This is the moment
This is the time
When the momentum and the moment
Are in rhyme
Give me this moment
This precious chance
I'll gather up my past
And make some sense at last!

Andrea comes in from the caern area, carrying a knapsack, a canteen, and half a dozen ropes made out of interwoven vines. Due to the season, the vines are a dark brownish color. She moves in quietly, especially when she hears the singing.

Derrick's gaze turns back to Dusty, and he starts grinning hugely.

Erik clearly doesn't recognize the song, though the Fianna listens with keen, thirsty interest, head tilted. Nervousness, for the moment, quelled.

Dusty's smile grows as he sings, seeming unware of what is around him as he losesd himself in the music that only he can hear. The song is sings gradually gains in volume, stirring, uplifting.

This is the moment
When all I've done
All of the dreaming, scheming
And screaming become one!

This is the day
See it sparkle and shine
When all I've lived for becomes mine!
Dusty continues, the music of his voice now strong and sweeping.

For all these years
I've faced the world alone
And now the time has come
To prove to them I've made it
On my own...

Derrick's still grinning, humming along, not so quietly.

It is about now that Dusty looks up, about to continue, all but lost in the power of the music, and nearly falters as he spots Andrea. He picks up again, though his eyes are on her, as if he's waiting for a signal from her, and his voice is a bit quieter and more controlled, if not lacking the feeling that fairly sings through the words.

This is the moment!
My final test
Destiny beckons
I never reckoned second best...

I won't look down
I must not fall
This is the moment...
The sweetest moment of them all!

Andrea smiles at the galliard of her tribe with silent encouragement, waiting for his song to end.

Derrick gives Dusty a positively exuberant grin.

Dusty returns the smile with an uncertain frown, some of his attention drawn from the music, but he clings doggedly to it, his eyes still on Andrea, obviously ready to stop if he thinks she wants him to but part of him still lost in the last part of the song.

This is the moment! Damn all the odds!
This day or never
I';ll sit forever with the gods!

He seems to take strength from Derrick's grin, the frown fading and his voice gaining strength.
When I look back
I'll always recall
Moment for moment
This was the moment
The greatest moment
Of them all!

Derrick actually breaks out singing at the end of this. Badly, but it's the thought that counts.

Erik belatedly notices Andrea, and ducks his head toward the Gaian elder.

Laughs enters from the forest.

Andrea's smile is more reserved toward the Fianna metis, but she doesn't seem angered. She waits for the pack to ready itself, patiently.

Laughs slips into the trees at the edge of the clearing, curious at the assembly there.

Dusty stands immediately on finishing, cheeks flushed with more than a hint of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Quiet-rhya...I didn't see you standing there. Um...." Anything the music may have done for the Galliard's nerves is erased and then some by the Theurge's presence.

Derrick, however, is still grinning, all traces of nervousness apparently gone. "Worked for me, Dusty. We ready, guys?"

Andrea shakes her head. Gently, she says, "Each pack readies itself in its own way."

"Yes," Erik says abruptly. He then looks rather embarrassed and shuffles his feet a bit.

Derrick holds out his hands. "Bondage time."

Laughs turns, and slips away.

Erik blinks, caught off-guard by the word 'bondage.' He stares at Derrick for a moment before his brain snaps back into gear.

Dusty scratches at the base of his neck, nervousness abruptly vanishing beneath a calm, set, almost cold mask. He seems content to watch Quiet, waiting for an indication of what is going on.

Rends-the-Dark rises up into homid, silently.

Andrea gestures the pack to make a circle, as she sets up in the center of them all. "Join hands." The theurge then turns back to her gear, first setting the woven vines down on the snow. She next takes the wooden bowl and fills it with the dark liquid from the canteen.

Athena holds out her hands.

Erik shifts his weight a bit, nervously, then holds out his left -- and only -- hand.

Derrick takes Athena's hand, and Erik's shoulder.

Dusty pauses a moment, then steps to Erik's left hand. He flinches briefly as he touches the corpse-like metis, then reaches out for Athena's right hand to take it in his left.

