A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.
The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in somewhat faded blue jeans with the cuffs half walked off, along with a closely fitting green t-shirt featuring the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; from the design and the state of the printing, it's either older than he is or really wishes it were. Sometimes when he moves his left arm, part of a tattoo peeks out beneath the sleeve's hem. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
This is a North American cougar (Puma concolor couguar), which is not an uncommon animal in Washington State, although they are rarely seen by humans. Typical of the species, it has a slender, muscled body with a round head and pointed ears. Like most cougars, this particular specimen is substantially longer, taller, and heavier than the average wolf. He likely tips the scales at about 160lbs and measures nearly 8' from nose to tail: Much of that is certainly tail. This cougar's pelt is slightly more reddish-orange than usual, although not unusually so. Lithe, powerful, sinuous musculature is readily visible beneath the cat's short fur, giving some indication as to the power and speed available to this apex predator should it choose to use it. The black "moustache" marking around his nose and mouth is more pronounced than usual, giving the feline's already-handsome face an even more suave--almost debonaire--appearance. Those with sensitive noses might notice he has no scent.
A young man of average height and athletic build, he is generally seen with a cunning smile and an easy manner. His dark hair is cut short, just enough length that the waves take form. (If he let it grow out, it would probably lead to unruly curls.) His eyes are green, or perhaps hazel, depending on the light. His skin is pale and freckled, and his cheekbones, while not extreme, are prominent. The straight nose and strong chin can lead to a more stern impression, but it's broken easily when he grins.
Today he wears a simple grey hoodie with a Red Sox logo on the front. His denim jeans are, if not new, well cared for, as are the blue and grey tennis shoes beneath. Around his neck, visible against the grey of the sweatshirt, he wears a pendant of carved, black stone strung on a thin cord of braided leather.
Val is roughly sixteen years of age, although she could easily be a touch younger, or older. She has an angular face, with high cheekbones, and a particularly prominent nose. The young woman's appearance is influenced by her strong northern Italian ancestry; brown eyes and pale olive-tinted skin that darkens to a deep rich brown during the summer months. Val stands an even five feet in height, with a slender whip-thin build, and only the faintest of curves that identify her as female. Her hair has been cropped short, spiked, and dyed a brilliant shade of lemon yellow. When she speaks, which is often, the stud piercing her tongue can be seen.
Currently, the teen is wearing a form-fitting white shirt, with a lacy v-neck. Over the shirt, she wears an attractively cut leather jacket with metal studs across the shoulders and along the waistline. On her right wrist, she wears a thin charm bracelet, from which dangle a few birds, an old-style sun with a face on it, an egg, and a lippy-mouth. Val's legs are covered by a pair of skinny denim jeans and her feet are shod in a pair of dark brown hiking shoes. On her fingers, she wears a number of thick rings, some with a mirrored surface, others holding the luster of stainless steel. The young woman wears what looks like a custom black leather backpack, with with a web-like design of stainless-steel cording threaded through the heavy material. The bag hangs from her shoulders, always filled with something or another.
Despite Val's youth, small stature, and thin frame, she moves with an easy, sure-footed grace. Her movements are quick, practiced, and at times, a little on the jerky side.
Nolan nods once, his expression still tight, and then looks up at Val's arrival. "Hey," he offers to her, grip on the stones slowly loosening. "He is," the Fianna adds, returning his focus to the cougar. "It's why I don't expect he'll be demanding anything of the Dancers."
"What're we talking about?" Val asks, as she steps closer, then extends a hand in Nolan's direction. "Don't think we've been properly introduced yet. I go by Val, Memories-of-the-Dead, or just plain Memory. I'm the local Corax. Pleased to meet you."
Brings-the-Pack fills Val in on the current topic of conversation. "Whether Thane will be trying to get Peter back from the Dancers, or whether Thane will not do so so as to preserve the potential alliance against the Queen."
Nolan doesn't take the offered hand, but he does let the pebbles fall as he rises, and nods to Val. "Nolan. Squirrel Talks to No One, or just plain Squirrel. Fianna ragabash and asker of too many questions." He glances back toward the mage-cat. "The real question, though, is whether there /is/ an alliance at all."
Val cocks her head to one side, then shrugs and allows her hand to drop. "Frankly, I doubt there is any sort of Alliance. The Spirals have an agenda. Right now, we're a convenience and nothing more. They'll see how far they can push, how much they can take before we push back. How desperate we are. How weak. When all is said and done, if we spearhead taking out the Queen, this Renegade'll be in a prime position to try and invade while we're recovering."
