"That's why galliards need to tell stories carefully. The more we change, the more we get away from the truth."

Train Tracks
Little more than a break in the lush thickness of the surrounding forest, a set of railway lines make their hesitant way east and west. Woodland dirt and underbrush gives reluctantly over onto gravel, and then to the rusted iron bars themselves; the wood lengths that bridge the span between them at intervals are gnarled and cracked with age, some looking uncomfortably rotten. Long, spiky weeds shoot up defiantly between and amongst the wood and metal, proclaiming clearly that this particular length of track has suffered some disuse in recent times. The sounds here are as soft and natural as anywhere else, and insects make their unhurried ways from flower to stalk unconcerned by the ancient construction.
The beginnings of various small paths twist off through the forest to the north and to the south.

Along the rotting railroad sleepers and mossy ballast, picking his way between the rusting rails, comes walking a tall, handsome man, dark gold hair tied back in a ponytail, clad in a neat well-cut suit and tie. His only concession to these rural surroundings as far as clothing goes is a pair of running shoes in lieu of more formal footwear. He's glancing round as he goes, but not apprehensively, more in the way of someone looking for something or someone he knows is to be found hereabouts somewhere.

Having spent several hours in the sunshine chasing ducks on the stagnant ponds that line the railroad, and then moved on to the more fruitful but less spontaneous pursuit of small furry animals, the cub tips her nose to the sky when she catches the smell of a human nearby, carried on the day's fitful breeze. The cub follows the scent as it grows stronger towards its source, careful to take full advantage of the fall foliage that obscures the woods from the railroad clearing.

Cedric in homid has that peculiar quirk of scent which makes his odor different from that of Lightning in lupus, and yet akin to it. As a cub, of course, Erika may or may not have figured that little odity of garou out yet. In any case, he and his scent keep tramping along the railroad at a gentle saunter, enjoying the sunlight that filters through the trees, still checking all around.

The cub continues to trot along parallel to the train tracks, having to take a circuitous course around rocky outcroppings and boggy hollows, obstacles the railroad engineers long ago made straight for those travelling along the tracks. She tries to cross a narrow ravine on a makeshift bridge of the trunks of two saplings that long ago started to rot in the fetid forest dampness. When she is about three fourths of the ways across, the rotten branches that hold up the trunks snap and shift somewhat, and the cub looses her footing on the slick lichen-coated logs. With a stifled yelp, the cub lands in some brambles that eked out an existance on the slope of the ravine, and stands stock still as the sounds of her clumsiness resound beyond the woods.

Cedric freezes for a second as the sound of the cub's downfall comes to his ears. He turns, silently, on the balls of his feet, then takes two long quiet steps which bring him to the edge of the railroad cess and to the mossy brick parapet over the little ravine. Looking down, he sees a familiar white form trying to hold still against the greens and browns of the ravine and the brambles and foliage that cover its side. "Four legs are a bastard to control all at once, aren't they, when you're used to two?" he remarks conversationally.

Walks-Ahead looks over her shoulder with eyes wide in fear, yelping as she yanks herself free from the purple raspberry vines. A few bounds, and the cub is free, leaving large tufts of white fur as trophies for the thorns. The cub takes several strides along the ravine, deeper into the forest, tail between her legs, then turns around to regard the unfamiliar human with a slouching posture and back-bent ears.

Cedric looks left and right along the railroad line. Unsurprisingly, nobody else is in sight. His body seems to swell up and the natty suit is absorbed into a thick white fur which sprouts over it as he looms up into crinos, and then down again into a wolf, whereupon he barks reproachfully. It is me! Me! Me! Do you not remember me?

Walks-Ahead takes several steps back, lips tensing in surprise, but then pauses, and her tail waves back and forth once. Yes! She chuffs. Yes! Lightning-rhya. Hello! Bowing her head and ears in a lupine admission of sheepishness, the cub begins to pick her way up the slope towards the elder Fang.

Lightning watches the cub's unsteady progress up the ravine. It might be easier in a form that has hands, he points out gently. That is a steep slope for even a strong full-grown wolf.

I can do it! Watch me! The cub gets a running head-start and uses the momentum to bound a third of the way up the hill. Then, keeping her center of gravity so low that her belly scrapes the ground, the cub starts slowly creeping up the hill. The matted layers of damp pine needles and rich loose loam offer poor purchase, tending to flow in sheets down the hillside, and once the cub loses her footing entirely and rolls over on her side, all four legs scrambling and finally bringing her to a halt more by virtue of an opportunely placed clump of ferns than the cub's own prowess. Growling, Walks-Ahead resumes her progress up the slope, almost maddeningly slow now, until at length the ground flattens out, and the cub dislodges most of the dirt and pine needles from her mane with a shake. See?