Andrea starts with Derrick. She ties his hand to the Fury's with what has become practiced ease, despite the ungainly nature of the uncured ropes. Then Athena's right hand is bound to Dusty's left, and Dusty's right to Erik's left. Finally, Eric's forearm is tied to Derrick's lower arm.

look athena
Barely a teenager, this girl's body is surprisingly graceful for somebody in the throes of adolescence. Her stocky, strong child's body is beginning to aquire the hint of a woman's shape; although she is still short, she somehow also seems lean, with long legs. Her skin is a dusky olive indoors, but closer to bronze in the sunlight. Her black curly hair is cut to chinlength, without bangs. Her eyes are grey.
She is not truly pretty, with a short nose and a square face, but there is something about her that demands attention. Perhaps it is the way her grey eyes seem to observe everything around her. Or perhaps it's how confidently she stands, or how efficiently she moves-- graceful even when she is not quick. There is something wild in the tilt of her head, and the way she shifts her weight forward onto the tips of her toes, as if at any moment, she will spring forward.
Belted around her waist, incongruous with her jeans, is a rather large knife with an oversized hilt wrapped in leather. There is a hat perched on her head, a little too big, and a bit incongruous with her jeans and sneakers.

look derrick
In his mid teens still, Derrick is one of those tall, lanky sorts who would make a good swimmer (and in fact did, at one time). 6'0", he's relatively thin, though by no means skinny, with a long chest and long legs. He isn't quite as gangly as he used to be, now that he has more control over his body, but it might be hard to tell because he's almost constantly fiddling with something.
His face is thin, with long brown hair that is, nowadays, almost always kept back in a ponytail. His eyes are hazel, although they seem to change to other colors depending on his moods. At one point, a slight smile was on his face despite his actual mood, but he has to force the smile more often lately, as tension is never far from his face or his frame.
He's wearing battered blue jeans, a well worn shamie shirt, and a t-shirt. His knapsack is by his side, a Red Sox cap sticking half way out of it. His moccasins look in dire need of repair.

look erik
This tall figure, six and a half feet at least, stands out in almost any crowd. His build is skeletal, disturbingly thin and angular, with long arms and legs. His face is a horror, a living death's head with corpse-pallid skin stretched drum-tight over too-obvious bone. A few wisps of dark hair cling to a miserable existence on his otherwise bald scalp, and his eyes -- brilliant green and raw with undisguised emotion -- gaze apprehensively out from deep-set, misaligned sockets. A number of small, regular scars encircle the left. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, and rather than a nose he has only a pair of gaping holes, a feature which only emphasizes the skull-like appearance.
A discolored, battered gray overcoat envelopes his frame, the ragged tails coming just past his knees, the right sleeve folded and pinned shut at the elbow. Underneath, he wears several layers of sweaters and shirts to combat the cold, plus a pair of baggy jeans and scuffed brown boots. A grayish, wide-brimmed fedora, about the same un-color of the coat, sits atop his skull-like head, and when outdoors, his face is usually wrapped in loops of brownish-red scarf so that only his eyes are visible. His voice is startling, even freakish in its unearthly beauty and purity of tone. It's colored with a faintly Irish lilt, attractive and compelling.
Erik shifts his weight slightly, eyes following Andrea as she moves about and ties the pack together.

look dusty
At first glance, this fifteen-year-old kid is just plain average. Curly ginger hair hangs past his shoulders, just long enough to pull into a clean ponytail, away from a fair, somewhat befreckled face. His eyes, though, are what set him off. A deep blue-grey, they hold a mix of laughter, music, and maybe just a hint of confusion and fear way down in their depths. The smiles are rarer now, more given to thoughtful brooding.
His clothing is just a average as most of the rest of him -- a dark green button-down shirt and blue jeans, with a brown belt threaded through the loops. A cheap pair of white sneakers cover his feet. He is almost never seen without his most precious possession, an acoustic guitar in a somewhat battered and beclawed case.

Derrick flexes his wrist, thoughtfully.

Dusty by contrast is quite still as he stands tied, perhaps a little too still.

Andrea checks the bonds. She doesn't touch any of the pack except Erik, and him only briefly to check the bonding of his upper arm to Derrick's lower for secureness. She then says soberly, "A pack is one being. Closer than tribe, closer than family, a pack will live and die together, and for each other. So you are bound by hand, so you are bound by body." She then goes back to pick up the bowl. She offers it first to Derrick, again starting with him. The dark liquid looks almost black in the nighttime light.

Derrick takes a long, slow sip, staring at the Theurge as he does so. His face flickers slightly at the taste, and then relaxes again.

Erik's grotesque features are sketched into a study of apprehension and nervousness, but he manages to hold himself quite still.

Andrea gives him a slight smile of approval, her eyes steady with his while she holds the bowl for him. She moves next to Athena.

Athena takes a gulp of the liquid and wrinkles her mouth instinctively.

Andrea nods at Athena and goes, in turn, to Dusty.

Dusty, for his part, takes a careful sip, then a slighltly longer one,his expression thoughtful. He does not quite meet Andrea's eyes, instead keeping them on the bowl.

Andrea gives a slight sigh, then turns to the final, the omega of the pack. She holds the bowl for Erik.

Erik takes a deep breath, then drinks from the bowl, face tightening slightly at the taste a moment after he swallows.

