Meeting Notes
February 9th, 2023
- Cajun named Assessment
- Mentor is CwnAnnwn
- Rook named Lore Master
Attendance:
@ApacheWolf
@Kova
@Rook
@Shakira
@Sanek
@Panther
@Rune
@Fianna
%Sasika
%CwnAnnwn
%Calder
+Fern +Code +Cajun +Ophaelos
Leora Foxfur Grimwolf
@Kova
@Rook
@Shakira
@Sanek
@Panther
@Rune
@Fianna
%Sasika
%CwnAnnwn
%Calder
Pack Meeting Begins
* Kova perhaps they’d be equally as lost in a pool of reflection. Without his gentle nuzzle, she’d remain there for a little while longer. She dipped her head and nosed him lightly in kind before turning and making her way up towards the Alpha’s stone. Once she was at it’s edge, she would lift her muzzle up and howl. Perhaps shortly after FoxFur’s to indicate a gathering. A direction for the fae to traverse.
* Fianna would see Panther just to the north as she and Calder entered the area, and she had been about to quickly turn his way, wanting an update on how he was and of the fox, but Kova’s howl would rise just then and she would arrest the motion to remain near Calder for the meeting. The reporting could wait. For now, she was interested to hear what might be a paw.and would pad into the middle of the clearing, taking close note on all who appeared before settling nearby. Had she noticed Rook entering with Kova? Perhaps.. And a sly and keen look would be sent them both as she settled.
<Fern> -Ë‹Ë à¼»â There, yes, she had spotted her friend Saskia after a bit of gazing, not to mention other approaching wolves. But who was she with? From afar a black smudge might have been Panther- No… It was Grimolf. Her pelt prickled with tension, not to mention the stress of the amount of wolves that attended the meeting, but added onto the wolf she disliked probably most… This is going to be a challenge indeed. She was weary at first,not moving a paw forward, but at Kova’s howl she knew to heed it’s call, and that she did. Gingerly picking up the pace to the Alpha Stone.
* Leora she -was- headed to the hunting grounds to get something nice ‘n tasty! But there was a howl. She recognized it’s tone and meaning, so swiftly and without hesitation she would run towards the direction of the clearing. She had already had a good lead by now, and moments more the young and light fae would erupt out of the shadows! She was here! She made it! Quickly she would glance around to
<Leora> see who was there.
<Cajun> padded into the clearing and as the brute neared the stone he bowed and dipped his head to Kova and then to the others he saw seated nearby the big male paded over toa spot where he usualy sat at during gatherings and sat down on his haunces letting his tail lay on the ground ina half but relaxed curl behind himself Cajun then looked around seeing who all was there and nearby giving a twitch of his ears a couple times
* Rook Story 📖 Depending on where Fianna and Calder stopped, he just might catch the goober-ridden glance of his sister. He’d not be embarrassed of his heart’s path, but he would give Fianna a roll of the eyes before he came to rest on the east side of the Alpha’s rock just a few padfalls from Ophaelos. If the male was attentive enough, then he too would catch a dip of the nose in greeting before more and more wolves began their own approach in answer to Kova’s call. A quick chuff would given to Cajun. Had he taken note of his youngest sister, Leora? A quick scan of the rest of the clearing might find her or she might just find him.
LORE NIGHT
Saskia🍂
.·: ¨༺ The deadly looks from the Alphess was that of a dragon; it’s fires burning deep into her soul. When she retreated back to her square, Saskia would straighten her posture and look back to where Grimolf disappeared. She didn’t linger there for but a moment before turning back. When Kova asked whom would like to share first in the lore night, she would stand to her paws. “Not a story worthy of dreams, but a story all the same of truth!” She’d start, waving her tail behind her as she waited for a response. ༻¨ :·.
* Rook would feel the nudge of his sister and hear the howl offered by Cajun. He would, of course, dip his nose in thanks to the brute before looking to Leora as if to nudge her to be next in line. For now, a story would be potentially offered by Saskia.