Lightning's tongue lolls out in benevolent amusement. You have learnt much, clever cub. Can you tell me this? Do you know where the other cub is to be found, the male one whom I must teach? I have howled for him but he did not answer and I have found only old scents of wolves around where Blackriver told me he dwelt.

Walks-Ahead trots up to the elder Silver Fang, nostrils flaring as she sniffs curiously, tail held demurely low. One does not know. One has not seen him since the waning half moon. Blackriver-rhya says he lives in the mountains to the east, but other than the night he came to me, one has not smelled his scent in the woods. Sometimes Blackriver howls for him, but he does not answer. The mountains are craggy and high and deep.

Lightning turns towards the mountains, though they are barely visible through the trees. That is so, he agrees. It is a good place for wolves to live, where humans cannot go easily. And for garou too. The wild remote places are where the Weaver has least power. Do you know of the Weaver and the other members of the Triat, Walks-Ahead?

Whining softly, the cub recites, In the beginning was Gaia, and Gaia made all things, and she made the Triat to watch over them. She made the Wyld, the spirit of change, and she made the Weaver, the spirit of form, and the Wyrm, the spirit of destruction. But something bad happened to Weaver and she went crazy, and began making patterns that were not in balance. And she trapped the Wyrm, and made him go out of balance too? The cub sits down on her haunches and tilts her head at the last statement in uncertainty.

Pretty much, agrees the fostern. Some tell different stories. The Walkers upon Glass do, for they love Weaver and place the blame on the imbalance on Wyrm. But this all happened so long ago that none save the spirits can tell what truly happened on that doom-laden day when the world was tipped off balance. We have the stories which are passed down from one generation to the next, but stories are changed and altered with the years. This is why song-moons like you and I must be very careful, yes, very, to tell a story as we hear it, not to change it if we can.

Walks-Ahead's tail thumps on the ground. One remembers how it was told. One does not understand any of it, but one remembers. But Blackriver and Talking Cub tell the story differently. One is straight forward and direct, the other has many fancy words that are hard to understand. One tries to tell it the way Blackriver did.

Wait a moment, Lightning orders. He steps back, and once more checking for observers, he shifts into homid form once more. "I told you that in lupus form," he says in an easy, relaxed tone. "Now I'm going to tell it again in homid, and you'll see how different it comes across. All the tribes," he begins, "have their own agenda. The Glass Walkers make it all the Wyrm's fault and say Weaver was an innocent bystander, but then they would. Weaver and all Weaver's things fascinate them. Really, all we have is guesswork and old stories. The stories are passed down over generations, and every time they're altered a little, until you end up like the guy in the story with his grandfather's axe -- it's had two new heads and three new handles but it's still his grandfather's axe." He smiles. "And that's why galliards need to tell stories carefully. The more we change, the more we get away from the truth."

Walks-Ahead startles a bit when the Fostern changes, then plants her rump on the ground and stares at him with rapt blue eyes. Different. Easier to lie in human tongue. Or, not lie, but say the truth but color it with ones own desire. One has a good memory for history though! One can learn!

Lightning smiles. "Yes. It's not impossible for wolves to lie, but it doesn't come naturally to them, or to us in lupus, the way it does to humans or homid garou. Food," he says solemnly, "for thought, I always think. As a Silver Fang, your regard for truth must be higher than any others'. But also, you must know when to lie -- sometimes we must -- and be prepared to do it well and convincingly."

Getting up and pacing nervously, Walks-Ahead huffs. One could never do that. Not that one has not tried. No, no. One used to have to care for horses. Many strong horses, requiring food and constant attention. One took two high spirited horses to back pasture two springs past. One saw that the fence was broken, needed repair...But one was weak and tired. One thought the horses would stay where they were put and eat fresh green spring sprouts. That night there was rind and rain, and when the sun rose and broke through the clouds, the horses had run, gone a long way to trample the garden of angry man. One went with one's sire to bring back the horses. Sire is a quiet man but he sees much. He asked if I thought the fence had fallen in the storm during the night. One said she wasn't sure...but one's face could not lie. It was a bad thing, bad bad. Sire was a good man and worked hard for us, and yet one behaved so shamefully. One put up new fence all along pasture but still knows she did a bad thing.

