Steps lead up from the southeast corner.

A medium-to-small wolf is curled round in a ball, still enough that he could be asleep, but with his eyes open, and fixed on a little clump of two or three cockroaches which are scurrying to and fro on the hard floor. Every now and again the wolf's nose twitches just a little as one approaches. They don't seem at all discouraged by his presence, nor he by theirs.

Teetering on the knife-edge between adolescence and adulthood, this male wolf is not quite yet fully grown, and is just that tiny bit misproportioned as proof of his age and status; paws still oversized, ears likewise, legs a little long and thin for his body. But those who know wolves will see every sign that before long he should shed these lingering traces of cubhood and fill out into the classic wolven adult.

His fur varies from a mid-brown down his back, fading to a rather paler light biscuity shade on his underside. Head's at one end, tail's at the other, legs underneath. His green eyes are keen and sparkle as though some intense feral fire has been kindled behind them.

The basement door opens, and Nat's voice calls a questioning, "Kev? You down here?" The door closes almost immediately after, though footsteps coming down the steps signal her apparent unwillingness to wait for his reply.

The wolf cocks an ear at the voice and his tail gives a couple of soft thumps against the solid floor before he rises to his four feet, gives a leisurely stretch with his front paws out in front of his body (careful not to squash any roaches), and walks to the foot of the stairs, looking up expectantly.

Natalie comes down the steps at a fair clip: not running, but decidedly faster than decorum suggests. Her eyes are skimming over the bulk of the basement so that she utterly misses the expectant wolf at the bottom of the stairs until she's nearly on top of him. "Whoa! --Cripes, kiddo, don't leap out at me like that, huh?"

KevinWolf gives a surprised yip as Natalie descends on him faster than expected, and skitters back a little way. Did Nat not see me, he asks, eyes looking up at her?

Natalie tugs at the hem of her shirt, lips curled up wryly. "No," she tells him, "I didn't. Don't worry about it. I didn't step on you, or anything, did I?" A moment, and she snorts, the last of her faint ire slipping away. "That's just weird. Call me 'Holds the Line' when you're in lupus, will you? The 'word' you used means one of those small flying insects. Gnats."

KevinWolf watches Natalie closely, his mostly-pale-brown form much less camouflaged in the gloom of the basement than a darker wolf would be. Holds-the-Line, he essays. A worthy name. I have smelt cockroach as you asked. They smell interesting.

Nat says, "Good. --Here, one sec." Holding up one hand to forestall further commentary, she steps down the last of the steps before surging through crinos and into lupus herself. In this form she's pale, ears pricked and tail held confidently high. Tell me about them, she invites.

KevinWolf's ears prick up as the other garou joins him in the wolf-form and his tail expresses approval of her in this shape as he responds. They are not all the same, he reports. Some of them are larger than others. Some have taken damage, are missing a leg or an antenna, and yet they still live and seem to be no worse. I think I see why they have meaning to us. Do we have meaning to them?

Holds-the-Line pads toward the cub, sniffing him over thoroughly, though she avoids his embarrassment-laden rear. These? No. But we tend to them to show respect for our totem. She bumps her shoulder against his side, dominant yet playful. What else have you learned, besides that the floor is cold and hard?

That the world looks different in this form, responds KevinWolf. Small things are larger, large things are huger. And small underground rooms are... even less welcoming. But still it is good. He ducks his head to his elder, giving a cautious nudge back to her as she bumps him, evidently insecure as yet in lupus-lupus interactions.

Holds-the-Line 'accidentally' whaps him in the face with her tail before aiming a nip at his flank. There's no malice in her body language, though the cub may not pick up on it. And? she prompts. What have you learned about yourself?

I practiced shifting, replies the British wolf. From man-form to war-form to this-form and back. It is still not easy and the war-form is still hardest. After a while I grew tired and rested. But then, I felt alone. A wolf should not be alone. I had to remind myself several times that you were nearby and others of my tribe too. Your machine-for-putting-nails-in was loud so I knew you were there, and besides I could smell you. The cub trots over to the other power-tools in the corner which are not currently in use, and speaks again. These smell too. They do not smell so nice in this form though.

