Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (58% full).

It is a cloudy day. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.24 and falling, and the relative humidity is 68 percent. The dewpoint is 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)

An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.

The invasion of Glass Walkers upon the farmhouse is announced by the sight of Natalie's truck rattling up the gravel lane in all its gas-devouring Weaverness. Fortunately for the hapless non-urrah, the Army of Cockroach consists of only two this cloudy day -- the Glass Walker Elder herself, and Thomas Grey.

The self-proclaimed guardian of the farmhouse is currently residing on the porch swing which, since cubhood, has been one of her frequently used perches. Dakota has a glass of cold tea and is making use of her distended abdomen as a convenient bookrest which she flips through every two minutes or so. That is, until the truck comes crunching up the drive, which immediately attracts her attentions.

"...for you to stretch your legs," Nat is saying as the Walkers come into earshot. She's slightly ahead of the Philodox, but only by a half-step or so. Probably Thomas is adjusting his steps to fit her shorter legs. "And maybe you'll have better luck finding... Oh hey, Dakota." Only at the bottom of the porch steps does she finally notice the Theurge; a quick smile and she climbs the three stairs in silence. "How are you doing?"

Grey nods absently at Natalie's words, though seems distracted enough to be only half-listening. His face is set into a neutral expression, and his body language is guarded.

"Afternoon, Natalie, Thomas." Dakota replies, glancing to the cloudy sky. "...suppose it's afternoon by now. Haven't bothered to look at a clock recently. So what brings you two out here to the boonies?"

Joey pages to Grey, Dakota, and Natalie: You guys posing into the house? As there is a frenzied lupus running into the living room and towards the front door.

Natalie's thumbs migrate into the front pocket of her jeans while she shifts her weight onto one hip. "Just after noon, yeah. I'm looking for Layne. Have you see her around?" That doesn't explain why the cheerful Philodox is with her, though.

The 'cheerful' -- as in, unsmiling and vaguely pensive and very not cheerful at all -- Philodox gives the pregnant Child of Gaia a nod, eyebrows rising slightly under the black hair veiling his forehead. Cheerful and talkative.

Inside: A 'Jesus Christ' is shouted after a slamming of the back door. The next sound is the crashing, shattering of a lamp as a table is knocked over. The high pitched whine of a wolf growing louder as it nears the door.

Dakota gives Natalie's question a shake of the head as an answer. "No sign of her. Or Seeker, for that matter, who is the one I've been looking fo-- what the fuck?!" She barks out and shoves the book away, tottering to her feet and growling in her throat as she steps for the door.

You say "Huh?" as she straightens, hands freeing themselves. She unconsciously falls into step behind the Coggie, letting Grey take tail."

Grumbling something about skinning, Dakota yanks first the screen door open and then reaches out for the inner door's handle. "Ready..?" She murmurs but doesn't wait before she pulls the door open.

As the door opens, the cowering wolf hurries to rush out. Her tail is tucked completely under her hind end and her ears are splayed flat to the side. The whites of her eyes are showing as she makes to bolt, her whole form trembling.

Grey is quicker than Natalie as he lunges to intercept and tackle the panicking little bitch; his teeth flash in a silent snarl as he makes a grab for her.

Natalie takes an aborted step toward the wolf - Grey's there first - and takes a step back instead, blocking the steps in case the panicked animal struggles away from him. "Get it inside," she orders tersely, hands spread to either side to make herself look bigger.

Dakota keeps the doors open with a bit more force than is needed, her eyes narrowed to very narrow and very angry slits. "Should drag her right to the barn..." She grumbles sourly, just imagining how much damage is inside.

The yelping that follows the grab is just as panicked as the attempted escape. Teeth flash out at whatever bits are nearest to them as the slight wolf is grabbed. Snaps-Leashes continues to wriggle and scramble but gets nowhere with it.

Grey doesn't give the Foxing Gnawer much chance at his flesh, though her wild teeth manage to catch on the edge of his coatsleeve before he takes a firm grasp of the scruff of her neck and then, lifting her bodily, wraps his other arm around her chest, just under her forelegs. In seconds, he's back through the front door with her.

The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.

