He is a foolish young wolf in many ways but so were we all, once.

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.

A pure white wolf comes sniffing through the trees, seeming in no hurry, nosing around as he goes. He puts up a squirrel which races up a trunk in fear of its life, but evidently he's not hunting for food right now, as he barely gives the fluff-tailed critter a second glance. After a while he pays particular attention to a clump of three trees, snuffling at their base, and then he sits down on his haunches and howls. I seek she who crosses the black river! I must confer with her in Falcon's name!

There's an answering howl a moment later, and soon Blackriver's grey and white form comes blurring out of the forest, trotting along at a brisk pace. She pads forward to sniff Lightning over, tail held straight out behind her and wagging slowly.

Lightning remains seated for a moment as the female wolf joins him, then hoists himself to his feet so that the lupus can give him the usual sniffs of greeting. Well met, he bids her. I have been busy since I last was with you. I hope to have a good strong den soon, not far from the other one. And then I shall be recognised as a member of this great sept, yes.

Blackriver takes her own sweet time sniffing the Galliard over, before withdrawing her nose and trotting back a step, flicking her ears once in acknowledgment of the Fostern's words.

There's something definitely uneasy about Lightning's posture. His stance towards Blackriver isn't deferential, but neither is it confident, at least not as confident as normal. He cocks his head on one side, and seems to be gearing up to communicate further. Blackriver's nose, meantime, is likely to have picked up on him a scent she's not known for several weeks, and probably never expected to smell again. The scent of a garou who was supposed to have departed the sept some time ago. The scent of Promises-Kept.

Blackriver's nose twitches and her ears splay in confusion as she leans closer, confirming the scent in her mind. Her posture goes rigid, and her fur bristles a bit, but she waits for the Fostern to speak before saying anything, although she seems dearly to want to.

Lightning walks a couple of paces, then turns back to face the philodox. I have something of importance to ask you, he finally begins. Just after full moon, by chance or by Falcon's will, in the scab I stumbled across one of our tribe. He was ill and dirty and hungry. He told me his story. He is a foolish young wolf in many ways but so were we all, once.

Blackriver lets out a growl so low it's almost inaudible. I told him to leave. She half snarls, half mumbles, mostly to herself.

You did, agrees Lightning. And he did not. But he has told me that what kept him here was not wilful disobedience of your command but confusion between the commands of his elder and his totem. For he, as I, hears the words of Falcon. It was Falcon who sent him here, and he was hesitant to slink away with his tail between his legs when he was under order to do Falcon's work. No wonder that he became confused and sick in the head when torn two ways as he was.

Blackriver begins to pace in a wide circle around Lightning, tail fluffing out behind her and ears held down in unhappiness. When he was here, She explains, Promises-Kept did nothing but get into trouble. Many Garou were angry at him - some even wanted to kill him. He did not seem to want to get into trouble, so I told him to go so he would stop hurting our tribe here, and would not get killed. It is not my fault that he failed to do what Falcon told him to when he had the chance to. I warned him.

It is not your fault, Lightning is quick to agree. And I do not seek to question your judgment as half-moon upon him. He knows that he acted badly, though his intentions were always good. Guilt weighs him down. Wherever he goes now, other garou will see him consumed by it, verging on madness. He is of our blood, Blackriver. I would not have the lesser tribes elsewhere see him and sneer at him. I ask this, not without hesitation. Give him the chance to do what he was sent here to do. The chance to redeem himself for his errors. Only thus will Falcon's work be done, and Promises-Kept saved from the pit of despair on whose brink he is teetering. (Lightning conveys this metaphor with a disturbingly realistic impression of a wolf on the edge of a steep cliff, staring down over it in fear.)

