After several hours of walking through the mountains with the moonlight casting a silver sheen over the entire area, Quiet Wind calls a halt to listen. After a moment of listening, the rest of the pack hears what the Wendigo noticed--the faintly burbling sound of water flowing over rocks. As if by instinct, Bitter Cup leads the pack in the direction of the sound, making their way over several rocks to a small, clear mountain stream in which the stream spirits and the fish spirits dart playfully. The theurge stops to inquire of the spirits for a moment, and the pack is soon headed upstream, carefully avoiding sullying the waters at their alpha's warning. About 20 minutes later, the Garou come to a small pool, the source of the clear water. The pool itself is cold despite the warm air, and glows softly, independent of the moonlight. Instead, there is a spirit within, both the evanescent spirit of the spring and something else, an almost clear spirit that nonetheless glows faintly, resting under the water's surface.
Tempered-Blade's ears prick foward and the wolf gives a softly wistful whine.
Patrick pages: For all that it's pretty small, it seems to be relatively strong. Probably not strong enough to take on the huge thing by itself, but certainly strong enough to keep it busy for a while. Likely, it's been in the untouched spring for a long time. Its name would be next to imposible for Garou vocal chords to pronounce correctly; it's roughly like the tinkling of small, pure silver bells.
Faces-Shadows tilts his head, looking into the pool curiously, though he doesn't let his nose touch the water's surface.
Bitter Cup goes to the edge of the water, though still careful not to touch it. Speaking carefully and clearly in Garou, she says, *Silver-Bells-Singing, Drinks-Deeply-of-the-Bitter-Cup and her pack would speak to you, please.*
Shadow Eyes is silent and careful, trying not to disturnb the peace of the natural sylvan area.
Quiet Wind remains two steps behind Bitter Cup, watching reverently but remaining quiet for now.
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "This is beautiful."
Pack> Shadow Eyes is so scared of spooking it...
Pack> Bitter Cup says "It is. And what we ask of it will destroy it, if it agrees."
Pack> Bitter Cup says "What a bitter cup our war is."
Pack> Shadow Eyes whines. It is indeed.
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "That was going to be my next question. Perhaps, once the war is done, we can seek another spirit from the umbra who would be willing to abide here."
The spirt swirls and comes to the surface of the water right in the middle, sending a single perfect ripple to the edges of the pool. *This name is not known to me,* it says, its voice sounding pleasantly like small silver bells ringing in harmony. *Though you are certainly not unpleasing to my kind, nor most of your pack. That one,* it says, looking towards Quiet Wind, *leat of all, though several of you have been purified beyond what most are for a visitation.*
Pack> Bitter Cup says "It could be, with much aid, it would survive. Perhaps."
Shadow Eyes hangs back, as the least pure of the group, still faintly city-tainted even after spending all his time on the island and forest since the Fall. Obviously, he's afraid of spooking the gentle spirit, or tainting it.
Pack> Faces-Shadows comments, almost philosophically, "Purity is a fragile thing in the world today, and all the more tragic when it must be sacrificed so that the world can somehow improve."
Bitter Cup splays her ears outward. *It is the closest my throat can come to saying your true name,* she answers the spirit. *Rather than distoring its sounds by attempting it, I name you as I can. Most of my pack has been born again from the silver river. Quiet Wind has most recently returned to us.* She ducks her head as she admits, *Garou are imperfect creatures, so our imperfections return over time. But none washed pure will ever totally lose the mark.*
*I have heard of the silver river,* the spirit replies. *As an almost legendary place, where only the pure of Gaia return. It is good to hear that you have been through that before coming to me.* It rises up a little more from the pool to look over the Garou once again before returning its attention to their spokesperson. *What brings the imperfect Garou, even those once so purified, to this place so long unvisited by those outside?*
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "At least we ask of it no more than we ourselves are willing to give."
Pack> Quiet Wind says "Yes, that is true."
