[img align=right]https://i.imgur.com/dWzkC2jt.png[/img][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][quote][color=orange]“I remember the fires- that night we gathered ‘round em for the feasts and songs. A time of wonder under the watch of the ol’ Sky River. Now I know, that time won’t ever come.” - Tom “Holds The Embers” Kohan[/color][/quote][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]




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Cold mountain air had rolled down the mountain with the setting sun- a sharp blade across the ribs of the unwary. It was more than just the air though- it was the weight of the coming moments. The promise of what the night was meant to be. A night of bounty and stories, a night of of Becoming. You were becoming Garou tonight.

The Sept Of The Light Dancers, perched closed to the shoreline of Lake Minchumina, was active tonight- more so than usual. The air here carried the scents of wood smoke and roasting meat, mingled with the tang of frost and the faint, earthy aroma of tundra moss. You can even catch the scent of smoked venison, fresh bread, and tundra berries cooking down into syrup, all blending into the icy air. Fires flickered in controlled chaos, casting long shadows against the old Sitka spruce trees that stood silent and eternal around the spring. Kinfolk and Garou worked tirelessly in the firelight, their movements precise, almost ritualistic, as they prepared for the Moot. There was a rhythm to it, a pulse, like the heartbeat of the land itself.

Every member of the sept worked in tandem. Elders exchanged works of guidance and advice to kinfolk, measured and deliberate. A few young ahroun, trying to avoid menial cooking or cleaning, hoist logs in secret competition with each other. The Den Mother and Father arranged their wards for the coming ceremonies, giving instructions, practicing, and donning any regalia needed.

The aurora, or Sky River as it was named, flows across the night sky in shades of green and purple. This was the Guardian Spirit of the Sept, you had been taught. A powerful spirit that walked the boundary between the Umbra (spirit world) and Material World. You could almost just touch it, given the reflection on the lake waters. It seemed never ending. The light pools on the glacial spring at the heart of the caern, painting its surface with colors too vivid to be real. It’s beautiful, yes, but also unsettling. The kind of beauty that carries weight, a reminder of how small you are beneath the vastness of Gaia’s creation.

Tonight was a night for the sept- but also for you. Tonight was the night your Rite Of Passage was to be initiated. Months of education from elders, bloodied nights training with mentors, all leading to this moment. You would no longer be a cub- you would be Garou. However, cub or garou, you were still expected to help out with preparation for the nights activities. Where were you that night? 

Tags: [@TrippyNightmare] [@hanzo] [@Vertigo]