"And I think he's testing us for precisely that," Brings-the-Pack concurs with Val. "But I also think, if he has indeed lost a good chunk of his sept to the Queen, he is weakened and looking for a means of salvaging what he still can--and taking as little risk as possible to accomplish that goal. I think, if Thane were to get in touch with Renegade and demand Peter's release, he will get it." He then admits, "But this is not my call to make."
"...jumpin', an' the cotton is high," floats along from the direction of the central bawn, the warm baritone joined in short order by an apparently equally warm Gnawer wandering down the slope, carrying a Coke bottle full of beverage and probably less full of ice than he'd prefer, since he currently has it resting against the back of his neck. Still, he looks cheerful enough at present. "Well, yo' daddy's rich, an' yo' mama's good-lookin'," Felix sings, with just a fleeting pause as he notes the group by the firepit and starts their direction, "so hush, little baby, don't you cry." Which brings him about close enough to add, "Evenin'!" within conversational levels.
Nolan touches his nose as Val speaks, and then points in her direction. He retakes his seat, turning a more skeptical eye to the cougar. "I... still have doubts," he says. He may have intended to say more, but that's the point that Felix makes his appearance, and rather than continue, the ragabash picks up another handful of small stones. "Evening," he offers in return, and tosses one of the pebbles into the flames.
Val sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Well, I hope that Thane tries to ask for Peter back. Worse that can happen is that he ends up in a dick waving match with Renegade. And if push comes to shove, I'm willing to help with the pushback to the best of my ability. I /do/ know where some of his people went. Don't know if they're all still in Yakima, but the car they stole is still moving around. I'd have to fly down there and double check to see if they were still there, though. Hey there," she adds, as she greets Felix. "Also a bit worried about what Peter knows. I mean, he knows my home. Could ID various kinfolk and only Gaia knows what else."
Brings-the-Pack regards Val momentarily and then says, "I'm starting to understand now why the Spirals killed their kin that was in Mr. Lee's possession. The names of all the garou and kin Peter has ever met. Their homes, if he was taken there. It lays the sept bare."
"It ain't ideal," Felix agrees dryly, and drops down onto one of the logs, settling in. "Yeah, seems to me maybe we oughta have a good answer to 'or what' this time. Sounded like that's where negotiations broke down before." He opens the bottle and has a swallow, glancing at the others. "Maybe findin' where he actually is first an' bein' ready to just go in an' take him immediately if it don't go well? I dunno."
Nolan chucks the rest of the handful toward the fire, scowling. "Didn't we want to avoid a war on two fronts? Can we demand something from him, if we're not willing to do just that?"
Val shrugs. "Could just threaten not to work with him any longer. It's a good question, but frankly, I don't know if we can afford to look weak in front of this guy."
"Or threaten to prioritize the Spirals over the Queen, as the former have taken a prisoner and the latter have not. It's not like a formal cease fire was ever declared between garou and Spirals." The mage-cat then looks over to Val. "Or, if you know where some of the Spirals are out of town, maybe subdue them. Ask for Peter and much more in return."
Felix gets more comfortable, and his shoulders lift and drop a fraction of an inch. "If we got a war on two fronts, I guess at least so does he, an' so does the Queen," he says, "but far's I see the options are we risk that shit an' try gettin' him back, or we don't an' we don't. Maybe someone smarter'n me has some crafty way to get him back without it bein' a push, but I sure don't yet."
The Fianna straightens, looking from one to the next. "If you make a threat, without the muscle to back it up, whatever the threat is, doesn't that just highlight a weakness? It's been said that Renegade wants, but does not need, to be rid of the Queen. If that's true, can we force him to fight on two fronts, or if we turn the..." He pauses, briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If we turn the /relationship/ we have with him into an openly antagonistic one, does he simply drop his goals regarding the Queen, and either withdraw completely, or turn his sights entirely on us?"
"Lots of questions and no answers. Though Briari did mention that Renegade was able to sense the presence of supernatural things, such as when she used a gift on him. That makes spying on him very difficult. And might alert him immediately if someone were to use Questing Stone or Sense of the Prey." The cougar muses, "Perhaps I will investigate the Spirals at Edgewood to see if their minds have been influenced."