* Calder his attention would have been split between all the happenings. Eyes careful, but welcome to each wolf who now gathered closer for the night of Lore. He was eager to hear the tellings from one to another. This was always his chance to learn more of the pack then ever.
* Kova when Saskia would offer to be the first to share, she gave a firm nod of her head and a welcoming expression, despite the simmering discharge of ire that still had yet to truly fleet her gaze. Not towards the fae of course, but in the tension slowly simmering away. “What say you, Lore Master, to Saskia opening for us?” she diverted her gaze to Rook with a light and curious expression.
* Rook Deep in the throes of quiet touches and well wishes in lieu of what was, he was further caught off guard by the question asked. He would look to Saskia intently as the first verse bearer, the keeper and seeker of the Song, to another. Would the bells toll? Would the bay of wrestles ocean churn on the fore? He likely couldn’t see, but he dipped his nose none-the-less. ”Tell a tale and may those who hear be the better for it.”
* Kova her hues fell then to Saskia as she would dip her nose, giving the fae the floor to begin her spun lore. Eager ears would perk as she would remain a top the rock for a moment, and when the blessing was given by Rook, she would slowly decend from the stone’s surface to be level with each wolf in kind. She did her best to seat herself in a manner that might help make a ‘circle’ of sorts. She would have found herself nearest Rook and Leora, with Fianna on the otherside. Eyes fell to Saskia now.
Saskia
Saskia🍂 — Today at 8:29 PM
.·: ¨༺ When Kova turned to ask the newly appointed Lore Master if Saskia could share, she looked to the stone brute with eager, yet nervous eyes. She’d never live up to his stories, but perhaps she could share new things.
When he looked towards her, she’d make contact with his equally stony hues and perhaps share a moment of the spinning thread that was sowing a tapestry. To his permission, if it was called such, she would wave her tail and look towards Fianna. “Many, many months ago, in the summer months of season… Kova drew a group of wolves together to journey North. Far, far and even farther we traveled until we came upon a winged, metal dragon! Of course, this dragon had been slain. Nearest the dragon, there was a structure I’d never seen before. Fianna and I entered this ruin. We moved careful, awaiting for a monster to JUMP out and grab us!-” She’d lunge forward and pretend to lash out in a jump scare towards those in front of her before slinking back into a calmer frame. Her next words would be hushed, and mystified.
“There – at the back of the structure – lied a peculiar object. Fianna approached it with caution, and she touched it! The object was not alive but it sung us a song. Hmm hmm hmmmm-” She’d hum softly like the haunting sounds that came from the object. “- It had petals that you could push under it and what not. I often wonder today what stories it could tell from it’s songs?” She’d conclude her story for now, looking at the others to see what they thought of her experiences, her eyes softly finding Fianna with a wink of jest. ༻¨ :·.
Fianna
Fianna would nod her thanks to their Lore Master and rise to all fours, letting her gaze travel out around them. Since her trek west she had been harboring something, a song of sorts, for just such a time as this. She would take a single moment to gather it in her mind before beginning. She would try and temper the cadence and lyric of her voice to that of the tale told in song, and it would rise and fall to enhance the telling as much as she could…
“A young brute moved through the forest
A legend of tooth and claw.
He heard a young fae singing
And followed the sound afar.
There he found the young fae,
..Who lives in the willow.
He called to her as she listened
From a ring of blossoms red
‘Come with me sylvan fae
Come from thy willow bed’
She looked at him serenely
And only shook her head.
‘See me now, a ray of light in the moondance
See me now, I cannot leave this place
Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest
Don’t ask me, to follow where you lead’
A young brute moved through the forest
With a flower on stem so green
His love had fur like fire
Her eyes an emerald sheen
She wrapped herself in beauty
So young and so serene.
