[Sandra] :: LOG :: There!

[gmlogbox]

Characters: Felix, Frederick, Heather, Jamethon, Sandra
Storyteller: Sky
Location: Edgewood - Meadow
Time: 7/21/27 - Mid-day - New Moon (Waning)

Summary: Q - 'Is this gonna be a stand-up fight, sir? Or another bug-hunt?'

Most of the work is done. The house at the edge of the woods has been rebuilt nearly from the ground up, and even most of the damage to the grounds has been repaired. Most. Not all. Some of the trenches that were cut into the earth have been filled, but the scars still remain, and likely will for decades to come.
The afternoon is warm, but not oppressive, the power of the sun mitigated by the few scattered clouds overhead.

There's still a thing to do here or there, which may be why Felix is here. Or it may be to drink from a largish Coke bottle and swing on the rope swing out back, which is what he's actually doing. There's a guitar case nearby, probably containing a guitar, as it usually does, though it's not impossible he's switched it for a particularly large tommy-gun or something. Never know.

It's cool enough outside, at least, that the Garage's tenant over the past few months went out for a run with a fur coat on. Anyone paying close enough attention will hear her arrival through the forest, the oversized grey wolf that appears at the perimeter of the meadow moving at a somewhat lazier pace than usual as she covers the ground between the forest and the Garage itself. She slows, after a time, upon seeing the Bone Gnawer, her ears pricked and tilted forward for a moment or two.
She sniffs the air once, then continues to move in the direction she'd intended to initially, passing him by at a more casual trot. Not feeling that sociable today, apparently.

Sandwich in hand, Fred steps out the back door. For a change he doesn't seem to be in any hurry, and why should he, he has food. He takes his time as he walks alongside one of the former trenches, boots idly kicking the dirt as he does give it some consideration, the only thing he's fast at right now is making that sandwich disappear inside his mouth.

Heather's approach is also unhurried. It's a nice day out, after all, and it's not like she has a regular job, or even a proper duty assignment out here. For once, the Fury is just able to enjoy the out-of-doors space and she's making the most of it. She even seems to be at least a little happy about the whole thing.

"...rocket ship on my way to Mars, on a collision course," Felix is singing to the world at large, "I am a satellite, I'm out of control-- Afternoon!" The last called out to the passing wolf; apparently he IS feeling reasonably sociable today. He takes a sip of his drink, caps it to stick in his pocket, then drops down off the swing to pull the rope further back and take a running leap with it to get it swinging better.

Though Winter's Bite has her attention split between the new arrivals and the offered greeting, it veers quite suddenly towards the southern border of the clearing, that pricked-ear, attentive focus returning with a vengeance. Her nose twitches, and a subtle curl of her lip appears, a low sound in her throat. She looks first to Frederick, likely by default, and begins to move in that direction, 'wordless' but for the intent, at a pace that can no longer be described as casual, her tail lifted to half-mast.

The quiet musing ends as Felix starts to sing, and Fred turns his head to the noise, though it is not easy to guess from the usual blank look on his face whether he is a friend of the music or whether he would prefer the sound of silence. His eyes descend onto the wolf that trots by the singing Gnawer and as he stuffs the rest of his sandwich between his teeth, he eventually decides to redirect his steps towards the two, either not noticing the Fury just yet or deciding not to notice her.

It's a forgivable oversight, because if it weren't for the singing and calling out from the back yard, Heather would've used the front door. As it is, the commotion is a curious enough thing that she's making her way around to make sense of the whole thing. One mote of recognition clicks into place, but that's all she's got. Ah well, time to learn more names and hope she doesn't forget them later...

That sudden change of direction in the wolf's attention catches Felix's, as well, and not only because it for some reason is away from him. (I mean, really.) He looks the way that seems to have caught her interest, and drops off the rope again from the upswing on which he happens to be, rather than while it's lower, like a reasonable person. Decent landing, at least; if that step was necessary for balance, it shifts pretty smoothly into a rather quieter stride in the wolf's wake. Frederick gets a light nod instead of a vocal greeting when the Gnawer spots him approaching as well; he doesn't seem to have caught Heather's arrival yet either, from where he is.

The Shadow Lord's pace get quicker. Her alert posture speaks more of caution than anything else, especially as her attention snaps in the direction of the sounds wafting in from the forest. She slows, not far from one of the unfilled trenches, her head dipping intermittently to sniff at the ground, though not for terribly long. The bulk of her attention is on scanning the treeline for more hints of that movement.

So far, Fred doesn't seem too disturbed by what's going on in the woods, he keeps moving towards the other two Garou, at least the two that he spotted so far. There is little in his posture that would hint at him being concerned. He watches the wolf, slowing his steps and eventually stopping as he raises a brow, looking over to Felix.

Strange noises in the woods are... still the norm for Heather. These aren't yet properly a place she considered 'her woods.' On the other hand, the cautious overtones to the lupus form she recognizes does give her a little bit of pause and her curiosity-fueled meandering slows and becomes more purposeful. For the moment, Felix and Fred are forgotten.

The wolf is the first to spot it, the deeper hole at the bottom of the trench, a tunnel that leads back toward the house, of all things. This end, at least, was recently dug, the freshly turned earth visible around the tunnel's entrance. The hole itself is about three feet in diameter, big enough for a lupus to work through, a homid to crawl through, a glabro to possibly squirm through, but a hispo or crinos wouldn't be able to do more than get their soulders stuck.
That doesn't really matter, though, as whatever it was that made the hole is apparently on this side of it, the audible movement also catching visual attention just past the edge of the trees.

