start comin' out." Woe is, presumably, not his usual feeling on the matter.

Trace grins a little bit and nods. "You ever seen those memes where they compare the weather required to wear shorts and a t-shirt in somewhere real cold vs whatever people are wearing in California at the same temperatures?" he asks. "They're. All. True." He shakes his head and angles a little bit more directly north-- after consulting the compass on his watch to confirm what direction north actually /is/.

Felix shakes his head. "Nope. But judgin' from your reaction when you first got here I reckon y'all're wearin' a lot more a lot warmer'n most folks other places. ...Seemed plenty warm for folks when I was down there, though." Quiet for just a moment after that, with a similar slightly-thoughtful quality to before. "Havin' a jacket's handy. But hot places definitely got some shit to recommend 'em."

"I think I'm starting to adjust to the temperatures here," Trace says, grinning and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm barely wearing my jacket except when it's convenient, overall? Don't remind me I said that when the first cold spell hits, though."

"Jackets are convenient a lot," Felix observes, "but a'right, I'll try to remember not to." The grin suggests possibly otherwise, but surely it's far enough in the future he won't remember by then. Surely. Another quick glance around through the binoculars, and a shocked gasp -- not, it must be said, his most convincing one. Even if it had been, there isn't much time to react before he lowers them and says, "Don't look, those squirrels want some privacy."