Holds-the-Line follows after him, nipping occasionally at his flank but never hard enough to do more than pinch. Once he reaches the other tools she stops teasing, plopping her butt down and wrapping her tail around her haunches. Wolves are not meant to be alone, yes. Neither are we. We may look human, but we are not. That is important to remember. But also remember that we are not wolves. We must be balanced.

KevinWolf nosetwitches again at the tools. I will try to remember. Not human, not wolf, but garou. Yes.

Holds-the-Line's ears perk forward, her tongue coming out to pant happily. One of my first packmates wanted to name me for these. Screws-with-the-Wyrm, she thought. We wrestled over it.

This was just after I had passed my test, the beige wolf adds.

KevinWolf finds at this stage that laughter is not a trait of wolves or of lupus garou. Instead he lets his tongue loll out a little as well, and his muzzle twitches. Things that smell bad can still be useful, he comments. Things, and people...

Perhaps I should call you Stink-Butt, Holds-the-Line suggests, still 'laughing' in the way of wolves. Or Walks-Through-Stink.

KevinWolf's ears flatten out for a moment at that one. And perhaps not, he responds, managing not to growl, but his rising hackles betraying his lack of satisfaction at the prospect of such a name.

Holds-the-Line snaps her jaws at him, eyes twinkling. Then what would you suggest, oh student of cockroaches?

Student of Cockroaches, muses the cub, his ears perking again as he thinks. Was that suggestion in earnest? It is preferable to the last.

Holds-the-Line yawns at him, displaying gleaming white teeth. It can be if you wish it. It seems more a name from the Silver Fangs. Perhaps Runs-Too-Fast. Or Thinks-It-Over. You did quite a bit of that before you chose us.

KevinWolf lifts one front paw and gives it a shake. I am a runner, it is what I do, he points out. Perhaps the name should reflect it. But how is it possible to run too fast? One does not win a race by dawdling. Runs-Just-Fast-Enough? Races-The-Wyrm?

Holds-the-Line points out that if one runs too fast, you may miss smelling where your prey turns, and lose it. We do not always hunt in a straight line.

KevinWolf trots a few paces back across the basement, still mindful of cockroaches underfoot. True. But is that not why we hunt in packs? So that when the prey turns aside to escape one wolf, a packmate may pounce on it? And besides, speed is sometimes vital. As when a message must be carried urgently.

Holds-the-Line rises to turn and face him, then sit again. I did not say this was not so. I merely pointed out how one could run too fast. We need to find you a name. We cannot call you 'cub' all the time. Her tail brushes against the concrete floor. You will be lost in the other cubs, and this is not good. You are not any other cub, you are ours. Mine.

KevinWolf sniffs the air, and thinks again. Runs-Forever. Runs-through-Darkness. Races-Darkness. Am I becoming closer or further away?

I do not see how they fit you, the older wolf admits. But this is your name. It is customary for the adults to name the cubs, but the cliath to name themselves. She pauses, then adds that it was the way of things where she was raised at least.

KevinWolf turns back to the cliath and ducks his head again, rolling it a little to one side. Then you who know me best should perhaps choose? I will... not argue if you see fit to name me.

Yes you will. You are Ragabash. It is what you do. She stands again, then stretches, lowering her forelegs almost parallel to the floor, ears up and tail waving gently. You cannot bite me, though.

Oh, I can, the cub replies airily to that, tail giving a playful swish. But I would regret it, so I will choose not to.

You are afraid, the Galliard retorts, letting her tongue loll out again, her tail never stopping it's lazy swishing. You know you could never bite my ears, and you are afraid.

KevinWolf cocks his head on one side and walks slowly, deliberately, back to the other wolf. Is that what you think? he asks. Choose an ear, left or right, and it will feel my teeth. No wolf calls me coward, though she may be my senior. His eyes gleam angrily.

