Lola Hawkes
Last week Lola had been away from home,
living out of a shoddy motel in downtown Denver. This had been because
of the call of War. She had gone to be present for the War Moot, and
she had stayed to help with the patrols because, as she understood it,
the Gauntlet had become shaky and repercussions were being felt across
the city from the tragedy at the Spire Sept. She had participated in
patrols, she had walked the streets and watched for trouble. She had
participated in the discovery of a massive flock of carrion spirits that
had bled over from the other side, and stood watch while Hector and
Keisha had cleansed the area until the spirits were gone from the place,
sent back where they belonged.
Last Friday night she had gotten
to use her rifle. Hector had texted her an address and called for
back-up, and she had come running. The battle was glorious. All
involved, including herself, had walked away unscathed, and their
victory had been flawless and how they had worked together had been
fluid. It was a good night.
Until she and Hector went back to the
motel room. Until they talked about what they had, what they were
supposed to have, their duties to the Nation, and the loss of his pack.
The night had been a full one, and the next morning Lola had packed up
the clothes and hygiene kit she'd brought into the city and left.
They'd
talked, and she decided that she would return to The Homestead. She
hated the city, it made her skin feel grimy all of the time and it made
her feel cramped and trapped. She was worried deep in her heart for
the security of Forgotten Questions, as she was quite convinced that
everything that was happening at Cold Crescent was intended to be a
diversion. She believed that the Spiral Pack actually wanted Forgotten
Questions, because that was where the real Caern was after all.
This
past week Lola has been on her own, back in her routine, recovering
from the time in the city and stretching her legs and breathing the
clean air again. She patrolled the lands more diligently than she has in
the recent months because of the heightened danger level. Today she
was out on foot, dressed in a pair of jean shorts that rode high on
long, strong legs and hiking boots that protected her ankles. She had
on a tank top with an opened up plaid long-sleeve shirt on overtop (the
plaid in hues of blue and yellow). The sleeves of the overshirt were
unbuttoned, the ends of the front of the shirt tied together at the
bottom rather in place of buttons.
She wore a baseball cap, a
faded old beige thing, with her hair in a ponytail and pulled out the
back. It helped to keep the sun out of her eyes. She couldn't just
carry her rifle around because then the Rangers would get pissy at her,
but you could rest assured that the pistol for which she had a legal
concealed carry permit was kept in its holster at her left side, under
the overshirt.
Earlier in the day she had encountered her favorite
Skald, Eddie, and they split the lunch she had packed in her backpack.
After about two hours of hanging together they parted ways. Now, at
about seven thirty in the evening, Lola stood at the top of some short,
stubby hill with sparse grass and plenty of dust. She was looking out
over the Bawn, to the West, watching the sun's location in the sky and
gaguing how long it will take for it to set.
This was an image
that was as much a part of the landscape here as the coyotes howl was to
the night air. A Hawkes has been standing sentry for close to as long
as the Sept has been here.
Tamsin
Tamsin Hall.
Cinder Song. Furious Lament. Tamsin: hadn't been around, but she'd
already heard some of what went down at the Moot of Two Septs. Her
response had been wide-eyed shock. And that shock'd just compounded, as
other tales came fast and strong: of her tribal mates corruption and so
on and so forth. Wasn't gone for that long, but just long enough. And
maybe some of the stories she's heard, maybe that's why she has taken
herself out've the city and off to Forgotten Questions, talk to even
more galliards, touch base with even more tales, and eventually (yeah)
track down that elusive Lola Hawkes.
It's not that difficult. There are stones for that; questing ones.
And
this isn't like the time at Jackass Hill Park when Tamsin was
determined to sneak up on Lola and Hector and bean the latter in the
head with her cellphone (that plan did not go well, did it?), and she
doesn't hide her approach, doesn't seem to have fog turning the crunch
of her footsteps on pebbles and dirt and dust into something that's a
whisper or even less, just:
A girl standing sentry over the Bawn,
silhouetted by the West, and a girl-who-is-a-wolf-who-is-a-spirit
traipsing up a steep incline toward her, questioning:
"Lola?"
Lola Hawkes
The
call of her own name pulled Lola out of whatever trance she slipped
into while watching the land. Patrols worked in shifts for Lola-- she
would walk around the length of the Bawn, or at least the Eastern side
of it if nothing more, and periodically she would find places with good
vantage points so she could watch the landscape for unfamiliar movement,
or things that shouldn't belong. When she watched so much land all at
the same time, it was easy to let your vision slip and focus on the
middle distance and to allow your mind to wander.