An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

Basil is in the living room, gathering up the pieces of a broken lamp. He inspects it for a few minutes then just shakes his head. "What a waste. I guess you could fix it, but it would look like crap... "

Grey is first through the door, teeth bared in a snarl, and holding a struggling Snaps-Leashes by the scruff of her neck and an arm around her chest. He takes three or four steps into the house before dropping to one knee and all but slamming the Bone Gnawer down against the floor, pinning her firmly.

Natalie's the last into the farmhouse, and takes care in closing both screen door and front door. Then she sets herself up as 'guardian' before them, hands on her hips and glaring at the struggling Ragabash.

Dakota follows along, looking downright furious, which is never something to be taken lightly on a Garou let alone a pregnant one. Basil is spotted in less than two seconds and is hastily ordered, "What the hell happened in here?" The Theurge is quickly looking around, taking notes about the damage.

The frantic look about the wolf continues, and as she is slammed and pinned down, another round of frenzied yelping ensues. Her tail is curled up between her hind legs flat against the soft thin fur of her belly, and as the pin presses her down, her paws start to go limp into full submission, another dripping of urine evident by smell. From tail tip to nose, the mottled wolf trembles.

Basil looks up at the the new arrivals, having cleaned up the mess that the Bone Gnawer made. "Damned if I know. Me and Brom were talking, she was eating pickles, she flipped out and peed all over the floor. He wasn't even really talking to her, neither was I. She just bugged out." Basil looks over at the wolf as it goes limp and the not so sweet smell of urine fills the air. He shakes his head, and goes into the kitchen to get more paper towels.

The full force of Pure Breed and authority comes right down on the hapless Ragabash as Grey, still gripping Snaps-Leashes by the scruff, bends down to growl curt, distorted Mother's Tongue in her ear. ~Shift Homid. Now.~ His bared teeth, the tone of his voice, every nuance of scent oozes with the dire consequences if she doesn't obey.

Natalie's head jerks up at the boy's voice, attention dragged off the Philodox and Gnawer so she can glare at Basil. "Who're you?" she demands, nearly as irritated with the boy as Grey is at Snaps-Leashes.

Dakota doesn't question Basil further at this point as her attentions shift back onto the Foxed Gnawer. Her nose wrinkles in disgust and irritation. She sets her jaws tightly together, but otherwise waits at the ready in case the Ragabash doesn't calm down.

It takes a moment of shaking before the wolf begins to make any progress, the whine still deep in her throat. The shift comes as ordered though, and once back in homid, Joey closes her eyes and turns her face away from the Walker in front of her, looking much like a child waiting to be struck.

Basil lifts a hand as he continues walking into the kitchen to give Natalie a thumbs up. "Basil, or Baz, whichever you prefer. Lost cub, Ahroun. No Tribe, no teacher, and for future reference do you like to be called 'Rhya' or no?" He smiles a little as he steps back in tossing his sweat shirt from his waist to the side. He waits off to the side, examining the new arrivals but maintaining his distance.

A strange sort of air hangs about this boy. At a mere height of 4'7" tall, he almost seems intimidating despite his shortness. Brown, straight and well washed hair has been combed in a simple fashion, reaching just past his chin. An blend of curiousity and hardness seems to pool in his blue-grey eyes, reflecting some of his nature. The boy isn't what one would call handsome but rather, pretty. Angular features, a small chin combined with a little nose don't exactly make him look manly. His build doesn't help this either. Saying he was lean would be generous, skinny would be more on target. A baggy grey sweat shirt and equally baggy matching pair of sweat pants with the strings tied tightly in front. Bare feet with long toenails move the boy here and there.

Grey's eyebrows rise when the wolf shifts back and he recognizes the girl. He grimaces and releases her, pushing to his feet with a sharp, swift movement and brushing his hands off against each other. Then he turns a dour eye onto the chatty Ahroun kid.

Natalie's teeth flash at the Ahroun. "I prefer to be called Natalie. Holds-the-Line, Cliath, Galliard, and Elder of the Glass Walkers of St. Claire." With an effort she yanks her eyes from the kid to give Joey a scowl as well, adding a sneer just for the Gnawer, and then back up to Basil. "--And a word of advice: around here 'rhya' is added to the end of the name, not used by itself."