Holds-the-Line waits until he gets within reach and then pounces, leaping forward to viciously snap her teeth at his face (though none of them get anywhere close enough to touch him) and then retreat, bounding back a few feet where she drops back into her playbow. Stinks-Like-Oil! she teases, tail never ceasing. Blunt-tooth-cub!

KevinWolf, caring nothing for the fact that the galliard hasn't named an ear, and letting any cockroaches under his paws take their own chances at scuttling to safety, pounces at his tormentor. Oddly enough the initial gleam of anger seems to have died down out of his gaze, though his teeth are still aiming overtly enough for Holds-the-Line's general head area as he springs.

Holds-the-Line delays her escape until the cub's teeth do clamp down on her ear; she yelps and uses her greater weight to shoulder into him, knocking him off his feet. While he's scrabbling up again she gallops past, tail flaunting laughter at him. Some forty feet away she whirls back to stand and wait for his charge.

KevinWolf gives a triumphant gruffing noise as rather to his own surprise he does get his teeth into the galliard's ear. Alas for the cub, he opens his jaw to make that noise and loses his momentary grip, making it easy enough for his adversary to bowl him over and skedaddle to the other side of the basement. He regains his feet. Ear-Biter! he calls out teasingly, and for a moment adopts a peculiar stance, which might to some eyes resemble what a wolf would look like if he were trying to take up the position of a sprinter in the blocks at the start of a race. Finding that this position is a dud to one with four legs, he simply comes racing across the cellar floor, showing a respectable turn of speed for a standing start in a confined space, and aims his wolven body directly at the teasing Holds-the-Line.

Holds-the-Line waits for him, dancing from paw to paw, but this time she doesn't run away from his teeth. Instead she leaps straight for him, jaws wide, once again using her greater mass and lower center of gravity to knock the lankier wolf over, her teeth grazing his shoulder. Nor does she flee from him this time, but leaps onto him to straddle the cub, fangs bared in what - to outsiders - would look like the snarl of a predator. I beat you, she tells him, tail still waving gently. I win.

KevinWolf makes a sound midway between a chuff and a snort, and offers throat. Wait till I have practiced more, he says playfully. I will put up more resistance then.

Holds-the-Line flops down beside him to gnaw on his shoulder. You are faster. I am older and stronger. Her teeth snap at his ear - again, not touching him. I let you catch my ear.

I know, is the cub's rueful reply. He lets her chew at him willingly enough, the action obviously one of fellowship rather than attack, and indeed he rolls over a little to lie alongside her. You did not have to.

It is good for you to bite it now, she tells him loftily, giving his shoulder one last slurp. You will never bite it again.

KevinWolf cocks one of his own ears to that statement, but says nothing, continuing to lie on the floor getting its dust in his fur.

Holds-the-Line pulls herself forward until her legs are turned 'inside out' and strung out behind her. It is good for us to spend time as wolves. It is something our tribe often forgets to do.

KevinWolf sees no reason to shift from his present position, so remains in it. That is a shame, he opines. It is a good shape to spend time in. I like it a great deal. But it must be hard to wear it often, here in the city.

Holds-the-Line agrees that it is. That is why I say you may shift here whenever you wish. It is not the forest, there is not room to feel yourself run, but it is better than not shifting at all.

KevinWolf stretches his front paws out ahead of him and rests his chin on the pillow thus formed. Thank you, Holds-the-Line-rhya, for that permission. I appreciate it.

Holds-the-Line shifts her eyes over to watch him, her tongue lolling out once more. So. Think of the Litany. Do any of them make more or less sense when you wear this skin?

KevinWolf is silent, chin still on paws. After a few seconds he turns to look at his questioner. I believe so, he muses. Those that refer to the greater in station, and to those beneath one. In the wolf form, such distinctions are less blurred than in the man form. You are... more clearly greater than I now. The greatest in station. And also, he adds, the acceptance of an honourable surrender becomes more clear cut when seen with wolf's eyes and not human's.