It's difficult
to say where it had landed exactly when she was interrupted, but Lola
looked a little surprised without being startled or immediately
defensive. Dark eyes hunted for the source of the call and located
Tamsin at the bottom of the hill, working her way up the ridge to join
her.
Lola smiled, the expression a genuine but closed-lipped thing, and lifted a hand to wave.
That
same hand adjusted the bill of her cap, and when Tamsin was a bit
nearer, close enough that she could talk without having to holler, Lola
greeted her.
"Tamsin. Hey." Eyes raked the landscape behind her, then came back to the Fianna. "No pack today?"
Tamsin
Tamsin
smiles, too. Her smile isn't shy around Lola. Not usually, though
there's something shy at the edges, something that wants to shy,
something that does not care that Tamsin is a wolf-girl, girl-wolf, does
not care that Tamsin is full of rage, a glittering and glistering
hollowing-out creature of war, and there is something solemn to the
smile too. Tamsin: she can be so serious it's easy to forget that the
next moment she'll be cursing worse than a wannabe pre-teen rapper and
ready for mischief.
She'd lifted a hand to wave as well as her
voice [human gestures are easy; they're echoes] and the hand drops back
to the top of her head after a wave; she puts a bit of extra energy into
her scramble up, sneakers slipping enough to send a cascade of pebbles
running downward, and then she lopes until she's at Miss Hawkes' side.
Then
she lifts her shoulders riseandfall riseandfall quick and pretends to
pant, tongue lolling out. Ends it with another smile, this one more shy
but also slyer, like she's going to elbow Lola in the ribs, and then
laugh with embarrassment at the silly joke:
"Hey!" Happy. Then
more even-keeled: "And naw. I tried to tempt Jack out, but he had some
stuff to do, and Hector's being more of a cunt-pimple than usual about
'no interruptions while I read this chapter.' But um, honestly I kind of
wanted to just poke around myself a bit anyway and and find you and oh
Nora says hello and reminds me to remind you that you are welcome to
visit and she gave me something for you too. It's just a picture of
Maria she thought you might like."
"How are you?"
Lola Hawkes
As
the Galliard reaches her side, the Uktena that should have been an
Ahroun greets her by reaching out and clapping her on the side of her
shoulder a couple of times. Lola's movements were, as always, a strong
and confident thing. In the city she moved stiffly, like she was
looking for a fight and on a razor's edge temperamentally. Here,
though, on her land, within the bounds of what she felt to be her
territory for how she protected it with her life and the lives of her
predecessors, it was different. She was like a wolf on its turf,
self-assured and full of vitality.
Hector was being a wet noodle,
Jack was busy as well, so it was just Tamsin tonight. Lola nodded,
accepting this information at face value and not appearing to look
thrilled or disappointed by it.
Nora said hello and had a picture
of Maria that Tamsin was supposed to share with her. Lola's dark
eyebrows jumped up on her face to show interest. "Huh! I'll need to
see that. And get a number to call her at to tell her thank you. Or I
can get one of the Theurges to send a messenger-- whatever's actually
gonna reach her."
Tamsin wanted to know how Lola was doing, and
she answered that with a shrug and by looking back out on the stretch of
Bawn that she was keeping watch over. "Eh. I'm okay. My nerves are
frayed from waiting, though. Hector's supposed to keep me posted on
what's being organized within the City as far as attacks and
investigations go, so I can lend my help. I'm waiting for the Spirals
to start sniffing around out here, too." She scowled a little, for a
moment, when she griped about: "The goddamn Rangers won't let me carry
my rifle, though, so I'll be a fair bit fucked if they decide to show up
when I can only keep my pistol."
Then, she glanced back to the Fianna. "How about you? Where've you been?"
Tamsin
Lola
claps Tamsin on the side of the shoulder and Tamsin bites the inside of
her lip, the right side, this habitual thing, and then goes in for the
hug. Because Tamsin, while not a hugger, does hug. Lola should've been
an Ahroun. Would've been a better Ahroun than Celduin got, perhaps. Or
maybe she'd be less Lola if she'd actually changed. Tamsin doesn't know:
she can't think too much about it because whenever she does there's a
deep-seeded slow-burn of what if and guilt. Like if she could somehow
make it right and give Lola what she got by mistake. Lost cub, never was
supposed to Change, was supposed to have a boring, mundane life and all
that b.s.