Andrea lowers the bowl to the ground. She damps her fingers in what remains of the liquid and anoints each forehead. Her fingers are almost dry by the time she gets to Erik, and she doesn't linger in touching his face. "A pack must share a single fate, taste the same prey and fight the same battles. So you are annointed, so you have shared the cup."

Athena can't help but squeeze Dusty and Derrick's hands, shivering in nervous excitement.

Dusty seems to take strength from the squeeze, glacing at Athena with a small, somewhat reserved smile that is more unhindered in his eyes than on his lips.

Derrick bounces a little, nervous energy expending itself any way it can.

Erik lowers his head slightly. He's chewing fretfully at his lower lip, and he shifts his weight uneasily.

Andrea settles back into the center, her words for that portion done. Her eyes fix on Derrick. "Derrick Falcon's-Wings-Leads-By-Example, ragabash of the Silver Fangs, what purpose will your pack follow?"

Athena looks at the ragabash standing next to her, quietly. Her grey eyes are solemn as she calms under the influence of ritual.

Derrick stares back at Andrea, solemnly. "To Guard the Hidden Walk." There is no fear in his voice, only resolution.

Andrea gives a single nod, accepting the answer. She gives a quarter turn. "Athena Rends-The-Dark, ahroun of te Black Furies, why do you choose these packmates?"

Athena considers. "I have fought with them, for them. They are my friends, the family I have chosen."

Andrea gives another nod, accepting the answer without further questioning why a single Fury has decided to pack with all men. She turns now to her tribemate. "Dusty Deep-Fires-of-Strength, galliard of the Children of Gaia, what deeds will your pack do for your totem?"

Now Dusty looks up, and meets Andrea's eyes, firm and steady. "Whatever is necessary to serve our purpose and the desires of the totem who chooses us."

Andrea gives another, single nod. She turns finally to the metis. "Erik Sings-in-Shadow, also galliard but of the Fianna, what spirit does your pack seek?"

Erik straightens his posture a bit and manages to answer without the slightest hint of tremor. "Owl."

Andrea straightens with the answer, nodding once more. She leans back her head and shifts up into the war form. Her twisted, rusty knife appears at her waist as she throws her arms to the sky. ~Owl, silent hunter, king of the night winds, this pack would honor you. Come, Owl, if you will accept these Guardians as your children. Come!~ She stretches out the last word into a ringing howl.

Derrick looks, hopefully, up, eyes straining.

Erik looks up as well, with an expression full of agnonized hope.

Athena can't seem to supress a soft hopeful cooing under her breath.

Dusty is silent, watching, his face a mask.

A shadow flickers at the edges of perception, gliding soundlessly across the Moon's broad face. A scent of musty, ancient, misused woods washes by on the night breeze. A mouse skull drops into the center of the circle, and fades away, like a Garou through a mirror.

A frown flickers across Derrick's face, and he asks, "Umbra?"

Quiet, looking up, gives a single nod. She then unties Erik from Derrick, so the pack can move in a line. ~Go. Reach to the other side. He waits.~

Derrick asks, "You got a mirror, or we go to natural water?"

Quiet's ears splay, slightly. ~Not big enough for you all. Go to the falls.~

Athena smiles quietly to herself as she realizes the procession they'll be making. She follows when Derrick leads.

A Remote Corner of the Umbra
In this place, the trees do not so much stand as loom. Draped in sheets of cobwebs, playing host to burst cocoons of ages gone by, this place is silent but for the occasional flutter of wings. The only motion are the swarms of moths -- some infinitesimal creatures of kinetics, other great, leaden things that look like they shouldn't fly at all.
Contents:
Derrick
Erik
Athena
Dusty

Even in the world of Spirit, the owl is ephemeral, flickering from species to species in appearance, and soundlessly kiting down a path into stranger regions of the Umbra.

Derrick shifts down to lupus, following it intently.

Athena hoots after the owl, a delighted greeting and blurs down into lupus to lope after it, still somehow managing to coo to herself.

Dusty follows the others, noticeably more relaxed now that Quiet is gone and seeming to let the excitement infect him more. He takes the wolf shape as well, trailing along and to one side.

Erik mutters something under his breath in Gaelic and follows suit, loping along with an awkward-looking three-legged gait and trailing at the end of the pack.

The bird-shadow flutters ahead, straining the Garous' senses to keep up with it. Although the angle of the path is up and away from the familiar landscape, the surroundings become steadily more grim, dark, and silent. Cobwebs drape in graceful sheets from tree limbs. Moths begin to explode into nearly silent flurries as the still, stifling air is disturbed by Garou passing.

