NPC tat

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

The wind blew gently across the fields of Oxfordshire, lifting up dandelion heads which danced in the wind. They caught in Robin's eyelashes and he brushed then away with a worn and calloused hand.

Andraste pushed her great mass of black hair - greying now - away from her face and lifted her chin up into the wind.

"We will not fail Epona," she said.

Robin grinned, slightly ruefully.

"We all hope we won't fail our totems," he said. He grinned a sharp toothed grin, and looked a little like the fox he served for a moment. Andraste raised an eyebrow at him.

"I do not give hope," she said. "Only fact. This caern will not fall."

Robin suspected that Andraste was being unnecessarily confident, but bowed his head, politely. "Of course, Andraste-rhya," he said.

She nodded and looked up the hill.

"This Sept," she said. "It is not another London, with a dozen stains on its history. It is not Griffin's Glen, bathed in blood. This was held by Merlin's Song-yuf. And she was an honourable Garou."

Robin felt his chest tighten a little. He had known Merlin's Song. He had respected her. Her death...well...it had hit him hard. That and the other news that had come in that same day.

"I know," he said, simply.

Andraste glared back at him, defying him to notice the brightness in her eyes, or the new lines about her face that had appeared since her friend had died.

"De Xue-yuf will be good Alpha," she said. "And Weight of a Feather - son of my body and my heart - has come with his pack. We shall hold this place."

Robin nodded and paused for a moment, awkward and unsure of himself.

"Andraste-rhya," he said at last, not knowing how to phrase this.

Andraste looked at him with sharp black eyes.

"I believe..." and Robin fell silent for a moment, before continuing. "I believe that someone is coming to see you soon. From...from Anglesey. One who claims...who claims that in life she was Sulien, known as Maneater."

Andraste inclined her head.

Robin sighed. There was something ridiculous about this. Of course he could ask if a childhood friend, a woman who had helped his Sept more times than he could count was really dead or alive. Why was he dancing around this subject.

"I want to know," he said firmly "if it really is Sulien or not. She was a friend, once. I need to know if something is walking around, wearing her corpse like a coat."

Andraste nodded and frowned.

"You know," she said, apropos of nothing, "it is not kind to let the dead walk again. I saw Grey Fur, Earthborn. He died and then he lived again. It was him, but after he came back I never saw the brightness in his eyes that I had known before. Never the drive. Never the fire."

"What does that mean?" Robin said, his voice calm and almost casual.

"Even if it is Sulien," Andraste said "it may not be quite her. I believe you can bring back the dead. It is what the Gurahl have always done. But there is always a price. And the longer they have lain dead, the more of the soul will lie buried."

Up the hill voices sounded, and looking up Robin saw the great black wolf form of Weight of a Feather bounding down the hill towards them, followed by the slighter form of Ylli. Orphan's Song seemed well established here now, and Patches in particular was brighter than he had ever been before.

Robin frowned slightly. He had one more call to make soon. He needed to speak with de Xue.

Andraste watched Robin walk away. There were monkey-currents in his words - thoughts which ran beneath the surface like a riptide. She was uncertain of whether her words had been helpful, or if they would just feed into the darkness that she could see within that one.

Only time would tell.

Only time would tell her so many things. She saw too much these days, and it haunted her. She did not understand why she sometimes forgot that her son, Patches, was her son and not her daughter. She did not understand why it was that she feared the presence of so many of whom the spirits sung on this sacred spot, or why she had felt compelled to come here. She had said at first that she would only stay until a new Rites Mistress was found, but the longer she stayed, the more she feared her return to Griffin's Glen, where something equally wrong lurked.

Andraste sighed, and let her body melt from its awkward two legged form into her familiar lupus shape.

The air across the Sept of the White Horse was crisp and cool. Out here there had been no riots, no bombs, and the caern spirit was strong.

For the first time in months, Andraste felt her spirits lift. This was a good place, she thought. It was not tainted. There was nothing wrong that lurked beneath the surface. Here, perhaps, she could begin again...