Yes, she agrees. Very good. It is also easier to respect territory. She looks around the shadowy basement before pulling herself to her feet and shaking. If I were to tell you there was a bone just there, in the shadows, would you want it?

KevinWolf gives the galliard a sly look. Of course. But you would have first right to it, as is only proper. He sniffs. But it is academic, for I smell no bone.

There is no bone, she agrees. But we are pretending. She paces a short distance from him, then turns, shifting back into homid as she does. "So there's a bone," she repeats, hooking her thumbs into her front pockets and looking down at him. "I'm not here, Tu's not here, Scratch isn't. So it's yours. But when you go check it out, turns out I've peed on it. Still your bone? --Use your instincts," she adds, warning. "Not your human brain."

KevinWolf answers that one straight out, in accordance with Nat's instructions, without stopping to puzzle. You have marked it, it is yours, he replies, with more than an overtone of 'isn't that obvious?'

"Good job," she says again, favoring him with a smile. "OK, another one. We're watching TV. I put down the remote and go off to make popcorn. You'd rather watch... oh hell, I don't know. American Idol. Whose remote is it?"

KevinWolf does have to think about that one -- the example of a TV doesn't mesh entirely comfortably, it seems, with his wolven instincts. Yours... he hazards. Possibly mine for a little time, if I hear you coming back and change back to your station before you return. His eyes twinkle and his tongue lolls out of an open mouth as he delivers that one.

Natalie merely smirks. "OK, now shift back to homid and tell me whose remote it is." She takes another step back, though there's plenty of room for Kevin's crinos form, jerks her chin encouragingly.

KevinWolf stands on his four feet, stretches, and wriggles a bit. There is an uncomfortable pause. Up first, then back down, he says quietly as though to himself. Up first... But he remains in lupus despite his words of self-encouragement.

Natalie tschs at him. "Don't think, Kev. You're trying too hard. Instinct." She steps forward again, hands freeing themselves as she kneels. "Close your eyes. Homid is you, your home, your birth shape. Take a deep breath in, let it out again. Don't do, be. Be Kevin."

KevinWolf looks with plaintive puppy eyes at Natalie and tries again, this time silently. A deep breath in, a deep breath out, another... and something clicks. From lupus he rockets up to the hulking war-form, barely remaining there long enough to register a mix of surprise and satisfaction on his features before he regains his normal appearance. "I am Kevin!" he exclaims, and gives a silly laugh, as though the experience has left him light-headed.

Natalie laughs right along with him, her eyes sparkling. "Damn straight. See, it's all instincts." She rises to her feet again, thumbs rehooking in her pockets. "This isn't something you can do by force of will. Just like, oh... you can't make yourself have a good singing voice. The more time you spend shifting, just slipping from homid to glabro to hispo and back, the easier it will be."

"That's why I spent a lot of time practicing while I've been down here," Kevin responds, rubbing his hands together as though trying to get used to the sensation of having five fingers on each once more. "I've got to get better. Be able to slide right from one end of the scale to another at will, like you. Like everyone else I've seen, pretty much. The moon's getting thinner and it seems to make it harder, despite the practice."

"It does... and it doesn't. Part of it's in your head. Your human side, if you will." Nat pauses to study him, her head cocking to one side. "Right now you've got, what, sixteen years? of being human, of thinking like a human, to get past. It's not all going to come in an instant. You've got pretty good instincts, considering, but the more time you spend in lupus, the stronger your wolf side will become."

Kevin flexes his hands, cracking his knuckles. "Not quite sixteen yet, but point taken," he replies. "I could cope quite happily with hanging out in lupus some more. It's... hard to describe why it feels so good, but... oh, hell, I guess you probably know what I'm talking about." He gives a somewhat shy chuckle. "I still wanna run, but I don't suppose there's much chance of that for a while -- I don't suppose the garden here is either big enough or secluded enough for it to be safe?"