He stood there under the willow
And he gave her the yellow bloom
‘Fae my heart you’ve captured
Oh I would be your mate’
She said she’d court him never
Nae, naught would be her fate…
‘See me now, a ray of light in the moondance
See me now, I cannot leave this place
Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest
Don’t ask me, to follow where you lead’
A young brute walked through the forest
With claws honed sharp and true
I’ll take the green-eyed fae
And she shall be my mate
With her I’ll raise my young pups
With her I’ll pass my days
The young fae mourned when she heard him-
When he said he’d set her free
He took his claws and used them
To bring down her ancient tree
‘Now your willow’s fallen
Now you belong to me’
‘See me now, a ray of light in the moondance
See me now, I cannot leave this place
Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest
Don’t ask me,
to follow where you lead’
She followed him out the forest, and collapsed upon the earth
Her paws had walked but a distance,
From the green land of her birth
She faded into a flower,
That would bloom for one bright eve
He could not take from the forest,
What was never meant to leave.”
Fianna’s voice would fade out near the end, leaving the tale-song on a haunting note as she settled back onto.her haunches.
Panther
Rook was correct, Panther’s hues held certainty, and maybe it wasn’t the story everyone expected, it was a story woven nonetheless. He dipped his muzzle to Rook in thanks, and smiled as he opened his maw to speak. “Not the night howl for one’s mate, nor the full moon instinct to howl. This wolf sings for forlorn fate, a lonesome breed on singular prowl.” A pause would be given as he looked around, a subtle smile on his maw. “Alone in their wild forest home. Guardians of woodland mystery, high upon timbered mountain tops, they roam deep shadows ranging free.” His gaze would be casted towards his court and Fianna once the word ‘Guardians’ was uttered. “Only the whisper of their silent paw prints, swift across valley and meadow home. Ancient witness to continental journey, wildlife warriors under starry dome. Darklight Monarchs in silken fur, royal sanction of Red, Brown, and Black. World renown majestic and noble, from east to north an awesome sight.” He offered his last words, concluding his poem. Once his story was concluded, he’d glance around the circle that had formed. “And that shall be my lore concluded.” He offered, allowing Rook to choose yet another wolf to speak.
Cajun
the big coal brute sensed it was his turn to share a tale to unfold cajun thought long on it but decided that he felt liking alot more to tell of a story of a first time out with a fellow packmate on a dup hunt rather then a start of his own thread of his journey thouggh the great woods and existance that would for sure be a well told ventute in itself but for anotehr time with that cajun stood up and bowed his head to everyone and walked to the mid circle and looked to all facing and meetign each ones gaze before settign down on his haunces to begin his venue of lore twitched his ears when he heard then saw the stomp of the fae Ferns paw and smiled he nodded to her and gave a soft wruff in admiration it made him happy she was eager to hear of his tale and then he felt all the more fitting of the lore he was about to instill upon the winds
cleared his throat then as he let both his mind and body relax some the big brute began his tale he looked to each one as he began allowing his hues and bodys expressiosn to help soin the tale unfolding”twas a few moons ago not to olong after id done my first solo hunt there would be a big coal brute who had a young browm fae with him named saskia “canu smiled over saskias directiona moment” the big brute had eben starting out on a hunt when she aprached him and askwed if she could join there was excitemtn and f light of anticipation in the other wolfs eyes which made the coal male perk admiraly back to her:
walked a few steped a moemnmt and resteaed as he got caught in the moment for a moment of reliving that venture by the two “he smiled and thogh more he looed to the ones listening ‘that night was pure well it startedn out that way anyhow the bruten soflty chuckled the moomn shone down on eachs coat and form making the night dew that clingd on each of their coats l sparke like how the stars twinkle above in the night sky a waters run sounds heard in the distance while the two trod along its banks in search of their quary a Beaver.! though unknogst to neither this one would give the two a sure run for thier paws money and work a night they would rember with a few bumps and bruises