"Well, 's why you only make ones you can, 'less you're =real= sure they ain't gonna call your bluff," Felix says, and sips his drink. "See, now, this shit is why 'least half the time I'd rather just DO shit. 's possible to think too much. Ain't no path you can't end up goin' 'oh but this or that'. Which shit do we care about most an' what're we willin' to gamble?" He taps his fingers against the bottle, briefly, looking thoughtful. "Be a lot easier if we knew him, knew what he's really got an' lost. All we really know's rumours, spirals in general, an' human nature. More or less. Shit, we still don't even really know why he cares enough to be fightin' her here. So." A shrug. He glances to the mage. "Huh. Wonder if his bein' able to sense it matters if shit's directed at him? Like, Sense of the Prey on him, reckon we can assume he could tell then, but... on Peter, say?"
"Or did he simply sense that gifts were in play where he was? We don't know. We can't know, yet." Nolan rises again and paces a semi-circle around the fire. "I've been keeping an eye on what they're doing at the house," he says to the cougar. "But I can't see their motivations."
"A possibility, for certain," the cougar-mage says to Felix about Renegade perhaps not noticing gifts or rites used to find Peter. "But something you would want to ask Thane about before attempting." He looks towards Nolan. "So they do not have a tremendous amount of effort spent on preventing spying, it would seem."
"All I could do's Questin' Fry anyhow," Felix says, "...which I guess'd maybe at least suggest if he was alive or not, as well as which way from here, but it ain't near so useful as the Gift. I ain't the one we'd want for it. An' yeah, that's what I was thinkin' was the main other option. But even that if he wasn't where Peter was at the time, say, if we happened to know where HE was, then it wouldn't be in his vicinity. Could be other shit, I s'pose. But it could always be other shit."
Nolan smirks at the rite Felix names, and nods some at the rest of what the Gnawer has to say before his attention swings back to the cat. "They haven't changed their activities when I've been observing, and they haven't done anything in between to suggest that they're aware of it." He shrugs. "I wouldn't recommend anyone getting terribly close, though."
"Actually," Val says, speaking up. "They don't want people looking too close. I tried a flyby during an overcast night and ended up shot for my efforts. Not certain how they spotted me, but they certainly have people keeping an eye out for Raven's kids."
"Oh, I won't," Brings-the-Pack assures the Fianna, a hint of the subtlest humor in his tone. "Line of sight on just one ought to be amply sufficient." He looks to the Corax and hmmms--a decidedly peculiar sound coming from what appears to be a big cat. "Were you flying low? Have you caught word from any other ravens that might have passed through or near the area? Basically, did they notice you specifically or are they just shooting any ravens that happen by?"
Felix twists to lie down on the log, closing the bottle and letting it dangle onto the ground. He seems interested in the continuing discussion, if perhaps still thinking about the other topic, and he's silent for the moment.
"A ragabash has ways of watching without being observed," Nolan says with a wink to Val, but that's all he says, curious, perhaps, about her answers to the Mage.
Val shrugs. "I was flying reasonably high, but I was flying at night," the Corax notes. "Not something that most ravens do. Not unless they want to become owl food. I think, though, that they are just taking pot-shots at anything large, black, and with wings flying over Edgewood. I skirted the area a few days later, but during the day and they took shots at me."
"Why, Val," the cougar practically purrs at the corax. "You have clearly made a rather huge impression upon your newest friends."
Felix laughs at the mage's remark, and slips an arm under his head to pillow it and make watching the others easier. "Maybe we oughta make you a disguise," he says, grinning, "Parrot, maybe. Ain't no way someone'd think that was tryin' to be sneaky."
Nolan laughs, as well, and then shakes his head, sobering. "I think I'll just go take another look. If anyone comes up with any brilliant plans, I'll be back in a while to try to poke some holes in them."
Val smirks, even as she flips the bird in Felix's direction. "Yea. Well, they certainly know I exist after my little stunt when they tried invading the Caern. And good luck with that, Nolan."
Brings-the-Pack pushes to all fours, seemingly following Nolan out. "I'll go with," he states, inviting himself. "Even I moved from beneath you at the last moot," the cougar says towards Val as he departs.
"No?" Felix replies to the bird's bird, still grinning. Her mention of what she did at the moot gets another laugh. "Reminds me I was meanin' to say, that was pretty funny. Great timin', too." Nolan and the cougar get a small wave as they go, and a glance after.
Nolan offers a wave to the others, and a tip of his head to the cougar as he heads out.
Val hehs. "Well, hard to give a big fancy speech with a facefull of shit. Anyway, I'll be taking my leave as well, but not towards Edgewood. Been shot at enough for awhile. Toodles. Be safe you two. You too Felix." Farewells said, Val shifts down into her bird form and takes off.