"I can give you a number," she says, and after the hug
that was (or the hug that wasn't) she'd sort of locked her knees in
order to go up on her tiptoes and reach into her jacket pocket (it gets
cold at night and she was expecting to be out late and later), pull out
that photograph promised. It's folded, but one of those long ones--
kodak, so taken with actual film not printed out on a computer, probably
one hour developed at a drug store. There's penciled writing on the
back. Gravely: "It seems poor to bother a spirit when a phone'll do just
as well, though then again some of the younger theurges could probably
use the practice in deal-making. The first night I arrived at Nora's,"
and
look. Tamsin is obviously a galliard. How people react to this depends
on the person. Among kinsmen and kinswomen, it is often with a smile and
a headshake and an 'oh, Tamsin,' which thankfully she never catches or
thinks is condescending. She tells stories in casual conversation
because she has to but also because it is who she is.
And this
story also gives Lola some of her answers. Where've you been,"at the
Sept of the Flooded Birch, there was a fresh rite-passaged Shadow Lord,
son of Thunder proud of who he is, just-named Devil's Bargain, so damned
proud of the name. He must've been fourteen, fifteen, and perhaps too
fresh; he had that too-determined look, you know? The one that says I'll
burn out soon unless I figure out what I am doing," and here she grins,
because Tamsin is not above some tribal rivalry, though the grin fades:
"So there he was, that first night I arrived, and he said clearly, Don't
you get it, Wonder's Fall? I'm a cliath now. You're asking when you
should be telling. You're telling when you should be dealing. You want
that flood-spirit to well up in Serenity's Limit Swift Justice's faucet
next time they turn the tap? You're just being wishy-washy. You've gotta
show it who's boss.
"Up he goes to that spirit and starts to lay down the law.
"Fine. That's their way; they law-lay-down.
"But
you know what he forgets to say? He forgets to say: when they turn the
water on. He forgets to say: stop. He forgets to detail just what
Serenity's Limit's faucet is: is it at their house? Is it where-ever
they're turning the spigot? And this is a flood spirit."
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
"Next
thing you know, Serenity's Limit's apartment is flooding and flooding
and they call the landlord and when they can't get ahold of the landlord
- one of ours, while they are not - they call the damned police. And
the flood spirit's like, welp, can't deliver my message here - oh!
"Oh hey! Serenity's Limit's turning on a faucet now!"
"And then the local Y gets flooded out, too."
"And
some muckity muck's bigwig daughter: slips in the water. Breaks her
leg. Mundies on the scene before mother's touch can be used so now she's
grumpy as Hell, spoiled rotten too: and the moral is? Maybe some of the
younger theurges need some practice."
"But phone number, that's still safe."
And now, she holds that picture out.
Lola Hawkes
Of
course Lola accepted the hug. She came across as something of a
bruiser at first introduction when meeting new people. She could be
imposing, how she held her shoulders square and strong and how she held
her chin high and how her eyes blazed with life. She was of average
height, but always seemed much taller because of how big of a presence
she was.
Tamsin met her when she was still a teenager, although on
the end of those years rather than smack in the middle of them. Lola
hadn't quite finished growing by that point, though she was close to
done. She had been more surly, faster to boil over with her temper and
more sensitive to insult. A couple of years, the loss of her parents
and living truly alone had helped to temper that and grow her into more
of an adult. She was still quite young, in the scheme of things, but
Lola Hawkes was now a far more tempered creature. Accepting her fate
helped with that.
So the hug was accepted, returned with strong
lean arms partly shrouded in flannel wrapped about Tamsin's arms and
behind her back to do so. When they parted, the Galliard held out a
picture and told a story about where she'd been.
The story ended,
and Lola was grinning broadly, now with white teeth showing. She
chuckled, but it was a low and quiet thing that manifested more in how
her shoulders and chest moved than in actual vocalizations.
"Sounds
like he got his ass whupped at the end of the day," she said of the
fresh-faced Cliath. "And like he learned a lesson about being literal
and thorough."
The extended picture was accepted and unfolded to
be examined. After a second she would flip it over, read the writing on
the back, then return her gaze to the picture itself once more,
squinting through the dying light to pick out detail.
Tamsin
"He
did. He was told he could not speak to anything that was flesh instead
of spirit-stuff 'til the moon was crescent again, then given a long list
of tasks to accomplish that involved speaking. Last I saw of Devil's
Bargain, he was in an Office Max, looking to buy some notebooks. We'll
see what happens to him," and Tamsin shrugs.