"Back off of him, Natalie." Dakota says sternly and with no small degree of irritation. "He just got here not too long ago and there's more important things to bark about." She turns back to Joey and frowns. "Well, explain. What was so terrible you had to lose control and risk the Veil by charging out there?"

Joey doesn't have to be looking at those gathered around her to feel the weight of their glares. She remains where she is, curled away from everyone. Her legs come up into a fetal like position as she buries her head down into her knees. "It was my fault," she intones weakly.

Basil blinks a little at Natalie, then raises his hands and shakes his head. "Alright then, Natalie. But I was just asking your personal preference, and I'd have called you by your name if I knew it. I didn't mean any disrespect." He just sighs and little and shakes his head. "One of the city Tribes, eh?" He looks back up to Dakota, flashing her a smile and bowing his head in thanks.

Grey glances down at Joey, his face tightening, but doesn't say anything as he stalks away from her. The tear in his coatsleeve is briefly examined and frowned over.

Natalie's eyes flick over to Dakota, and her chin jerks up again - just a little to the side as well, flashing throat. "Sorry." The apology's meant for both of them it would seem, for she glances at Basil as she says it. "--I'm just edgy. Haven't found Layne, and you heard what she said at Moot about my terms."

Dakota lets out a controlled breath as her eyes flicker quickly to Natalie. "I'll do what I can to get word to her, even if it is through someone." Then it's back to Joey, the Theurge feeling like she's at a ping pong match. "Joey, enough with apologies." She says sharply, though not yelling. "Tell me what happened."

Basil shrugs his shoulders again, lifting a hand to knock some stray hair away from his face. "No problem. I know we're all a little tightly put together." He sits down in one of the chairs while the situation resolves itself.

Grey mutters something underbreath as he fingers the tear in his coat, then leaves it. Folding his arms across his chest, the scarred halfmoon turns a glower down on Joey.

Joey brings a hand to wipe up at her face, still avoiding the gaze of any of those gathered, even the new cub. "Brom was here, he was-" she pauses, trying to find a word, "Uptight." Her arms are wrapped about her knees, hugging them close to herself.

"He was Brom," Nat corrects, finally leaving sentinel duty near the door to come stand beside her taller tribemate. A tug on his sleeve and she goes up on her toes to murmur something for his ears alone. "Want to go run?"

"He's a Get of Fenris, of course he's uptight. If he wasn't there would be something wrong." Dakota says, her tone indicating that it's no excuse. "Are you saying you frenzied just because a Get was being a Get?"

Grey leans down to listen to the shorter Glass Walker, then nods. "Lead the way," he mutters.

"He was cool." Basil says with a small grin. "He wasn't really picking on her, but he kind of laid into her for being so meek and all. Sitting on the floor when the table was so close. Then he left. Don't mean to interrupt... Just thought I'd toss that out, since I was there and saw what happened too."

Joey lifts a shoulder to Dakota, "He's a Get, and I am Joey." This seems to make all the sense in the world for her, at least. "I was afraid of him," she finally spits out.

"We're going to go see if we can find Layne," Natalie announces to Dakota, ignoring the near-fetal Joey entirely. "We'll catch you later, Dakota." With that as her farewell she starts for the back of the house, dropping Basil a polite-enough nod as she passes.

Grey, for his part, barely gives the skinny little Ahroun a glance as, with Natalie, he heads for the back door.

"Good luck with that." Dakota says and offers the Glass Walkers a parting wave before looking back to Joey. "Well, whatever happened, you're going to clean this place up. So get to work. I'll speak with you about this later."

Basil lifts a hand and waves to the duo. "See you two later. Good luck on your search, eh?" He stretches his back out against one of the chairs then goes slumped in it, yawning widely. He just points the paper towels at Joey, offering them. "I already got most of it. And you got pee on my feet." He looks back to the other woman. "Are you leaving too?"