"You want decadent," Nat retorts with a sly smirk, "Try getting someone to rub your ears. --But nah, it's not." The impish mood slides from her like water from a duck's back; she jerks her head toward the stairs. "We'll have to see about getting you out to the farm every so often so you can stretch your legs. I'll have to show you where the high school is too, so you can use their track after hours."

The mention of a track makes Kevin's eyes light up as though someone had clicked a switch behind them. Were he still in lupus his ears would be pricked up in happy triangles. "Oh boy oh boy," he croons, "when did you turn into my fairy godmother, Nat? This is, like, way too good to be true. I'm going to wake up in a moment and find I'm back in the hotel and it's a few days before Christmas and I'm not in the running team for the final. Go on, pinch me."

Natalie laughs again, a deeply satisfied sound, but doesn't take him up on the offer. "I'll pass, thanks. And hey, just because you're a frothing war machine of Gaia doesn't mean you have to live in a cave. That's the bennies of choosing this Tribe, me boyo. All the trappings of civilization are yours for the asking. --Speaking of, I want you to think about something. Soon - in a couple of days, couple of weeks - you're not going to be cut off anymore. You're going to be able to call or email your Mom. Have you thought about what you're going to do? If you haven't, now's the time."

Kevin's merriment evaporates like an ice cube in a microwave and his face returns to its frequently seen neutral-to-sulky/suspicious setting. "I mentioned that to Jeremy, and he got all skittery that I was going to bring the cops and things down on us," he says in slow, even tones. "I'm not. I'd sooner have my guts wound out on a windlass than betray you guys... if going lupus has shown me nothing else it's shown me where I belong and where my loyalties lie. But. I've gotta tell her I'm alive and well if nothing else. She must be going nuts. In fact," a thought seems to strike him, "have you guys thought of going online and checking to see whether my vanishing made much of a stir? I know kids go missing all the time, but my circumstances weren't exactly normal. I'd hate to think that some smart local cop might manage to spot me and have you lot all arrested as kidnappers. That'd be so the wrong crime..." An attempt at light-heartedness which doesn't fully work.

Natalie hears him out, her green-blue eyes fastened on his face. "It's child abuse," she agrees soberly. "And no, I haven't. You've only been with us a week and I've been busy with the floor. But you're welcome to do so. As for your mother..." Here she hesitates again, eyebrows knitted. "It's been two months already. A few more days won't change anything. I'm not going to say you can't talk to her, but I'd like you to show me a copy of the email before you send it. I don't think you'll say anything stupid, but better safe than sorry, right? I'll double check and make sure you don't give forensics too much to go on."

Kevin nods in assent. "I was going to offer to do so anyway," he continues. "I'm not enough of a technophile to be sure whether we could set up some simple use-once-throw-away Yahoo account to send it from without leaving wolf's pawprints leading back to us here... I'll leave that part to Jeremy, he seems to be the star in that area. If I make reference to, oh, I don't know, one or two things that only she and I would know, it should prove to her that it's me and not some sick bastard pulling a hoax."

"Sounds like you have thought about it," she approves, dropping him a nod. "Good. Since we don't know if she's kin... well, hell. Don't need to go into that. I don't know about you, but standing in a cold basement is only so fun for so long. What say we head back upstairs and I get in a smidge more work while you make us sandwiches? Then before supper we'll go cruise the high school and see if the track's empty."

"Natalie," Kevin says bluntly, "I've thought of it every day. Let's say no more for now. You're right, we've occupied these little fellas' living space way too long." He waggles his fingers to some of the roaches on the wall, who ignore this gesture of friendship in their usual stoic way.

Natalie crosses to the base of the stairs, turns to study him with blatant approval. "You're a good kid, Kevin. C'mon." A jerk of her head and she lets him precede her up the stairs while she delays to flick off the lights.

[End of log]