”the two made thier way trekking finally spoting thier quarry, Cajun was the one that made the first strike the brute thankfully landed one and that beaver went asounding back up agaisnt the bank he heald it distracted at bay while his hunting artner saskia made her move the fae moved in with the swiftness of an eagle and making a hold with jaws that held firmer then the hardest stone that might be found . flexed his own paws as he recalled the tale it made him feel like the brute was right there it happening all over again he felt his fur and muscles tingle a little that was part of gthe thrill of a Hunt1 when you chase down and face off with your quarry at last cajun cont with his takle he looked to saskia moment seeing her reation and recolection to the event . gave a soft chuckle then he lifted a paw up a moment as he looked to some of the even more youthful group that might have been listening “But never Ever..Underesimate your prey for once you do that can put you in set for much Dismay ..and a few suprises” the coal brute said while turning his head to sone side lookign off to soemoen who may or may not be there . then it was about that time that things started taking a turn for thee worse as both wolves of the hunting dup were caught Completly off guard the big brute stood up and he paced some in front of everyone back and forth withaw look trying to ad to the suspense and happenings “That darn pesky beaver had a few tricks of his own!” why before either wolf knew it that critetr when the bit coal bruet tried to attack they moved to the side and
<`Raven> rooled back over landing a hard nab Right on the tip of his coal muzzle! causing the brute to tuble back into the water, his hunting partner saskia saw that gre4at falter and rushed to the retaliation But that beaver wasnt done he had alot more that he had hidden and he was about to show that he was alot more then a log chopper
<`Raven> <Cajun> heard a paw stamping and lifted up his gaze and head looking over catching sigfht of the alpha Kova doing the stamping the bri brute smiled then got set to end the tale he shifted his paws and paced back to the other side of the group
<`Raven> <Rook> c/Rook Story 📖 Wise words for every occasion; never underestimate your prey. He too would give a firm stamp of his paw only after Cajun had finished or had he? ”I’d like to know if you both caught the beaver or not! You must not leave the tale at this end.” Only if Cajun wanted to spill the beans would the Lore Master bade him. If Cajun was truly done, then he would let the end of the tale rest for another time.
”saski made her move and i say that cajun was quite impressed by how the young fae had taken to hunting and her determnatiion in trying to land a good meal though that night it just want going to be the luck of the draw for either of them, the big brute watched a splashm of water as teh fae locked on her jaws to the critetr and it tumbled into the water with her, saskia was trying to regain her footing but wasnlt able to as that narly
<`Raven> pesky beaer came up and nabbed her on one of her legs causing her to falter it finaly became too much after the injurues theat both wolves had to just :call it and that was that
<`Raven> <Cajun> both then walked with limps to a spot to rest and it woule be a night neiher would ever soon forget a lesson learned neverr get over awnxious and never under esitamem but tttthe big coal male was proud to have been on the hunt none theles s with saskia it had been hism first duo effort and with that cajun bowed and returned to his seat after gathering everyones expressions
Ophaelos
Ophaelos would smile at Cajun’s story, stamping his paw and getting a, ‘Here, here!’ out in between everyone’s words. At Rook’s call upon him, his smile would not loosen, instead tightening slightly. “I’m honored!” He would keep on his haunches, a comfortable seat as he looks around and takes everyone in. “Perhaps it is not so much of a story, rather than it is a re-telling of some of the festivities and rites my own pack had. Much like your Lore Nights and meetings, my pack was similar in values, but different practices. I thought telling everyone here about them would be appropriate, as you all are sharing your own rite with me.”
