And females are good, but then I would say that, because I am male. I do not suppose you have discovered males yet.

Undeveloped Forest
This tough group of thinning trees has never known the forester's axe, or indeed any blade of man. Lack of easy access routes and the rocky nature of the ground have conspired to make it of little value in human eyes. Those of a more natural bent, however, can appreciate the quiet glades, small brooks, and the healthy flora and fauna that live here.
Eastward, the land grows more rocky and rises upward into the northern range of the Blue Mountains. The area is bordered on the north by the railroad, on the south by the border of Wolf Woods National Park, and on the west by State Route 22, winding its way south towards the park entrance.

It's a bright and sunny day, the light draping lazily over the pure and pristine forest south of the bawn. Blackriver is busy patrolling her pack's territory, ears pricked forward to catch each leaf fall, every rattle of dry branches as squirrels scurry across them. As she ambles about, her nose is towards the breeze, sifting through the scents on the wind, and her head turns about slowly to watch the forest.

A lupus's keen nose is easily able to pick up an unfamiliar scent. But it's only unfamiliar for a moment; then it's recognisable to Blackriver as that of Cedric whom she met yesterday. It's too strong a scent to be left over from then, though. It suggests that he's either not left, or that he's returned.

Blackriver freezes in midstep, nose wiggling frantically as she works to pick up Cedric's trail. Her fur bristles, her hackles raise, and a low growl escapes her throat. Throwing back her head, she lets out a short bay.

The bay from Blackriver is met with an answering call through the trees towards the rail tracks. This one is placatory and apologetic, where Blackriver's is menacing. It definitely sounds like Lightning's.

Blackriver lets out a returning howl, letting Lightning know that she's listening, and starts off on a quick lope through the woods, towards the tracks.

In a clearing in the forest, Walks-Ahead looks up from a colony of gophers at the sound of the calls resounding through the forest. Her attention span spent, the cub trots off through the underbrush in search of her beloved mentor, and whatever lessons are destined for the day.

Lightning is easily to be found, sitting on his haunches and seeming a little abashed. When Blackriver canters towards him, he greets her with flattened, humble ears. Greetings again, honoured alpha of our tribe. I wished to meet you again but coming to do so on two legs, I stumbled into your territory earlier than I had thought I would.

Blackriver's tail wafts upward, and her ears prick forward. Settling down onto her haunches, she wraps her tail around her forepaws, and looks a little worried. You did not sense the rite?

Walks-Ahead plows through the underbrush, sending a small stand of sumacs waving their crimson leaves in the wind as she brushes against their trunks. Emerging into the clearing that lines the railroad tracks, the cub approaches the elder wolves to a respectable distance, her ears tweaked back and her neck kept tensed and low in apprehension.

Lightning looks as shamefaced as a wolf can. It is not strong hereabouts and I was thinking of other things. I acknowledge this land as yours, yes, yours, not mine. I will leave if you order but I do need to tell you some things.

Blackriver tilts her head to the side, and carefully considers Lightning. A soft, high-pitched noise barely escapes her throat, and it seems that she feels a bit odd, having a Fostern apologize to her so. Thankfully, Walks-Ahead's arrival provides an easy distraction, and she turns her head slightly, giving a soft chuff of greeting to the younger wolf. Say what you have to say. She replies calmly, looking back to Lightning.

Walks-Ahead trots up towards Blackriver, her posture visibly relaxing as her presence is recognized. She bounds the last few steps up to the Philodox, touching her nose to the elder's mane and struggling to keep the height of her tail within the bounds of propriety as it enthusiastically wags in greeting.

I met the alpha-of-alphas, the elder of the sept, Lightning confirms. She was not pleased with what I told her, no. She thinks that for me to serve chiminage by teaching my own tribe's cub does not serve the sept's needs. She does not see that to have another adult Silver Fang in the sept will be good for all garou.

Blackriver sniffs back at Walks-Ahead, tail thumping happily against the ground. When Lighting speaks his part, her ears flatten and she gives an annoyed huff and a slight grumble. Flicking her tongue out to lick at her nose, she sighs. Stupid Shadow Lords. But she is alpha and we do what she says. You said you knew rites yes? And gifts? You can teach some of those.

Walks-Ahead sniffs at Blackriver a few more moments, and takes a few steps back before bowing her head and dipping her tail in greeting to the visiting Fostern.

She had an idea of her own, Lightning says. She says that the cub-den is too small and old, and the sept would like a new one. I would be able to do that for the sept. But I will still teach the cub because that is my duty, he adds.

Blackriver's ears flatten further, and she thinks that over for a bit, fur bristling. Looks like she doesn't think the cub den is too small and old at least. She cants her head to the side and looks back at Lightning. There is forest near here the humans and weaver are claiming. One of our members wanted to claim in back, but he left. Since you are born of human, can you take some of it back and give it to the sept?

Walks-Ahead glances back and forth between the elder Fangs, then steps back to where the long grass begins on the verge of the tracks. Finding a spot relatively free of rocks, she turns around twice before laying down, her head tilted to the left as she listens and regards the elder Garou.

Lightning turns his head on one side. Perhaps I could. I would need to find out more from those who know about these things. If I made a den of two-leg-things, it would be ours first, our tribe's, and the sept would have use of it too but it would be ours, yes. It is good for a tribe to have a den of its own for homid-borns. The urrah have them but often we do not except in septs where we have reigned for many generations and have dens that we have lived in for as long as that too.