Joey nods her head, "Alright." She gets up then, posture still mimicking that of a submissive lupine, and moves to the sink cabinets. Tears have collected in her eyes now as she hurries to get to work and out of view. When the cub speaks to her, she bursts out into a heavy sob, storming up the stairs to the attic.

[Travel deleted]

The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road. From farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of the town of Kent's Crossing.

Natalie wordlessly leads the way through the damp fields and into the forest. Once they're well out of sight she slips quickly into lupus for a good solid shake. Perhaps we should have stayed to speak with the cub, but I did not wish to.

Grey follows suit, his clothes vanishing into the scarred black pelt. He replies with a snort that he suspects there will be other chances with the cub, then sniffs the air. In wolf form, the halfmoon's tension is noticeable, a guardedness like that of a soldier behind enemy lines. His tail hangs low, and his manner's restless and alert.

Holds-the-Line sniffs the air, ears snapping forward and tail twitching higher at a rustling in the bushes some little way away. We should see if she is where the Fianna claim territory. Be wary for White-Bear. I have heard he has gotten worse. She glances back at her tribemate before heading for the north at a slow trot.

Grey follows, to her left and a little behind, his head aligned with the Galliard's shoulder. He tells her that he knows, having talked to both Stone-Spirit and Walks-the-Middle-Road. Regret, annoyance, and a touch of self-recrimination lay his ears back.

Holds-the-Line lets her tail flick over to slap lightly at his haunches, one ear swiveling toward the darker wolf as well. I tried. I did not wish to, but Firewatcher made me. He would not. Would not even try. I would have culled him. But the Wendigo seem pleased to have him with them. She makes a good show of unconcern, even in this highly emotional form. Let them have him. They all deserve each other.

Grey huffs. They haven't, though. Taken him. He's tribeless.

Close enough, the Galliard counters. He runs with their pack. Lives with them.

The Philodox doesn't argue this, and lapses into silence for a time, though it's obvious that he's still mentally chewing that particular bone.

Holds-the-Line gets bored with the staid and steady trot after a few minutes. With no more warning than the snapping of her teeth she leaps forward into a lope, deliberately cutting across the other's path.

Grey, preoccupied, hruffs in surprise and stops short, forelegs stiff. His front paws kick up a minor bit of leaf debris. Hackles bristling, he stares a question at her. What?

It takes her a second or two to notice that he's not beside her anymore. First her head twists around followed by her neck, then the rest of her body in a slow-motion Bootlegger that leaves her facing him across yards of empty forest. You stopped, she tells him as if he hadn't already discovered that for himself. What is it?

Grey shakes himself, looking irritated at himself, and starts trotting toward her. Nothing. You surprised me.

Holds-the-Line tells him sagely that he was not paying attention. She stretches, forelegs sneaking down to almost the ground, and ever-so-casually looks over at a cedar. Paying him no mind whatsoever, save for the betraying flick of one ear and the telltale flick of her tail.

Grey veers into a circle around the other Glass Walker, trotting with head slunk near to the level of his shoulders. There's puzzlement about him as he tries to gauge the other's mood and motivations.

Holds-the-Line couldn't be... trying to get him to play, could she? Certainly not, though there's a suggestion of the same in her continued forelegs-down position, and the lazy wave of her tail, and how she continues to steadfastly study the tree as though it were the most fascinating thing ever. Only that one single ear continues to follow his progress.

Grey slows to a walk, his ears swiveling forward. He lifts his muzzle slightly, sniffing toward her. Then, abruptly, he charges, closing the distance between them and veering sharply to knock into her upraised hind end with his shoulder.

Black fur covers this adult male wolf from muzzle to tail, the dark pelt unbroken but for a vague, irregularly-shaped medium gray patch on his chest. Like all his species, he is long-limbed and athletically built, powerful and relentless in his motions, a true predator. Rarely is the animal truly relaxed, and often a murderous anger seems to rage just under the surface of his ebony pelt, the promise of violence held in check only by a near-iron control. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.

One feral golden eye glints with a more than animal intelligence, but the other is a blind white that's all but lost within the twisted jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face. There's a secondary scarred area on his right shoulderblade that looks like it might once have been some kind of glyph, but more claw-scarring has removed all meaning from it. However, the claw-made scars on his forelegs -- the glyph for Charach on the right, the one for Dishonor on the left -- are not so obscured.