The writing says one damned ballsy girl two unlucky suckers 2007 Maria
It's
a picture of Maria, yes. But a younger Maria than the Maria who died, a
Maria with long hair whipping in the wind- though not whipping, no.
Whipped; a torrent around her; a snarl-halo, crouching on the edge of a
rock, wearing a poncho and grinning at the camera her eyes alive holding
in both hands what looks at first like a weird pale papery pumpkin but
is in actuality a hornet's nest and if you look down from there you can
see a couple of familiar faces, blurred because they were apparently
moving quickly.
Lola Hawkes
The picture draws a
fond grin on Lola's face, recognition of the scene and the perfect humor
found in all elements of the prank (ha, Hornet's Nest, get it?)
striking her a little sentimental. Lola didn't appear sad, though.
While the news of her sister's demise was still relatively recent, Lola
apparently sped through the grieving process because it didn't pain her
to see her sister's face the same it had looked when she left The
Homestead to go adventuring with her new pack. She didn't get misty
eyed or introspective for the subject.
Lola had plenty of time
alone, which gave her enough time to herself to work through the tears,
the anger, the frustration, the loss. She had cried-- oh yes. She had
wailed at the moon because she couldn't howl. She had gone running
across the land until she was too tired to think or feel and could fall
asleep dreamless in her bed, because she wasn't able to run on four feet
until the dawn broke and sleep where she landed.
She didn't ask
for a shoulder to cry on or arms to wrap her up and help her through the
process. That simply wasn't her way. Lola, for the most part, was a
solitary creature, though she certainly welcomed what remained of
Celduin whenever they were around. Tamsin knew just as well as Hector
that The Homestead had an open invitation to the pack, and that the door
was unlocked for them even if she wasn't home herself.
"That's
perfect," Lola said, finally, and folded the picture up in the same
fashion it had been when it was delivered. It was then slipped into the
back pocket of snug denim shorts, held there for safe-keeping until she
was able to get home and find a place for that picture to be.
She
would frame it, certainly. Probably hang it up in the living room
along with a pattern of pictures of family members that have been there
for longer than Lola's been alive. Her thumbs hooked into her belt
loops when her hands were free of the picture, and Lola's gaze leveled
on Tamsin once more. When there was nothing else on the table for
immediate discussion, you could leave it to the Ahroun-Kin to bring up
business instead.
"So, I'm sure you've heard what's happened at
the Spire Sept. Are you gonna be joining Hector to give efforts to
them? I'd assume so. Things can't be too far from erupting."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods as if of course.
As if the question was just a leading question, and no question at all;
perhaps it is. To Tamsin, it is not a question of joining Hector; no
matter how often she yells at him, or sulks, or challenges his
authority, tries to beat him up, he is the alpha, and Tamsin took those
lessons she was taught and abides by them as strictly as she can bring
herself to abide.
"Yes. From what I understand we have no victory
right now, and no glimpse of victory, only a loss of Champions and
Guardians, a hole where both should be." Look how easily she says we.
They're all a we, to Tamsin.
"What are your thoughts on the whole mess? Were you at that war moot Eric held?"
Lola Hawkes
"I
was," came the answer. The good humor faded out of Lola's face,
although that didn't necessarily mean that her mood in general was
declining. This was business, this was War, and this was exactly what
held Lola's interest. While she would never be able to join her
brothers in some battles, she still made every effort to contribute
where she could. She was a killer shot, and between all of the weapons
she owned (rifle, shotgun, and pistols were a staple here) it was
believed that she could probably lay a full grown Garou to the grave if
she ever went batshit and turned on someone.
She could fight
beside Garou, has done so in the past, but she wasn't an idiot, and she
knew that she had other duties-- specifically, to the land of her family
and ensuring that their legacy did not die with her. She wouldn't go
into death traps just yet, and she couldn't go across into the World of
Spirits to join in the battles there. Where she couldn't join, she
liked to make up by providing advice and perspective instead. She was
far from quiet at the War Moot, and had provided good food for thought
for the Ahrouns and War Packs to take into consideration.
So, of
course, when the subject of the turmoil in their land came up, Lola was
all business, and her whole heart and mind was thrown into the subject.
After
a brief glance about, she gestured to the ground in an invitation for
Tamsin to join her, then bent her knees and sat on the ground. Her
hands were on the bare earth behind her, helping hold balance so she
could lean back some. Her feet were square, knees in the air and left
comfortably open even though she was wearing shorts. Out here, who
cared about senses of modesty anyways?