Blackriver licks her nose. The last Silver Fang that was here, Promises-Kept, made a den for the Silver Fangs, but he was a bad Garou and I made him leave, and he did not leave us the den. But if you make a Silver Fang den on the land you claim, you must open it to the sept as well, so everyone can use it. And it must be close to the bawn, to protect the bawn from humans and the weaver.

Walks-Ahead blinks a few times, opening her mouth and letting her tongue hang out. Judging by the way her eyes scarcely leave the others Fangs, she seems to be trying her best to follow the conversation.

Lightning isn't having too easy a time of the conversation himself. Such homid concepts as money and housing do not fit well into lupus "speech". Culls-Herd-rhya also says it should be near the bawn. This is good. If you wish it to be fully open to all, then it can be. But lesser tribes must behave while there, yes.

Blackriver on the other hand seems to understand just enough of the concepts behind the conversation, that she's not having nearly as much trouble. You could have part open to the other tribes, and part not. She suggests, chewing thoughtfully on a forepaw. In my old sept, Snow Born Moon, that is what our tribe did with their human den.

Walks-Ahead yawns once, her long pink tongue sticking out astonishingly far, blinks a few times, and focuses once more on the elder Fangs.

That is a good idea, yes, Lightning responds. And it will give me somewhere to live that is not the heart of the scab in a den where travellers live and the food is bad. I need that.

Blackriver blinks, apparently that went over her head. She flicks her ears in a sort of shrug, and goes back to chewing on a foreleg.

Walks-Ahead sniffs the air and creeps forward towards the Philodox, nostrils flaring as she smells the air.

I shall find out more, vows Lightning, and report back to you. But I can do nothing about this till tomorrow so I shall go and hunt the other song-moon cub now, yes, I will.

Blackriver flicks her ears in understanding, and stands up stiffly. If you wish to talk to Walks-Ahead, you can call for her out of the forest. She is living here until she understands enough about us to be near the other tribe's cubs. With that, the Philodox turns and begins to weave her way through the trees, back towards the heart of her territory.

Walks-Ahead retreats once again, glancing back and forth between the bushes where her mentor disappeared, and the strange new Fang whose height towers over her.

Lightning sits back down on his haunches and licks his nose. Well, he addresses Walks-Ahead. Would you rather live in a hole in the ground or in a cub-den made of stone and wood?

Walks-Ahead begins to slink towards the underbrush, but then turns around when addressed and trots up to face the Fostern, her head bowed. A hole or a human den. One does not know. What is the right answer, Lightning-rhya?

There is no right answer, the fostern replies. Only the truth. The truth is important, always. Especially to we song-moons, for we spread news and orders and stories, and if we present something as true when it is not, we besmirch our own honour, yes, it is very bad. Lesser tribes may lie, Thunder's children and the urrah, but we should never do so unless we must.

The cub bows her head and ears. The truth is one wishes one was back home in mountains towards the sunrise, watching brown horse grow gravid with foal. But one knows she can never go back. The cub turns her nose to the sky and inhales the odors carried on the breeze, wet pine needles and algae and mud from the standing water that forms along the train tracks. Blackriver says that the woods will loosen the weavers hold on my spirit. And she is strong and wise. Sometimes it is hard though, as I am still clumsy with my paws and fangs when the prey is at hand.

We cannot go back, no, no, Lightning confirms. He climbs to his feet, moves to the cub, and bumps his head into her in a gentle gesture of solidarity. Sometimes I too wish I had not changed yet and was young and innocent and enjoyed hitting balls back and forth over the net. Before I found out who I was and found alcohol and females and fights. But we must go forwards, yes, forwards. We decide which way we walk. Weaver has no power over you, nor Wyrm, nor even Wyld, no. You are a Silver Fang and you walk the balance between the three as we all seek to.

Walks-Ahead backs up a little but relaxes the tension in her body slightly when the elder wolf touches her. Alchohol and fighting is bad. Females are bad. One does is confused when the elders talk of the triat, but one remembers and hopes one day to have understanding like the elder Silver Fangs.

Lightning gives a little wruf of amusement. Fighting is good when it is against the right people. And females are good, but then I would say that, because I am male. I do not suppose you have discovered males yet. You will, yes, yes. But alcohol is not good and I was wrong to use it as much as I did when I was younger, a cub and a cliath. Some garou need it to keep going. They are weak. Do not be like that.

A curious fierceness enters the cub's eyes as she chuffs at the elders' words. Most males are pushy, rude, assertive, arrogant. One must always show them proper place! Alchohol makes human males worse...must be terrible on Garou. Lightning-rhya, you have travelled and seen many Garou?

Lightning gives an affirmative answer. I have come half way around the world, yes, and met good males and bad males and some who are both at different times. Good males are strong and bold and brave. Only bad ones are rude and arrogant as you say.

Walks-Ahead bows her nose to her forepaws, her tail up in the air, and gives a playful yip. Around the world! Around the world! What stories Lightning-rhya must have to tell!

Lightning moves into action. I will tell them, he teases her, when you can catch me as I run. Catch me! Catch me! And he springs forward, yapping like a cub himself for a moment, all four legs whirling round like a cartoon cat's, and then starts to race at a reputable speed away from Walks-Ahead and out of Blackriver's territory, though staying in the woods. Catch me! Good practice for cubs! Catch me!

Walks-Ahead bounds after the Fostern Fang, tail held high and tongue and ears waggling in the air as she gallops and bounds over the railroad ties and autumn-painted underbrush in playful pursuit of her quarry.