Post by kerwyn on Nov 27, 2012 12:29:42 GMT -6
Leaving what would seem to be the comforts of Yellow Stone, Tate, ventures West by Northwest. Following the howls of the wind screaming from the north, as summer began turning to fall. A year has past since the first change, and an over view of his place among the world given. Though the Wendigo more interested on personal bests in their tribes. Granted six months, armed with basic knowledge and instinct.
Breaking away from the pack, and moving towards the cold hearted mountains Northwest of his birth place. Having only been there once before, as a wolf cub. The goats that became his siblings food, and shelter during their trek down the mountains. The cold hard winter that it was, and only six month old pups besting it. His heart ached as the path before him, was over that of where he lost his brethren.
Moving up through the woods again, to the lakes. A day's travel from Yellow Stone River. His eyes looking to the road before him, where the oldest of his brother died. A car crushing the pup's skull, and sending the ribs through her heart.
The recollection of the event, paining his soul, for that pup was to become his mate. Watching the racing Ford Explorer pass by, his lupus form moves over the cascade of woven tar, and rock. Coming to the other side, the scent of bear strong, as the brown bears claimed this territory as their own.
"The most respected of the Ragabash, would never be caught."
The Gillard had told him, as it was explained the spirits that guarded his moon cycle birth. Though the woods were peaceful, to those that were of another world. The domain of bears not fitting for that of a normal wolf. The trees growing in the area, strong rooted pines, and the ground covered in needles and moss. Finding his footing as the rock beneath crunched. With every step, his paws being cut by the sharp stones, and rigid roots.
The scent of a bear den nearby, and the hibernation not started yet. The aggressive nature during their foraging, not something he was ready to meet with. Though some things are meant to be learned from.
His paws hitting the ground, as though a shadow floating over the landscape. The cuts healing in seconds after being made, none of them deep. The land moving to softer grass after a short time, though it's defenses alone were something to turn back from. Alone, and venturing away from help, of any kind.
Rounding to the North side of Canyon Ferry Lake, during a gibbous moon. A campfire roared, as well as shouts of jeering and anger. Moving closer, to investigate, not to mention it was on the path he was taking. A brown bear had smelled the food cooking, and came to sample it himself. Though unsuspecting humans, and the fools that they are, were caught by surprise.
Moving closer, the bear was caught in a folding chair, and about to break it's casing to be free. Gunshots sounded, as a rifle had been fired. Tate ducked down, unsure of the target, though had heard that sound before. His younger brother felled by such a sound, and immediately after, his body split in half.
Growling lowly to himself, these monstrous beings were about to do the same to the bear. It wasn't the fact that they were going to kill the bear, or visa verse. He didn't like that weapon, the one that made the booming. Vegeance was to be his, to clear his mind, and challenge that which had killed his family.
Leaping at the unexpected prey, from around the side of the bonfire. He ripped into the man's side, tearing him asunder, and knocking the gun away from him. Backing away for long enough to target the man's head, crunch.
Killing the human giving him the sense of revenge being fulfilled. Though the bear had ideas of his own. His shoulder blown open from the rifle, and now free of the collapsing chair. The other four humans there, now fleeing the "rabid beasts". They exclaimed as they fled.
The frustration of the bear sending it into it's own rage, it attacked Tate. It's maw cutting deep into Tate's front shoulder. As Tate raised up, howling in pain, and shifting out of rage. The vengeful heart of the Wendigo, having gained his vengeance, now under attack. The already racing heart, now pounding faster from the pain. Sending him into a rage as his back flayed open by the sharp claws of the beast.
Now locking his snout over the already mutilated shoulder of the bear. They wrestled, both ripping flesh from the other. Jaws clashing with razors, piercing each other time and again. Both battling with great strength, though that of the bear, far below that of a garou. Breaking the devastating hold kept upon him, nearly breaking his back, Tate cleaved the great beasts chest open.
Breathing heavy, and exhausted, as rage leaves one's self. He falls back, with the heart of the bear in hand. Dropping the still pumping heart, as the bear collapsed, so did Tate. Forced to fall back to his natural form. Tate slowly rolled to his stomach, and howled his victory. Taking the heart in his snout, as the loud roars of engines began to approach.
