The two figures walked up towards the darkening fall sky, the stars just beginning to peek out like curious children. The dome of granite felt cool under their feet- they had removed their moccasins for this occasion. A smoky shape flitted with them, a spotted cat moving with stealthy grace. The shorter of the two Indians laughed. He wore strange, flowing robes and had hawk feathers woven into his long hair. His companion was a looming man with a face like a wind-swept cliff, who wore only crimson warpaint and deerskin trousers. The robed man laughed again. "This is foolishness, Burns-the-Wound."
"You may be right, Roaring Snipe, but I have little choice. I must ask the great wise serpent where our foes are. I can feel that they are near, but if we do not strike them within this moon we are lost."
The other man's smile strained, and he half giggled, half growled his response:
"Without Tears-of-Iron, summoning our patron will be... difficult."
"She is dead, as are the others; now, we must do what we can. Help me."
They began to chant, and as darkness descended, Burns-the-Wound transformed into a hulking hybrid of man and wolf. The air rippled and shimmed as two worlds merged, and the Alpha garou spoke:
"Great Uktena, please answer us! The secrets done in darkness and in the empty places are know only to you! Please grant us-"
Ocelot, their totem spirit, hissed a warning, prompting Roaring Snipe to shift into Crinos also. Only the distant chirp of a few late season crickets could be heard.
Then a harsh shriek tore out of the spirit world, and a searing blast of invisible fire washed over the two garou. Burns-the-Wound was overcome almost instantly, his body boiling as his roar became a wet, gurgling scream. Roaring Snipe turned to run, but he was caught in the blast, and his defiant howl quickly became a yelp as he rolled down the dome to die quietly in the dark. Green ghost-light flooded the naked hill-top for a moment, and then faded with a distant, harsh laugh.
Home 