“As some few lucky wolves may already know, I hail from the Far, Far North. A place of eternal snow, no matter the season, surrounded by ice, glaciers, water, mountains, and islands. During the warmer times, a phenomenon of eternal day would take place and festivities would follow suit. My pack—Alesthane—charmingly named this time, ‘Miðnætur Sól,’ English for ‘Midnight Sun,’ as the rays of daylight would be apparent in times where it should be dark. It was a time to celebrate the fertile riches that would blossom across the tundra, rare for such a desolate place. Prey would multiply, herbs would grow, melting ice would allow for fishing opportunities, and many litters of pups would be had from the several established pairs. Festivities included hunting excursions and games, consisting of races, Paw-ball, and tag. My personal favorite of these activities would be sparring—where two wolves take part in a consensual fight to show off their strength and courage. Any injuries would be taken care of after the spar, but spars typically consisted of simply pinning an opponent rather than wounding them—ego’s aside,” he chuckles. “It was a bonding experience, especially for those who were eager to practice the way of the hunt on a target that wouldn’t fight back too hard.”
“Some chose to pray during this time, others simply enjoyed the sun on their faces and the plentiful resources the season brought. I typically was never one to pray, as I was too busy sparring and spending time with my family, namely my brother Eýr, and more importantly, the pack Oracle, an old and wise fae named As`shai, my paternal great-great-grandmother and founder of my pack.” He would pause, an image of so many faces lost to time coming to his mind, clearing just in time as he goes on to speak. “In contrast, when the colder months were upon the pack, an eternal night would take place. We called this ‘Snjó Tungl,’ which means ‘Snow Moon.’ In contrast to Miðnætur Sól, this was a sacred time. Prayer would be expected of everyone. Brilliant ribbons of color floated across the dark skies, lighting the tundra full of many hues that danced and waved like beads of water in an ocean. Snjó Tungl was dedicated to the wolves who walked before us, whose souls now wander the spiritual plane. Those who passed from normal causes ascended to the skies, and popular belief preached by Oracles would say their spirits take the form of the lights that wave in the night sky during Snjó Tungl. The brighter their glow, the more pleased the spirits were of the years happenings. To those whose lives were laid in battle, their spirits would ascend much further and deeper, traversing through the energy of these lights, into a realm revered as Valhǫll. An ancient word made of two terms. Valr: ‘the slain’ and Hǫll, for ‘hall.’ It is a separate afterlife for warriors and, only by being killed would one ascend here. Those who made it to Valhalla would be in a realm of sanctuary and feast on the flesh of a Muskox, slaughtered daily and made whole again each evening. This belief is how the Muskox came to be my pack sigil, an extremely sacred animal killed in times of Snjó Tungl only. When slaughtered, we as a pack would together chant an ancient prayer for the creature before eating to guide its spirit to Valhǫll. It is through prayer during such a sacred time that we honor their lives and those that exist in the lights of the painted sky. It was a time of rest, invocation, storytelling, and devotion. Fighting ceased, arguments resolved, and petty resentments were forgotten as everyone joined together to honor both the living and the deceased.”
He would look around, observing everyone’s faces and quiet, respectful demeanors before continuing. “Core values have always been dear to me. The land from which I hail is so different from the land we all currently are sitting in. Beliefs are different, society is different, and the lay of the land itself and its meanings are, too, different. I can see just by the way many of you treat the land we walk on, it holds meaning to everyone, unique to each individual, a feeling that is becoming familiar and stronger to me with each passing day. While my home has been lost to the sands—or, the snowflakes of time, its value and meaning have not. To be with you all, to grow from stranger to friend, or possibly even family eventually, is an honor that I feel very lucky to receive. I share only briefly in my culture tonight, as there is much to say. I just hope that, with time, I may hear stories of your own, from where you all hail, of deities you believe in, why you may not believe in anything, and so on,” he finishes, giving a warm smile to everyone watching. “Thank you for hearing my story… I keep it short, as to leave room for those here wanting more when the time comes to share again. I hope to share more with everyone in the future, both in future Lore Nights and outside of them. The stories and poems shared tonight were epic tales and I wish I could have been there to experience some of those myself.” He would pause for a moment, giving everyone a simper. “Perhaps I will share more of a story next time, instead of a re-telling of the core values of my pack. I sense this tight-knit family is set deep in its own spiritual ways and I thought it would be foolish to not share my own. Storytelling brings wolves close, but nothing beats having a common interest.” Ophaelos would wrap his words up, allowing everyone the time to savor what he says and have responses of their own, if there were any to be had. (aaaaand scene!)