"I think Beloved Horror is a
force of nature. I don't think they're just Spirals-- I think they've
dappled with something deep and dark and evolved into some Spirit-Spiral
abominations. I think that's why they can't be beat, and why their
leader can do shit like stop vans with his bare human-formed hand.
"I
think that they're dreadful smart. I think I don't trust the Cub that
we have at Forgotton Questions right now, and I think the newborn they
retrieved from that one battle shouldn't be left alone with one of our
Kin. I think it should be disposed of-- it's not worth the risk, and I
don't trust it at all.
"I also think that all of the horror
they're laying on the City is just a distraction, and soon--" she nodded
her head toward the beauty of the landscape in front of them-- "they
will come for this, their real goal."
Tamsin
Tamsin
doesn't have trouble treating Lola like she'd treat another garou, just
one who happens to not Change. Tamsin has trouble, only sometimes, when
she is reminded of what it means to be a traditionalist, and what place
kinfolk have, and how she should react to them.
"I agree. At least
the child should've been sent far, far away, been given a new spiritual
name -- if that's even possible. Must be possible. Must be a way,"
Tamsin says, "to make it truly lost."
"And I wouldn't trust the Cub, but I believe it Just and Necessary to give her this chance."
Tamsin
did flop down; not right away, but after a second, while Lola was still
talking about Spirit-Spiral abominations, while those words were on her
lips. And the flop was a little daintier than you'd expect, smoothing
the back of her ratty tat jeans down before she circles loosely her
knees with her arms, one leg stretched out a little further than the
other so her shoe and ankle are right next to Lola.
"What I wish I knew is the story of the first time the Beloved Horror and Forgotten Questions met."
Lola Hawkes
Lola
nodded to what Tamsin had to contribute to the topic. She agreed that
the baby and the Cub were dangerous, but she understood why they weren't
killed, why they were given a chance. Lola understood the reasoning as
well, she simply didn't agree that the reasons were strong enough to
stand against the weight of consequence that they carried with.
The
Fianna's foot and ankle came to rest near to Lola's, and the Kinswoman
did nothing to prevent this or adjust afterwards to regain personal
space. Lola has essentially integrated herself into the pack as a
respected sort of Little Sister. She would hang out with them whenever
Maria brought them back to visit, to touch base with her family and her
Homeland, and during those occasions Lola would talk the night away with
Tamsin, get stoned and watch stars with Hector, and wrestle with
Corey. She was comfortable with Celduin, and would do nothing to make
them feel otherwise.
"I'll tell you," Lola offered to Tamsin, and followed it with a small side-long grin. "I'm no Galliard, but I can try.
"Last
spring this pack came around the city. They laid regular attacks on
packs and patrols, made the Spire Sept real tight and nervous. There
was twelve of them then, a big sprawling pack more like hyenas than
wolves. They had a thing with disembowling their victims then, too. I
remember stories of intestines decorating trees like Christmastime
garland, and how they'd been taunted by some eating hearts like they
were apples.
"I've never been clear on why it stopped, though. I
don't remember there being any big grandiose final battle, or anything
that resolutely drove them back and stopped the attacks. They just
kinda... petered out one day, I suppose, although that doesn't seem
right."
The Kinswoman frowned apologetically.
"That would
probably be better found out from someone who was actually there. I was
here, protecting The Homestead. I didn't go into the city for any of
that, and I don't really communicate with anyone there very strongly
either. What I know I learned from the Guardians here at Forgotten
Questions."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods: "Exactly so. I
don't think the truth of what they are and what they want is necessarily
to be found in that tale. But I think the way to the truth might be
found there. You never know: it used to be a pack of mosty-Metis, didn't
it? I wonder if somewhere down the line there wasn't someone like --
like Champion of Honor. Someone pure -- who walked that Spiral and the
Spiral just twisted him or her up into the dark inverse of hating this
place. Like: maybe there's a fucked-up twisted-ass homecoming at the
heart of their hungry devastation and why it is they are the beloved
horror. Or want to be."
A pause, and then this mirror-grin thing,
small, touches her eyes, and now she's leaning forward to touch her
shoes' toes with her fingertips,
"And for someone who isn't a galliard, the hearts as apples image is pretty tight."
Lola Hawkes
"I don't know...," Lola sounded doubtful of Tamsin's theory, and the way her brow creased a little in the middle showed it.
