Fostern Quest
Trent had no idea how long he had been running. Brambles and thistles cut at his flanks as he rushed through the underbrush, his muzzle pointed forward, sniffing for any trace of her. “Mira!” he barked out through the forests, but to no avail. She was nowhere to be found. Still he continued to run until he run no further and collapsed in a heap on a pile of moss.
When he awoke he looked up, once more the figure of his father stood before him, Sokhta by his side. Still they stared down in silent disapproval. He growled up at them, but his voice was ever weaker after each hopeless search, soon he felt, he would give up. But not this time, he decided, shakily getting to his four feet. Trent barked defiantly at the pair as he strode past, sniffing once more.
This time his trek through the woods seemed darker than before, the shadows stronger. He heard a voice this time, whispering through the trees for him, calling his name. He turned, heading deeper into the woods, “Mira!” he barked. Hearing no response he continued until he found a shady glade where a voice spoke to him.
“You wish the girl?” the voice uttered, “We know where to find her.”
“Where?” Trent barked demandingly.
“She is with a foul one, a boy with Dancer blood.” the disembodied voice spoke.
Trent snarled at this and barked, “Who?”
The voice did not answer, but the brackish pool of dead water in the glade began to shimmer, an image of a dark man coming into view. Trent gazed at it carefully, taking in every feature. As he did so, the voice spoke, naming the clan of Black Spiral Dancers the boy was birthed from.
Trent howled once, long and loud and turned, rushing off. Behind him the image shimmered and the darkness merely laughed low.
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Elsewhere, Trent’s body awoke with a start. He leapt to his two feet and stared around the glade. The spirits, moonbeams sparkling about whispered of his increase to the second rank within Garou society, that of Fostern. He cared nothing of this, however, as he set out in search of the man he say in the dead pool of his dreams, the man known as Cam.
When he awoke he looked up, once more the figure of his father stood before him, Sokhta by his side. Still they stared down in silent disapproval. He growled up at them, but his voice was ever weaker after each hopeless search, soon he felt, he would give up. But not this time, he decided, shakily getting to his four feet. Trent barked defiantly at the pair as he strode past, sniffing once more.
This time his trek through the woods seemed darker than before, the shadows stronger. He heard a voice this time, whispering through the trees for him, calling his name. He turned, heading deeper into the woods, “Mira!” he barked. Hearing no response he continued until he found a shady glade where a voice spoke to him.
“You wish the girl?” the voice uttered, “We know where to find her.”
“Where?” Trent barked demandingly.
“She is with a foul one, a boy with Dancer blood.” the disembodied voice spoke.
Trent snarled at this and barked, “Who?”
The voice did not answer, but the brackish pool of dead water in the glade began to shimmer, an image of a dark man coming into view. Trent gazed at it carefully, taking in every feature. As he did so, the voice spoke, naming the clan of Black Spiral Dancers the boy was birthed from.
Trent howled once, long and loud and turned, rushing off. Behind him the image shimmered and the darkness merely laughed low.
--------------------
Elsewhere, Trent’s body awoke with a start. He leapt to his two feet and stared around the glade. The spirits, moonbeams sparkling about whispered of his increase to the second rank within Garou society, that of Fostern. He cared nothing of this, however, as he set out in search of the man he say in the dead pool of his dreams, the man known as Cam.