Fern
Fern would find the eyes of Rook land on herself and she would take a deep breath in before sitting up taller, preparing to share what she had remembered of her old pack and their tales. “Well, the words I have are a bit more of a pup’s tale, as those were the favorite kind of stories that my pack told.” She would give a gentle smile, remembering those times. “I believe this story was called “The Lake From Above.”
She would start with one last breath in and prepare her story telling voice. “In the midst of an infinite, open field, three fae-pups were born. All three wondering day after day, what is up there in the sky that makes the limitless atmosphere so vast and vibrant? They soon hatched a plan to steal the wings of some neighboring birds, so each of them could seek out their questions together. And that they did. The first snatching the wings of an Eagle, the second grabbing the wings of a Vulture, and the last taking the wings of Goose. Indeed, they took their new found flight and went high, high into the air until the land below was barely visible, until they were at the top. One of the pups pawed at the almost ever flowing sky, and drip, drip, drip it went. Sending showers of rain down below. They looked around with confused visages, wondering what was holding the water up so high, only to see the spirits and ancestors of many kinds of birds, all using their feathery wings to keep the water aloft. They looked to the pups, first with welcoming faces until they saw the wings of their fallen avian comrades that had been wrongly stolen. They were all horrified of this injustice and cast the pups down, now without their wings. But without the ability of flight how would they make it back down…?” She would chuckle a bit. “That’s where my father would end the story, but I think it’s pretty obvious what happened.” Her voice would trail off into a whisper.
Rook
The passage of time throughout the night would be such that the high heavens would cast a filtered light through passing snow-laden clouds and upon the wolves below. When time had come for him to tell a tale, he would do so by first looking to the night’s sky and calling out.
“Ar aird! Ar aird! Critheann craobhacha an locha san oíche agus solas airgid faoi bhláth i measc a dhuilleog.”
His voice would trail at the last and mimic the trembling of the leaves and branches for which his father’s tongue spoke. He then continued the tale while passing his gaze to each wolf in a thoughtful and deliberate manner.
“Look to the sky and see how the branches of ill-fated lovers cross Loch Oíche. Watch as the silver light trembles above a broken veil…”
“Shortly after the “starfall” of a tale before this, the night’s sky shown with fledgling argent light scattered across a darkened lake that still, in part, resides above us. Upon the fields beneath this primordial sky, love blossomed, and bonds were forged between the kin of stone and the kin of the stars such that the richness and depth of the first Mean Oíche were like roots unbroken…or almost unbroken.”
His tones mimicked those of his father’s telling that in sorrow and in sadness one might still find strength to overcome…
“Joy and peace were not always a certainty in the fledgling days of my ancient kin. The Great Song and the seeds that fruited from it were then as they are now—memories that are scattered in the tones of a melody we each hold part of… a story for another night. The wolf kin of ash, the Olc, however, still remained and toiled in evil deeds of olden days. Fierce were the waning days of the Olc, but even in their demise they encroached upon the lands of the Mean Oíche.”
While he spoke, he gathered upon the edge of the story circle a ridge of snow that served as facsimile to the range of his ancestral home. Once he spoke of the fearsome Olc, he would blow loose snow over top the ridge and watch as the dusting of snow clung to the air like the ash of the Olc would have. Here, at this part of the tale, he would look to Kova with a lingering gaze before he then looked between Fianna and Calder, Panther and Saskia, Rune and Cwn….