Falcon's Wing sneezes at a moth, sending it shooting forward, and ducks its recurrance, loping after the owl, checking with Athena every so often to make sure he's still in the right direction.

Athena continues to dash after the owl-- she's happy, despite the grim surroundings, ears pricked for any sound from the silent flier.

Sings-in-Shadow lays his ears back, but continues determinedly onwards, following the rest of the pack -- _his_ pack, dammit. _His_ pack.

Deep-Fires ducks sharply as the moths come flying at him, the instinctive 'hit-the-deck' response of someone who sees a missile flying at them, only getting back up and dashing off to follow when they'regone.

The tiny moths give way to larger ones whose ashen wings throw up clouds of dust. One shadow flickers overhead, large enough to distract from the owl, yet again, it is only a moth... a moth with a two-foot wingspread, but a moth nonetheless.

The tree trunks darken to a uniform iron gray, their skeletal branches calcified and utterly still. The full moon casts a wan light over this land; all color has long ago drained away.

Athena finally calms down and settles into the chase, trying her best to not get distracted-- although it's hard, when there are moths big enough to eat the owl flying this way and that.

Deep-Fires flattens again from time to time as the moths fly low, but continues to run on with the pack, letting them lead for the time being.

Falcon's Wing snarls, vaguely, at one of the moths, falling a bit behind Athena, running determindly.

Sings-in-Shadow lowers his head slightly, ears still flattened against his skull, and keeps loping awkwardly along.

The landscape is disturbingly flat. No hillocks. No trenches. No ruts. The road is straight as an arrow, only the gloom keeping you from seeing to the end of it. The trees straighten from their looming slouches, reaching straight up, with straight, smooth trunks and straight, bare branch stubs where all the angular branches have snapped off. The cobwebs fade away until there is nothing but straight, clean road and straight, clean trees on a flat, clean plane.

From afar, Falcon's Wing hsm. Weaver. Hsm.

Falcon's Wing looks less and less comfortable as the road becomes more and more straight, hackles rising slightly. But he does leep running.

Sings-in-Shadow grows steadily more and more uneasy as the environment takes on such a sterile, Weaverish quality. The hairless skin at his shoulders prickles and goosepimples, and a low whine escapes him. But he keeps running with his pack.

Deep-Fires actually slows down as the road becomes more straight, hackles rising and a crackling tension not unlike Erik's uneasiness beginning to suffuse the set of his muscles.

Athena falls back-- not to slow, but to run with Dusty, urging the pack to run side by side, together, instead of in a line.

Falcon's Wing, panting slightly, speeds up to be nearer Athena.

Deep-Fires slows down a little further as his ears pick up the subtle wheezing, his unease momentarily shadowed by concern for his packmates.

The plane abruptly ceases to be, the land falling away sharply ahead, a long, straight line of cliff extending as far as the eye can see. The plane resumes, two hundred feet below, and stretches pallidly over at least five miles to a tall, gray fortress. The walls appear to be solid granite, the crenellations betraying movement behind the tops of the high walls. A single black flag hangs limply from a standard off the highest tower.

And into this fortress dives the owl-shadow, after hovering for just a moment to catch the attention of the pack.

Falcon's Wing skids to a halt at the cliff, barely, and peers down.

Sings-in-Shadow hobbles to a stop and limps over toward Derrick's side, his tail low and his ears back.

Deep-Fires skids to a halt as well, nearly going over the edge, and stops, peering down at the cliff with some interest.

From afar, to Sings-in-Shadow, Deep-Fires, Limbo, and Falcon's Wing, Athena covers her eyes and cries.
From afar, Falcon's Wing thinks about silver rivers.
Long distance to Falcon's Wing: Limbo cackles. I refuse to imitate someone else. :)
Deep-Fires pages: Is it a rough cliff? A smooth cliff?
You paged Deep-Fires with 'Rough cliff.'.
Deep-Fires pages: Meaning with hand and footholds and stuff.
Long distance to Deep-Fires: Limbo nods.

Athena sees the cliff and howls, eyes going wide with delight and leaps.

Athena pages to Sings-in-Shadow, Deep-Fires, Limbo, and Falcon's Wing: Owl gives us wings, right? Right? Um.
Athena pages to Sings-in-Shadow, Deep-Fires, Limbo, and Falcon's Wing: Stupid Fury.

Sings-in-Shadow lets out a horrified bark as the Fury leaps heedlesly off the edge.

Falcon's Wing whines, nervously, and starts loping back and forth in a pace, watching the Fury with worry in his eyes.

Deep-Fires whurfs in alarm as the Fury leaps off the edge, ears up and tail flicking back and forth, watching in horror.

See if Athena lives!!