Sepdet steps out from the cave just as if she'd been sleeping there, instead of worlds away. She stretches and pauses to survey the bare expanse of shivering grasses and the few signs of camp, eyes narrowed.

The young theurge is crouched down amongst the grass at the edges of the bluff, immobile. He appears to be sleeping, though one cannot ascertain at a distance.

Sepdet strides towards him with a soft crunch of grasses and leans over him, propping her hands on her knees.

Sebastian does not seem aware of the presence that approaches him. His clothes are in tatters, as if slit numerous times with a sharp blade. Underneath, one can see sets of parallel wounds on his torso and legs, granulating, healing, somewhat. Judging by their numbers, he has lost a lot of blood. His head hangs, his ebon locks, matted, cover his face. He grunts while he breaths, shallow and fast. One arm clutches at his side, as if to protect himself, while the other lies paralyzed at his side. His fingertips are cauterized to blackened sooty tips, exposing bone as well as gangrenous flesh.

Sepdet opts for gentleness, although there's a certain foreboding in her grim face that suggests she had something other in mind a moment ago. So softly, she begins to sing in a child's voice, a strange melody that sounds far more like the ebb and fall of waves on a seashore than any desert-born theurge should have a right to know. It's her old lullabye, which he may or may not ever have been gifted to hear before.

A small movement in his fingers start it off. A twitch followed by a shudder, caged in his chest. He is roused from his sleep, slowly, if not violently. Shallow breaths deepen, his lungs screaming for air. And finally with an almost Herculean effort, he takes a huge waking breath, expelling it almost immediately in a series of hacking coughs. He is doubled over now, on his side, struggling to breath.

Sepdet sinks to her knees and does not quite set her hands on him, but rather, they hover over his upper arm and hip, on the side facing upwards. She continues to sing low and softly.

You paged Sebastian with 'what be thy rage, oh patient?'.

Sebastian pages: Oh, nothing much. Just about agg 5 damage from having a umrbal vortex rearrange your innards. He's healed a bit, though. A bit.

Long distance to Sebastian: Sepdet hmms. I'll just heal a little more then. Don't want you to go to the moot looking fresh and perky; those scars are great for picking up girls. Er, I mean. ;)

From afar, Sebastian falls over, gets up, re-reads and falls over again. You're a hoot, E. :)

The coughs become muffled breaths as the fire in chest is extinguished. Though nasal and stifled, his breaths become regular, and he finally manages an audible groan, a human groan. With chapped lips parted, he mutters, "Mother?"

Sepdet does not answer, although her brows knit in momentary shock at the name. Her quiet words send the pain to a more distant place, like the tide ebbing back from the shore. Some of the damage within resettles itself into a more natural order, the bruised and torn lungs and throat especially garnering her attention and care, as she helps him to breathe more easily. And she pours the spiritual equivalent of cool, soothing water into his terribly broken hands, face tightening as she shifts around to where she can hold her small brown ones over them. Slowly she coaxes some blood to return to the damaged areas, some regrown flesh to edge its way under the caked charred fingers. Finally she sits back with a sigh at work only partway done. ~Mother to the dead only,~ she tells him. ~Welcome back to the living.~

Sebastian reaches out to the voice with his able hand. One can now see that his eyelids are still sealed, scarred like his fingers. Rivulets of dried blood carve out streams down his cheek, giving him a grim facade. He manages to right himself up, although his still clutches at his side, clinging to the phantom pain. "Am I not dead? Alive?" He says the words with an almost childlike wonder.

Sepdet tells him shortly, ~You have travelled the path of Phoenix.~ She relents a bit, settles down on the grass beside him, a little spent from her own efforts. Her small brown hand is cool but strong as she squeezes his own with a reassuring solidity, anchoring him to the physical again. ~You are alive, in the solid world. I do not think you were dead before, but it is best not to question that too closely, considering the roads your tribe and mine sometimes travel.~

Sebastian feels the hand, and the slight tingling that emanates from it. He clutches at it, drawing comfort and reassurance. "I I know you. I remember your voice," he says. "You greeted me the first night of my arrival here." He pauses, his thoughts contained in a brief reverie, a remembrance of sorts. "And now, it is still you, Hope-Star, who welcomes me back."

Sepdet's white teeth flash in a thin moon of a smile. ~Always coming home.~ She does not let go before she feels his grip slacken. ~You paid quite a price for your journey, young Uktena. Did you find what you were looking for, or something else to bring back with you?~

The young theurge slowly relinquishes his grip on the Strider's hand. Then, taking both hands, he feels his face, examining it, as if handling a delicate mask. He grimaces as he peels off the scars that blind him, though one cannot tell if he does this in response to the physical pain or the burdened questions that the Strider asks. Rubbing his eyes, he begins to reply, "I was unprepared, Hope-Star. Woefully unprepared."

Sepdet nods. ~So I see.~ She lets him deal with his own body for a moment, then asks gently. ~Did you learn anything?~

He blinks, once then rubs his eyes gingerly, waiting for his eyes to focus. He waits, then grunts in disappointment as they fail him. After flexing his slightly atrophied arms, he regards her question carefully before deciding to answer. He licks his chapped lips, then replies, "Yes, I did. It would have been a fruitless journey if I had no answers to return with."