Lightning nods from time to time as the wolf tells her story. When she finishes, he nods again. "And just to stack the odds against a lying garou further, some of us can tell when a lie is told, can know beyond doubt. The spirits whisper in their ears when they are lied to. There are some of us who will say that we should never lie, ever. Many of them lupus. I don't know what Blackriver thinks, perhaps we should ask her. But me, I've seen too much to think we can hope to win our fight without bending a few truths here and there. Course, it's not pleasant to have to lie, but not many of the things we have to do are pleasant..."

Walks-Ahead sits back on her haunches and huffs, giving the elder Fang her full attention. Lightning-rhya, what are some of the hard things you have had to do? Can you help one understand?

Cedric is silent for several moments, though if Walks-Ahead is observant she'll see a flash of something almost like pain cross over his face at her question. Cedric observes her notice it and sighs. "One example immediately came to mind," he says. "A few years ago now, forces of the Wyrm were circling around my caern, back at home in England. They were trying to spy on us, break open our cover so that they could destroy us one by one. I had a message to pass to another sept member, and although she was not even kin, I gave it to my sister to pass, because I had other commitments. She was observed, and they killed her. I told my father, the earl, that I knew nothing about it. He never said anything about her death to me again, and within a year he was dead too. I think... no," he corrects himself and looks to one side with a meek glance at nothing in particular, "no, Osric, I am almost sure, yes... that he knew I was lying. If you're going to lie," he concludes gloomily, "lie well."

The cub bays, a piercing, mournful sound, and walks forward with her head held low, making to try to lick the man's hand. A sad story. To lose a sister. A sad, sad story.

Cedric gives an odd little movement, shaking his shoulders for a moment. "The message was delivered," he says in a forced, cold voice. "No garou were lost, the caern was not endangered. No garou except I myself thought there was any problem."

Walks-Ahead stands up as tall as her small stature would allow, trying to make contact with the man despite his downturned glance. Not your fault, Lightning-rhya. A sad thing. But one cannot do everything. One just has to try, and try ones best, and do the most important things first. You cannot do it all on your own, and you do not have to. Others have their duty, let us do our appointed task, however small. Someday I too will know what my small task will be. And if a small person should fall doing their small duty, for us there is still full honor.

"By gum, Osric," Cedric exclaims, "this one is a natural. Yes," he says resolutely. "Yes, let us do what duties are detailed for us. I do. That's why I'm here instead of enjoying England, home and beauty. I don't know exactly what Falcon called me here for, though I don't mind guessin', but honor lies in the doing of one's duty above all." He sets his jaw in a resolute pose, which has the effect of making his always noble features look still more arostocratic.

Walks-Ahead walks a stately circle around Cedric, her tail swishing back and forth across the ground. What was she like? Your sister? Did she have pretty hair? She was really truely a princess?

Cedric shakes his head. "Not a princess. No. Just... my sister. She did have pretty hair, yes. Same colour as me, nearly." His eyes follow Walks-Ahead until she passes out of sight, then move back to pick her up when she appears from behind him again.

Walks-Ahead finishes her circuit and lays down in the gravel, resting her head on her forepaws and staring up at the towering human. One misses her family to. Her brother most of all. But one is here now, and Blackriver and the other Garou are watching out for me. And someday one will be able to help them too. We are almost family now.

Cedric squats down near the cub. "Almost? We are family. More so than any other tribe, we are all related. Sisters, cousins, aunts." He sighs. "Now... what the hell did I come here for? Oh yes. To ask about Dances-Memory. Really must find him, if I can..." He stands up again.

Walks-Ahead also rises to her feet, four in this case, and shakes herself off. Is there some message one could give to the other cub if he comes to my campfire again?

"Tell him," Cedric says, "tell him that I have been appointed his tutor, and that I will come out here regularly to find him. He should not hide from me or fear me."

Walks-Ahead chuffs softly in agreement. That one will do, Lightning-rhya! That one will do.

"Farewell for now, then," Cedric bids Walks-Ahead, with a gentle rub along the side of her neck. "You and I shall meet again, that's sure."

Walks-Ahead wiggles under Cedric's hand pressing her neck up against his fingers to make sure he scratches the right spots. One looks forwards to it! Yes, one does! Travel safe, Lightning-rhya! And with two shakes of her tail and the briefest of glances backwards, the cub is off once more into the underbrush, off to find whatever else the day will bring.