"I
can't give you a list of those the City Sept lost, so it's possible
that one of them is pulling the strings? But this feels.... I don't
know." The frown got heavier, and she struggled to put the feeling of
dread and certainty (and that certainty made the dread more dreadful) into words and reason. She managed, or at least came close enough to continue.
"Deeper.
Maybe even older than anything like that. I mean, this Sept is still a
young thing, and the kind of power that we're seeing here? The kind of
deep, infiltrating devestation? It's gotta be more than just a
vendetta. I'm convinced that Forgotton Questions is the prize, and the
rest is just strategy."
The compliment paid to her use of imagry
was answered with a half-proud half-bashful grin that spread on Lola's
heart shaped face, and she moved a hand to cup it like she was holding
an invisible apple-organ. "Thanks. I thought it would be a good touch.
"But
it's also true as fuck. You know how they reappeared here this year,
right? Took some poor Metis bastard and piked him. Then decorated the
parking garage surrounding him with human bodies-- multiple ones--
broken up into parts. It was gruesome as hell, and one bold goddamn
statement for saying 'We're Back!'
"And apparently this cub we're sheltering, she's the one that actually did all of that.
And they think that she can be turned back around." The Kinswoman
snorted skeptically. "My fuckin' foot, that'll happen. I bet money
that she's going down in whatever Big Battle this comes to."
Tamsin
"I'm
not talking about the City Sept," Tamsin says, not insistent, but
sure-footed - it isn't certainty; just ease when it comes to calculating
different odds. Her eyes are narrowed in contemplation. "But this one.
The City Sept sprung from this one, didn't it? Go far enough back, don't
both Septs share a history? They share a common enemy because we all
share the common enemy. But this specific enemy is, um, well old. And
deep. I believe that, too. But what's older and deeper than blood or
uncertain inheritances. Maybe there's a question that was forgotten
which could undo the whole mess. Maybe we need to figure out the
questions we're not asking about what they are."
Tamsin nods, when
Lola talks about the more recent skirmish -- a spare smile that does
not touch her serious and still-narrowed eyes at her snort.
"Jack
was there when the one monster - " she calls them monsters. Because to
her that is what they are. " - stopped the van, one-handed. He was there
keeping that cub from being took. He was there - " a pause. " - and he
died. But Raspberry Sky brought him back."
"People can be brought
back," she says, although sadly: "There are true stories of it. There
are just," and here, she sighs, "easier stories of those who can't quite
shake whatever fucked-up unholy shit they get into their souls."
"But - " intense, simmering: "People can be brought back."
Tamsin
pokes Lola's foot. "So don't bet your foot. Or money. Though I wouldn't
bet money on her living past a Big Battle. I don't know. Sometimes it
seems like the only sure redemption is when death's come around."
Lola Hawkes
And
so Lola learned a story about Jack, the awesome Bone Gnawer guy that
drives a motorcycle and had charmed the Alpha so thoroughly that the
Wolf was invited into the pack post haste. Lola knew that he was
Wolf-born, and so was quite curious to meet him. She had a wolf-born
cousin or uncle out there on her mother's side, she knew that for sure,
but the Hawkes family was one of Duty, and would not leave posts for
things like family reunions. If Lola were to ever meet this relative,
it would be due to that Hawkes-related Wolf venturing to Forgotten
Questions with a purpose.
She learned that Jack was there that
night, when the Spiral had stopped the van with nothing but his hand.
That was something that she would definitely want to talk to him about,
to hear his story and ask him questions. Not only was he there, but he
fought hard enough that he died for the cause of his mission.
"What moon was he again?" Philodox,
would be the answer.Lola would nod, and the story would continue.
Tamsin advised, using the story of Jack as a device to do so, that Lola
allow chance for redemption, because often times Death was what it took
to summon it. When it mattered most.
The two women would talk
like this, posing questions both thought provoking and purposeful to one
another and sharing thoughts on one anothers' responses. This summoned
up a refreshing sort of release. It was what made the mind happy and
the heart accomplished, to have intellectual discussion-- summoning of
thought and idea for Tamsin's Gibbous-moon sake, and purposeful to the
events at hand, for the sake of the Warrior Kinswoman.
The sun
would set sometime, though, and Lola would stand and dust the rocks and
dirt from her shorts and the backs of her legs. She'd advise that she
was going to go home, have dinner, and go to bed. Tamsin, come with me, she'd invite. Have dinner and rest. Be on your way in the morning.
If the offer were accepted, then so it would be.
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