Sepdet watches his eyes closely with a frown tugging the corner of her mouth, a worry he cannot see, unless it's unfounded. ~It would interest me to hear them,~ she tells him steadily, ~if I am one with whom they may be shared. But you need rest. Is there anything else you require?~

Sebastian stifles a laugh, his demeanor lifting. He leans in close to the Strider, and embraces her tiny form. "In good time, Hope-Star," he whispers in her ear. He tightens the embrace, slightly, so as not to stifle her, "And thank you." He yields, before any awkwardness ensues, and settles back down to where he sat. "It is debt that I insist on repaying. And no, I will not abide any resistance from you." He has a grin on his face, and while the grin remains the same, the man wearing it has obviously changed.

Sepdet's slim form stiffens only slightly at the touch, and she pats his shoulder once as he settles back from her. ~You may repay by telling me whatever you are allowed, of the things you learn in your journeys.~ She smiles thinly. ~Or, more directly... there is a Moot tomorrow night. Do you feel yourself sufficiently among the living to come to it?~

Sebastian nods, although his mood slightly darkens. "There are things I have left unattended, Hope-Star. I fear they will come and haunt me, if I do not act soon." He considers the Striders news again then adds, "I must go to it," he says resolutely. "I must attend, and present myself."

Sepdet lifts an eyebrow questioningly. ~You are young to be talking like a tired elder,~ she observes wryly.

Sebastian shakes his head, distractedly. "It is why I am here, Hope-Star. This path I have been following led me here, perhaps not to find my father, but to learn. Where my father is - It is a secret that I am not ready to unravel. I do not have the keys nor the skill to reach him. This is why I must stay, and if placing my loyalties to the spirits that reside in this place is needed, then so be it."

Sepdet nods, looking absently down the hill towards the gleam of mist coming off the lake. Then she says bluntly, ~The Moot: I cannot go.~

Sebastian nods slowly, resignedly. He extends an understanding gaze toward her, although there is some inkling of concern painted on his face.

Sepdet's voice is untroubled, even if her gaze is fixed before her on some other thought. ~I believe this Moot will be a turning-point for this caern they no longer call a Wheel. I must know what transpires. And there is a message I need spoken, although half they will not understand.~

Sebastian tries to catch the Strider's gaze with his own, returning it with half a grin. "Shall I speak these words for you? I can be your voice, if you wish."

Sepdet leans forward. ~Yes. Say that the Hope-Star says these two things. First, scorched as you are from your journey, that 'One who has died and been reborn in the silver river has experience unequalled, wisdom to help turn this caern from old ways to new. Heed the Bitter Cup.' And second: 'Phoenix comes.'~

Long distance to Sebastian: Sepdet gambles like crazy on what I /think/ may happen tomorrow night. ;)

Sebastian pages: Well, Andrea's basically gonna take over Alphaship, basically. Unless they've pulled the rug out from under me and changed it. Hoo-boy :)

You paged Sebastian with 'thus what Sepdet's saying here.'.

You paged Sebastian with 'Which will perhaps blow a few people's minds because they don't KNOW that I've been around to know about it. And Sepdet will support Andrea absolutely.'.

From afar, Sebastian nods and then wheeee's! It's gonna be a blast! :)

You paged Sebastian with 'You sure you'll be there tomorrow night? Because I haven't talked to Andrea in so long. I'd like to give her my support. But it would be so /cool/ if she didn't see it coming, if you could deliver it for me. I'm very grateful. So anyway...'.

From afar, Sebastian will certainly be here. By hook or by crook... :)

Sebastian's brow furrows as he considers this. He says, nodding, "I will repeat this to them verbatim, Hope-Star. As per your wishes." He pauses, allowing his breath to slacken, then with a change in tone, "Another thing, Hope-Star," he says, gravely. "Talens -- I must make some. For my chiminage. Are you able to help?" He says this, then searches the Strider's face for some hint of approval.

Sepdet smiles at that. ~I would be glad to help, son of my old teacher.~

Sebastian half-nods, half-bows. "Thank you. So much." When he looks back at the Strider, a clear stream of tears trickles down the theurge's cheek, dissolving the dry rivulets of blood into nothing. "I owe you my life, Hope-Star. I am bound to you in spirit. You only need name any service you require, and I will give all that is within mine to give."

Sepdet sighs. ~I pray I never have to ask it of you, friend.~ She banished the grim tone with a shake of her head, and says more clearly, ~Hope. Hope no matter what, and try to pass it to others. 'The battle shall not be fought with tooth and claw, but in the hearts and minds of the Garou.' /That/ is the harder battle, but the one we are more likely to win. The Wyrm may hold greater force, but we have greater will. Never forget that. In doing so, you serve me.~

The Uktena nods affirmatively, an uncharacteristic sniff breaking his ashen disposition. He bites his lower lip, and brushes his tears away with his tattered shirt. He now rises, although his eyesight still fails him somewhat. "I must gather food, now. For myself, and for bait." He runs his fingers up and down his leg, feeling the tatters. "And from what I can feel, a change of clothes is in order, too."

Sepdet says, ~You need a Strider guide, or can you find your way for now?~ The question is literal, but there's a hint of irony in her voice playing as always with layered meanings.

Sebastian smirks playfully at the question. "This," he points, indicating his nose, "hasn't let me down yet." Then, as the smile fades from his face slightly, he addresses the question's hidden meaning, "Always, Hope-Star. Always. Be safe."

Sepdet inclines her head respectfully, face's focus already retreating from the present conversation to the umbra where she's headed. "Believe," she answers, English rough-edged and rasping and matching the pitch and rhythm of his last two words. Then she turns back to the cave, vanishing even as she crosses the threshold.