Fleeing into the woods, West of Ferry Canyon Lake. And finding the den, that carried the scent of the now deceased bear, he hid. Taking refuge, he consumed the heart, in the ritual of his tribe. Though the wounds of his meager battle were healing, the scars remained. Reminding him that everything is an enemy, and to never take your eyes off of it.
The daytime travel, had ceased, as the farmlands of the Helena Plains were before him. Not wishing to engage in further encounters with boom sticks, or humans, he kept to the night. Crossing the fields, listening to the barking, and howling of domesticated animals. His disdain for the humans grew stronger, though his mission was simple. Find where the howl of the Wendigo resides.
It wasn't the howl he was after, it was the physical location of the Tribal totem. The treturous voyage to where it was, and the strength to dare the areas of the Umbera where it lay. With that he knew he must find a pack. One to lead, or one to follow, in order to be able to brave those areas of the spirit world.
Mulling this over and over again, as nights passed. Hiding in the fields, and taking practice in looking to the other side. As he crossed the valley. Taking the long way North, around the city, then cutting back west. The Helena Valley marshland to the Northern side of the city, as the cool autum winds rushed from the mountains.
Sticking to the valleys, heading to the Northwest, he rounded Black Mountain after a week's time. Taking small animals as his prey and only enough to keep him going. Meals becoming scarce for the next coming weeks. As Winter began howling in, he had made his way into the Wildlife Refugee of Bonner's Ferry Idaho. October now gone, and November beginning.
The scent of garou lay about, though also did the smell of something else. Tainted grounds..... The trails filled with the stench of death, and defilement. The looking glass into the Umbera mortifying, as the young garou not yet ready to see such things. Sticking to the material world's passage, he would lose himself to it.
Time weighing against him, as mid November came, as did the icy cool winds from the tundra weeks North. Having guided himself along the border of Canada. Tate was now weakening. Moving into Washington, and his stomach shrinking, from lack of game. His spirit weakening from his staying disconnected from the spirit world.
Coming upon the final week of November, the scent of taint scarce. The smell of weavers, and purity filling his lungs. A reminder of home, and a place of learning. The game trails heavy with the smell of promising prey. Following his nose to the center of it all, the heartfire burning brightly.... Finding figures around the cabins, and foliage to hide in, he looks upon it all, wondering if this was his chance.
Breaking away from the pack, and moving towards the cold hearted mountains Northwest of his birth place. Having only been there once before, as a wolf cub. The goats that became his siblings food, and shelter during their trek down the mountains. The cold hard winter that it was, and only six month old pups besting it. His heart ached as the path before him, was over that of where he lost his brethren.
Moving up through the woods again, to the lakes. A day's travel from Yellow Stone River. His eyes looking to the road before him, where the oldest of his brother died. A car crushing the pup's skull, and sending the ribs through her heart.
The recollection of the event, paining his soul, for that pup was to become his mate. Watching the racing Ford Explorer pass by, his lupus form moves over the cascade of woven tar, and rock. Coming to the other side, the scent of bear strong, as the brown bears claimed this territory as their own.
"The most respected of the Ragabash, would never be caught."
The Gillard had told him, as it was explained the spirits that guarded his moon cycle birth. Though the woods were peaceful, to those that were of another world. The domain of bears not fitting for that of a normal wolf. The trees growing in the area, strong rooted pines, and the ground covered in needles and moss. Finding his footing as the rock beneath crunched. With every step, his paws being cut by the sharp stones, and rigid roots.
The scent of a bear den nearby, and the hibernation not started yet. The aggressive nature during their foraging, not something he was ready to meet with. Though some things are meant to be learned from.
His paws hitting the ground, as though a shadow floating over the landscape. The cuts healing in seconds after being made, none of them deep. The land moving to softer grass after a short time, though it's defenses alone were something to turn back from. Alone, and venturing away from help, of any kind.
Rounding to the North side of Canyon Ferry Lake, during a gibbous moon. A campfire roared, as well as shouts of jeering and anger. Moving closer, to investigate, not to mention it was on the path he was taking. A brown bear had smelled the food cooking, and came to sample it himself. Though unsuspecting humans, and the fools that they are, were caught by surprise.