Alas for Holds-the-Line, that tree was the most fascinating thing ever. His shoulder-check catches her as she's pushing herself up to all fours and sending her stumbling for a few precious seconds. Quick enough she regains her balance and bounds back at him with the intent of knocking her own shoulder into his.

Grey's tail drops as he shies away, nimbly dodging the pumpkin-eyed female. Quickly, he lopes away, daring a quick look backwards.

Holds-the-Line snaps her teeth at his haunches as he darts off; picks up her own speed after that him. He's got enough of a lead on her - and those longer legs certainly don't hurt - that he's easily able to maintain his distance from her dagger-like fangs. Over a fallen log they go, and then she dares try cut a corner on him by taking the near side of a clump of ferns.

Grey clearly isn't taking this chase at all seriously, only running fast enough to keep his tail just out of reach of the Galliard's teeth. So when she shortens the distance by her clever tactic, the bushy appendage well within range for biting.

And bite it she does, jaws closing firmly - if briefly - on that tempting taunting target. Not satisfied with this victory, however, she keeps running up on him, attempting now to ram his haunches with -her- shoulder.

Grey lets out quite an undignified yelp at the bite, the tail snapping close his haunches as soon as it's released. He puts on a burst of speed as she comes up on his blind side, and though the Galliard doesn't get quite the solid hit she was going for, it's enough to make him stumble.

Suddenly there's a wolf in her path. Though she tries to clear the obstacle she can't quite, her hind legs scrabbling over him in a most undignified fashion. On his far side she lands hard, one shoulder nearly plowing into the humus. So much for the natural grace of the wolf.

Grey lets out another yelp as he gets a paw in his belly -- too damn close to his genitals -- and another in his ribs. He lands hard on his side, breath wuffing out of him. Yes. So much for Gaia's apex predator.

Holds-the-Line recovers first and comes nosing back around the body of her fallen comrade. That was fun. His ear has a bit of mud on it; a quick swipe of her tongue clears that problem right up.

Grey snorts, jerking his head as he straightens his front end, lying with his chest against the ground, scarred forelegs stretched out, and hindquarters still lying sideways. Ears twisted backwards, he gives her a look that's all at once amused, annoyed, and chagrined. And it's more than his ear that's gotten muddy, what with the ground still soft from the recent rains.

Holds-the-Line informs him that she will not be cleaning up all of that. She herself isn't untouched by the mud - gobbets decorate her belly and there's a serious smear on her right shoulder. A pause, and she sits, heedless of the wet ground. There should be room to run in the city like this. But there is not.

Grey agrees, sourly, that there isn't. Not without gaining the wrong kind of attention. And the Umbra is usually too dangerous... except perhaps in the park, it being a Glade.

We should take Long-Climb. Her ears flick backwards, then toward the other. Defiant-Storm still wishes to speak with him about Cold-Feet. Soon, I think, but she is sick with pups.

Grey's ears flatten at mention of the Jarl, reminded unhappily of their last meeting. He gets to his feet, shakes himself -- sending a few blobs of loose mud flying -- and sits back down again. Do you think she will demand the cub?

Holds-the-Line closes her eyes against the mud-slinging, her own ears drooping. Yes. But he is ours. He was not claimed. This... I will ask Firewatcher to decide. He is my cub, not... our cub, not theirs.

If he looked unhappy at mention of Defiant-Storm, he looks even moreso at the Sept Alpha's name. Uneasy again, he turns his head away and scents the air toward the north, as if the staunchly traditional Fianna Adren might materialize out of the undergrowth at any moment. He's not looking forward to meeting her.

Holds-the-Line pushes herself to her feet so she can pad over to give his ear another nudge - no lick this time. No. She will not be pleased. But the law is the law. It is her law. She cannot break it. He was unclaimed. He is ours. It's as if the reality, the truth of her words will be strengthened the more times she says them. Even so, it's easy enough to read the uneasiness in her.