” Love burns wild in the hearts of young mates, and two such wolves of the Mean Oíche were on the fields of battle when the Olc descended upon the north. Smoke and ash filled the air and their lungs; yet, they fought from muted dawn to a burning dusk in which the great fire in the sky was painted with the blood of the fallen Olc. So many Olc died that Balor, the Baleful, Alpha of their twisted lot finally descended upon the fray, and in twilight slayed the lovers upon the fields of the Nathaír. There, Balor left them where they died, on opposite sides of the River Nathaír. ”
Again, Rook drew upon the canvas of snow, and in that drawing he carved the passage of the River Nathaír like a braid upon a untamed landscape. When he told of the lover’s death, he placed a pawprint on either side of the river and let his voice purposefully tremble like the lonesome call of a babbling brook against winter’s ice.
“Dwindled in number, the Olc remained upon the fertile plains of the River Nathaír and pressed their invasion no farther. Winter came and with it mournful snow draped atop the fallen lovers, but love would not forget. In the spring, two saplings sprouted where both lovers had fallen, and by summer stout trees with branches filled with silver leaves reached nearly across the river’s width. The Olc, never remiss in their evil, dug and dug until the trees were felled and carried down the river’s course. The next spring, however, two new saplings sprouted, and the summer saw two stout trees of silver leaves that yearned to touch across the river’s width. ”
Rook would draw as best he could upon the snowy canvas to long gentle branches that would almost touch across the river’s course…
Rook would cross out the paw prints and the branches crossing the river, smoothing over the snowy surface before continuing his tale in remorseful tones.
“Dwindled in number, the Olc remained upon the fertile plains of the River Nathaír and pressed their invasion no farther. Winter came and with it mournful snow draped atop the fallen lovers, but love would not forget. In the spring, two saplings sprouted where both lovers had fallen, and by summer stout trees with branches filled with silver leaves reached nearly across the river’s width. The Olc, never remiss in their evil, dug and dug until the trees were felled and carried down the river’s course. The next spring, however, two new saplings sprouted, and the summer saw two stout trees of silver leaves that yearned to touch across the river’s width.”
“Evil but not foolish, Balor knew that these two lovers were a thing he could not abide, and so ordered that the trees be felled again and one of the lover’s bones be carried across the far horizon. Balor knew he would relish in the lonely growth of the one tree, thinking that no two trees would grow across the expanse of the plains. ”
Again, Rook would would use his props to full effect, stamping into the snow and obliterating the trees before recreating the scene once more. Here, his tone turned away from the remorse and to the promise of hope…of spring in the coldest of nights. He would turn his shifting gaze from those of the circle back to the night’s sky and begin with a whisper that grew to a trembling roar
“Ar aird…AR AIRD!!! Ní laghdaítear solas na nduilleog airgid le teacht na gréine”
“High have the silver leaves grown, such that the dawning of the sun and the fury of hope fulfilled does not diminish their light…Woe be to those in the path of the long paw…”
He spoke now in a muted half whisper that would still be heard. Finally, he looked to the drawing of the River Nathaír and to his ancestral home before speaking in the tones of finality….
“Winter came and so did spring, but no sapling grew, and no stout tree of silver leaves took root upon the banks of the River Nathaír for the years that the Olc occupied the north. Finally, in the autumn of the Olc’s time, the sons and daughters of the Mean Oíche stormed the plains of the Nathaír to reclaim the land that was theirs. Such a battle was not had since the time of the Great Song, and I will not sing of that part now…no, we press on to the end of the tale and to the time of Lugh of the long paw. Lugh, Alpha of the Mean Oíche, met Balor upon the fields of the Nathaír and such was their fight that all that came close were trampled into the ground and perished.”
Rook would stamp out the scene he had created in a flash of unbridled pantomimed fury, sweeping away the “ash” of the Olc and the memory of the trees before seeming to relent in the destruction. His shoulders sunk and he fell to the earth like one defeated. There, he huffed deeply and looked to the sky before finally speaking the end of the tale.
” When, at last, Balor was felled, he looked up with his baleful eyes at the night sky and to two trees of silver leaves outstretched across Loch Oíche and across the horizon that would separate them no longer. So it was that Balor died seeing what we see now…two trees adorned in silver leaves kindled by the love of two wolves that would never be separated again.”