Moving closer, the bear was caught in a folding chair, and about to break it's casing to be free. Gunshots sounded, as a rifle had been fired. Tate ducked down, unsure of the target, though had heard that sound before. His younger brother felled by such a sound, and immediately after, his body split in half.
Growling lowly to himself, these monstrous beings were about to do the same to the bear. It wasn't the fact that they were going to kill the bear, or visa verse. He didn't like that weapon, the one that made the booming. Vegeance was to be his, to clear his mind, and challenge that which had killed his family.
Leaping at the unexpected prey, from around the side of the bonfire. He ripped into the man's side, tearing him asunder, and knocking the gun away from him. Backing away for long enough to target the man's head, crunch.
Killing the human giving him the sense of revenge being fulfilled. Though the bear had ideas of his own. His shoulder blown open from the rifle, and now free of the collapsing chair. The other four humans there, now fleeing the "rabid beasts". They exclaimed as they fled.
The frustration of the bear sending it into it's own rage, it attacked Tate. It's maw cutting deep into Tate's front shoulder. As Tate raised up, howling in pain, and shifting out of rage. The vengeful heart of the Wendigo, having gained his vengeance, now under attack. The already racing heart, now pounding faster from the pain. Sending him into a rage as his back flayed open by the sharp claws of the beast.
Now locking his snout over the already mutilated shoulder of the bear. They wrestled, both ripping flesh from the other. Jaws clashing with razors, piercing each other time and again. Both battling with great strength, though that of the bear, far below that of a garou. Breaking the devastating hold kept upon him, nearly breaking his back, Tate cleaved the great beasts chest open.
Breathing heavy, and exhausted, as rage leaves one's self. He falls back, with the heart of the bear in hand. Dropping the still pumping heart, as the bear collapsed, so did Tate. Forced to fall back to his natural form. Tate slowly rolled to his stomach, and howled his victory. Taking the heart in his snout, as the loud roars of engines began to approach.
Fleeing into the woods, West of Ferry Canyon Lake. And finding the den, that carried the scent of the now deceased bear, he hid. Taking refuge, he consumed the heart, in the ritual of his tribe. Though the wounds of his meager battle were healing, the scars remained. Reminding him that everything is an enemy, and to never take your eyes off of it.
The daytime travel, had ceased, as the farmlands of the Helena Plains were before him. Not wishing to engage in further encounters with boom sticks, or humans, he kept to the night. Crossing the fields, listening to the barking, and howling of domesticated animals. His disdain for the humans grew stronger, though his mission was simple. Find where the howl of the Wendigo resides.
It wasn't the howl he was after, it was the physical location of the Tribal totem. The treturous voyage to where it was, and the strength to dare the areas of the Umbera where it lay. With that he knew he must find a pack. One to lead, or one to follow, in order to be able to brave those areas of the spirit world.
Mulling this over and over again, as nights passed. Hiding in the fields, and taking practice in looking to the other side. As he crossed the valley. Taking the long way North, around the city, then cutting back west. The Helena Valley marshland to the Northern side of the city, as the cool autum winds rushed from the mountains.
Sticking to the valleys, heading to the Northwest, he rounded Black Mountain after a week's time. Taking small animals as his prey and only enough to keep him going. Meals becoming scarce for the next coming weeks. As Winter began howling in, he had made his way into the Wildlife Refugee of Bonner's Ferry Idaho. October now gone, and November beginning.
The scent of garou lay about, though also did the smell of something else. Tainted grounds..... The trails filled with the stench of death, and defilement. The looking glass into the Umbera mortifying, as the young garou not yet ready to see such things. Sticking to the material world's passage, he would lose himself to it.
Time weighing against him, as mid November came, as did the icy cool winds from the tundra weeks North. Having guided himself along the border of Canada. Tate was now weakening. Moving into Washington, and his stomach shrinking, from lack of game. His spirit weakening from his staying disconnected from the spirit world.
Coming upon the final week of November, the scent of taint scarce. The smell of weavers, and purity filling his lungs. A reminder of home, and a place of learning. The game trails heavy with the smell of promising prey. Following his nose to the center of it all, the heartfire burning brightly.... Finding figures around the cabins, and foliage to hide in, he looks upon it all, wondering if this was his chance.