Grey ducks his head, bumping his muzzle up under hers. In truth, he's more worried about what Firewatcher will say about him than about Long-Climb-Ahead, but he notes to Holds-the-Line that he does not think the Sept Alpha will insist that the Ragabash cub goes to the Get if his wish is truly to be a Glass Walker.

Holds-the-Line accepts the reassurance with a flick of her ears, then sighs. Yes. She will be furious. Do you wish me to be there?

Grey backs off a few steps from the Galliard and shakes himself vigorously, nose to tail, using the motion and the time to recover himself. No. Though I thank you for the offer.

Holds-the-Line watches him with those strange eyes of hers; sits again once his shaking his finished. If that is what you wish. I do not like it, but I will do it for you.

Grey looks away, then trots restlessly over to a deeply rotten branch half-buried in the dirt. He paws at it as if to change the subject without actually bringing up another topic of conversation.

Holds-the-Line falls for it, or at least falls in with his cunning plan of subject-changing. She trots over to nose at the bit of log. What is it?

A stick, of course, the halfmoon tells her, and bends down to take it in his jaws. Half of the decayed thing remains stuck in the wet soil, and bits of debris sift down from it. The ground where it lay crawls with bugs and worms.

Holds-the-Line's ears flick at him, radar-like; she seems to stand taller. I do not think that is your stick. I think that is my stick.

Grey starts backing away, tail and head slinking low. You don't want this stick.

Long distance to the room: Holds-the-Line faints. /He's/ initiating play? Proof that his brain's been sucked out and replaced by Folger's crystals!

Grey pages to the room: When the alternative is discussing Megan?

Grey pages to the room: Different form, different instincts. It's not like she'd lick his ear if they were both in homid, either. :>

Long distance to the room: Holds-the-Line looks around nervously. Mayyybe.

From afar, to the room, Grey snorks.

Holds-the-Line pounces at him, stiff-legged. That is my stick, she repeats, ears and tail pricked high. The stick is mine.

Long distance to the room: Holds-the-Line | Natalie absently reaches over and licks Grey's ear as she passes. Realizes what she's done and freezes, turning a lovely shade of puce.

Grey clearly doesn't agree with the Elder's claim. He jerks away from her lunge, turns, and takes off. So much for the bit in the Litany about the first of the kill going to the greatest in station.

From afar, to the room, Grey | Grey just stares at her for a moment, then says, deadpan, "You're not my type."

Well, the litany never mentioned sticks. Not directly, anyway. She pounds after him, snapping and stretching for that so-tempting rotten stick. Mmm, grubs and moss.

Long distance to the room: Holds-the-Line | Natalie mutters something about having to go brush her teeth now and hurries upstairs.

Grey ducks and dodges and weaves, always keeping just ahead of the greedy Galliard, his head held high. But it's quite a long stick, and one length of it sticks out enough that an enterprising beige bitch might find an opportunity to grab it.

After a good chase, and several ineffectual leaps and grabs, Holds-the-Line finally manages to get her teeth into the long end... only to have the wood give way, leaving them each with part of a stick. She leaps forward, then realizes what's happened and falls into step behind him. That was a good chase, she tells him, tail waving gently.

Grey slows to a trot, then a walk, and then stops. He drops the stick and spends a moment or two working bits of it out of his mouth. Next time, we should bring Long-Climb-Ahead. And use a stronger stick.

Holds-the-Line agrees that next time we will. She spits out her stick after he does, tongue swiping around her mouth. I do not think we will find Sifhuil today.

Grey shakes himself. Do we head home, then?

She looks longingly toward the north, ears pricked as if now she's the one expecting a Fianna to materialize out of nowhere. A few seconds of that and she turns back for the farmhouse, disconsolate. Yes.

Grey jogs easily alongside. You will find her.

Holds-the-Line glances sidelong at him. So you say. This will be the third time I have failed.

Grey lays his ears back, head dropping lower than his shoulders. He has no direct reply to this, though remarks a few moments after that she will be Elder regardless. Walks-Thin-Ice was cliath and Elder for longer than you've been here.

Holds-the-Line is not Walks-Thin-Ice. She seems almost about to add more, but snaps her jaws shut and leaps forward again, using the demands of physical activity as a shield.

[End of log]