Blackriver pauses mid-step as the Galliard does his little metaphor, suddenly frozen in confusion. It takes her a moment to answer, first to work through the words and extract their meaning, then to weigh them. Maybe. She finally replies, slowly and hesitantly. Bring him to me, so I can talk to him. So I can see if he is willing to work hard to earn back his honor and another chance. What he says and whines are different then what he does. There's a long pause from the Philodox before she goes on. Falcon does not talk to me. He does not tell me what he wants me to do. But I do not need him to. I know what I know. And I know Promises-Kept has lost honor and acted foolish. But I also know the Wisdom creed tells me to be merciful. So bring him to me and I will see if he deserves another chance.

I shall bring him, vows Lightning. And you shall use your wisdom that the half-moon gives you to act for the best. He shakes himself all over as though to rid himself of the whole tricky topic, as though it were so much water on his body. How do you fare? How is the cub Always-Walks-Ahead? Is there news I can take back to the city?

Blackriver too seems more than happy to change topics. I am healthy. She replies. Walks-Ahead is living at the cub den now, I am teaching her how to fight and walk in the spirit world. She fluffs herself up a bit before going on. Tell the scab Garou that Wildfire is coming to the scab soon. We are hunting the tainted mirror-bird spirits that live in people's dreams. Circle Keeper of the Uktena told us what they are, and we are going to trap them and kill them.

Lightning gives a little growl at that news, a growl containing both annoyance at the existence of these spirits, and relish at the promise that they are soon to face their nemesis. I shall tell them, he promises. Will Wildfire hunt them alone or will others be called to help? I will gladly fight if called upon, and I think the pack Havoc will too. I hear there is another scab pack called Vendetta but I do not know them well yet.

Blackriver shakes herself lightly. Yes, yes, of course! You may fight with us, and tell Stone-Spirit-rhya that Wildfire would be honored to have her pack fight with us too. They are weak spirits, but they run very fast and we must kill them quickly so they do not run away. We will also need Garou to sleep, to lure the spirits into the trap. There's a pause as Philodox's bright pink tongue comes out to lick her nose. The raccoon pack is bad. She replies solemnly. It is full of charachs and metis, and they do not follow the traditions. They have been a pack for a while now, and I hear nothing of what they have done to fight the Wyrm.

Lightning gives a little chuff-snort of distaste. A pack full of those whom no others will pack with, he sneers, dismissing Vendetta. Will those who lure the spirits be new-moons as usual or will any garou serve? And how will sleeping lure spirits? I sleep, he notes majestically, as though Blackriver might think that so noble a Silver Fang might be immune from the need. Even Osric sleeps.

Blackriver's tongue skins the outside of her lip before slipping back into the large wolf's jaws. The spirits will come to taint the sleepers. She explains. I am thinking the ones who sleep will be the ones the spirits have come to taint before. That way they will think they can taint them again. The lupus cants her head oh so slightly to the right. Who is Osric?

Lightning seems slightly disappointed that Blackriver has to ask. He is Falcon's messenger. He guides me and commands me. He is the most noble and pure of spirits. He would not taint anyone in their sleep.

Blackriver glances around, as if the falcon-spirit might be hovering above Lightning's shoulder as they speak. Slowly, she flicks her ears in acknowledgment, admitting that she does not know much about the spirit world.

Lightning looks up, too, and a hypothetical watcher might well believe that the spirit is hovering not far above their heads. Or that one or both of them think it is. Many garou today do not know as much as they should, Lightning comments. Perhaps one day soon we shall spend time together with the spirits. But the moon thins and it is not good to be in the shadow without Luna's full light to guide. I should return to the city and make sure the foolish young Promises-Kept is still well. And then I shall start to spread your news.

Blackriver chuffs an okay, a bit uncertain about a field trip to the umbra, and wags her tail softly before beginning to meander away, sniffing at this and that on the forest floor. How's that for goodbye?

Lightning turns away once the exchange is obviously over, and as is often the way with garou when in lupus form, he simply trots off without any of the obvious farewells which humans usually conclude their conversations with. Soon he's lost to sight.