*Need,* the Gaian replies simply. *We would not trouble you, you who of all the spirits live happiest alone, if not for need. There is a spirit that I will not name here, but he has come with the Corrupted Ones to take our caern. We called upon the Silver River for those that we knew names, for we would rather they be purified than killed. After calling, we attacked to draw them into the Umbra, that Erebus may take them. This bane attacked us and dissolved one of our number within moments. Even the protection of Uktena will not stand against its attack, for it is a charm that reduces its opponent to sludge. We were forced to retreat, but I did the Naming on it when we pulled back. Its weakness is your strength. Purity.* Lowering her sandy-brown muzzle slightly, she says, *We plan to attack again at the waning half, when they plan to corrupt the caern. We must stop them from doing so, if it is within our power.* The adren theurge raises eyes to look directly into what passes for the spirit's face. *Our chances are stronger if we can get one of purity to add its strength to ours.*
*Oh,* the spirit replies, and its tinkling bell voice is tinged with a sadness that, somehow, is the purest, most mournful sadness imaginable. There is nothing of anger or even disappointment in this sound, simply sorrow.
Tempered-Blade dips her head in mute apology to the spirit.
Quiet Wind paws the ground as the spirit's sadness touches him, slightly.
Shadow Eyes stays back so as not to taint the proceedings and silently weeps at the sound.
Bitter Cup also lowers her head. *It is not how I would will it,* she says, admitting aloud what she has said to the pack. *But war cares nothing for my heart's desires.* Raising her eyes back to the pure spirit, she says, *It may not be a task you should take. I have known one other of your number, though I cannot say I knew him well. He had less the purity of innocence than that which comes from fire. I killed a woman at his command, though he gave her life again, so she might be washed pure with her own blood. I wish to save one of Gaia's sacred places, and I will do that at the expense of life, but not at the expense of being.*
*In our own ways, each of us is often the purity of trials,* the spirit says sadly. *This water must rise and fall and rise again, being reborn through air and stone before it springs pure from here. But I am also the purity of the unsullied, the untouched, and those of the corrupt are too often weaker against this kind of purity than any other, for it shames them beyond what they can bear.* It pauses for a moment, looking at the theurge, then each of the pack in turn, with calm eyes, though its voice still bears that deep sorrow. *I will not survive this,* the spirit adds. *I might live, but I will not survive. I will not return to this place. If I am not destroyed, I will be more like the other you knew before, and this place does not need that one.*
Bitter Cup bows her head in recognition of that sacrifice. *What may we do? I would say that I would seek a unicorn to guard this place, for they are my tribal totem and the closest to you that any that once bore flesh could be. But those of the white already guard their places, and those of the black are more like what you will become. My pack will be fighting with you, and we also may not live to see any promises fulfilled.*
The Fianna Ragabash meets the gaze squarely. Her own eyes are sorrowful, but resolved. ~None of us will be unchanged. As my Alpha says, what may we do?~
Bitter Cup says, *My packmate was born under the new moon, and does not know the voice of the spirits, but she adds her question to mine. She says that none of us will be unchanged, but also asks what we may do.*
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "It's very odd. I understood some of what the spirit said."
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "Thank you for translating."
Pack> Faces-Shadows says "Weird. Probably wanted to make sure we knew what it was saying for part of it. Me, I couldn't tell a difference, but I'm understanding it all."
Pack> Bitter Cup says "You're welcome. It may understand you, but anything I can do to show it respect with the sacrifice it's agreeing to, I will do."
Pack> Tempered-Blade says "That is good."
The spirit looks at the Fianna for a moment, then back to the Gaian. *Your pack most of all perhaps appreciates the changes that can occur. I would ask that you set a guard to this place, that one day another of my kind may appear here. None to come in, but a guard to the outside until the day that another can be birthed here from the nature of this place and the purity of its waters.* It looks down into the water for a moment before continuing. *It will take a while. This spring will not be as pure after I leave. My friend the spring will weep for a time rather than laughing, and the spring will turn salty for a short while. It is his nature, and he does not see that this small corruption is not a fitting way to mourn my passing.*
Pack> Tempered-Blade sends a strange pulse over the link -- sorrow mixed with hope. "Will it come with us?"
Bitter Cup bows her head once more. *It will be done.*