The wolf begins to pace the length of the trench, back and forth. She doesn't speak, but there's no mistaking the direction she's looking in. Though Frederick is laid back about all this, she's-- keyed up. Anxious to throw down, potentially? Or just anxious in general, for whatever reason. Then she sees it.
There! She has enough restraint to keep from making *too* much overt noise, but her posture is practically screaming, her eyes focused plainly on the hole. Her weight shifts from one paw to the other, as if to approach, but she stops for the moment, possibly angling to get a closer look at whatever it is that's moving in there before diving straight in. Though it needn't be said that the urge to is most certainly present.
Instead, she cranes her neck forward, and sniffs again.

Felix slows so as not to quite catch up with the wolf while she's investigating, though he's studying the treeline a fair bit as well. Not so much concerned as curious; it wouldn't be the first deer wandering over here if it is one. Could be more interesting, though! Fred's brow raise gets a shrug of reply from the Gnawer, who takes a wider look around, and this time does notice the approaching stranger. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances from her to return the Get's earlier brow-lift.
The shift in the wolf's posture grabs his attention back, though, and he follows it to the hole. His eyes narrow, and the curiosity shifts into something a bit more intense, trying with more focus to track and identify that movement past the trees.

As he stops, Fred's attention shifts back to the wolf and her strange behavior. He ducks slightly and eventually decides to move in closer, proving at the same time that he can actually move without making it sound like a company of soldiers is invading a country, actually, he can move surprisingly quietly in those heavy boots. He tries to peer past the wolf, curious what it could be that caught her attention.

Heather is, perhaps, the least quiet of the lot right now, but even she manages something approaching stealth - and knows enough to keep some distance from the main event. The Shadow Lord's body language is crystal clear and the last thing she's keen to do is ruin a senior philodox' cover.

The thing in the woods is moving at a fair clip, heading for the property line to the south. It doesn't seem terribly tall, the movement seen no higher than the diameter of the hole. The skin seen through the trees as it heads away is pale, appropriate for something that burrows, perhaps.

And just like that, the big grey wolf is off like a shot, vaulting over what obstacles she can't plow through, and-- well, plowing through what she doesn't feel like bothering with. It's when she starts getting closer that there's a startled sound that starts as a yelp and ends as a snarl, about as close to a lupine What The Fuck! as one can likely get. Those that can see her will be able to tell that she's still trying to pace the thing, but not quite as gung-ho as she was before. And, of course, comes an alert that may not make any sense at all.
Caterpillar.

Chase! Felix breaks into a sudden grin when the wolf takes off, and shifts down to his lupus form to join in. He is, inevitably, somewhat behind, but at least he doesn't have to plow through the things the other wolf already did. And the vaulting over is fun. He doesn't slow down at the WTF, still aiming to catch up, but... caterpillar? The pace stays intended to get to the Shadow Lord and the prey, but more the former than the latter until he can figure out what's going on.

His ducking, almost slouching, posture is eventually explained as the wolf darts off and Fred follows, the teen changing into a more mobile form himself and with his hands touching the ground as paws, he dashes past bushes, following the other silvery-white wolf. Being hit by the various bushes that bounce back from the beating they took from Brings and Chugs does slow him down, though, and being hit across the muzzle with branches is quite detrimental to someone's balance, making him veer to the side slightly.

Sure, there's a wolf party going on. Who doesn't love a good run in the woods after a.... caterpillar? This is, by far, not the weirdest thing to happen around here, in Heather's mind and the shift to Lupus is good practice either way. She goes through the full set of forms on the run. It has the tempting illusion that it'd be faster, but means she's the last to end up in lupus and ends up trailing the others, at least at first. This 'caterpillar' thing? This is a thing she has to see...

The creature the Garou find when they take chase is nearly three feet in diameter, and more than nine feet long. It looks, at first glance, like a pale grey caterpillar of the sort one might find on a leaf in the spring, the larval form of something else. It moves with the same undulating grace, multiple sets of legs rising and falling in sequence. Closer inspection, however, gives lie to that first impression. This creature is built for burrowing, with a shovel-like nose with an insectoid-like exoskeleton, and claws on a front set of feet that look more like a mole's than anything else. Along the rest of the form are fine hairs that gave it the false appearance of softness. These hairs stand on end when the creature notices the garou, any illusion of softness gone when their glistening points become visible.

Careful! Now that the surprise has worn off, the warning - which really need not be given at all - comes the moment the Shadow Lord sees those hairs bristle along the creature's body. She goes quiet save a threatening growl, otherwise, circling around at a respectable distance, just out of range of any move that isn't drastic, visibly studying the creature.

Chugs-Mystery-Brew blinks at the sheer size of the caterpillar, slowing a bit more. Well. That's a thing. A cock of his head as the hairs turn into an array of wet spines. And that's another. Those look kinda nasty. He seems to focus harder for a moment, though not precisely on the creature -- though he's still watching it, just in case it turns out to be a lot quicker than it looks or something.

Few people might have seen a wolf hit the brakes, but this is pretty much what happens as the Fenrir finally spots the creature, four paws digging into the dirt and he literally jumps to a halt, the wolf keeping his distance but moving sideways to face his enemy, the bared teeth leaving barely room to imagine anything but hostility for his prey. Oddly, though, despite the bristling fur and the raised tail, the folded ears that couldn't be mistaken for anything but a preparation to fight or see the enemy turn his tail and flee, he seems quite happy, his feet even dancing slightly as he confronts the critter.

Speaks-Truth-To-Power pulls up behind the others, and in similar fashion, seems to be invoking the power of a Gift.

As the group of garou pull up close, and those spines raise, the creature lifts its head and turns to face the closest, the Shadow Lord. Small, black eyes may or may not see her, it isn't clear, but that shovel-like beak opens wide and it lets out a high pitched screech.

There's something of a similar vibe to Winter's Bite as there is to the lone Fenrir, her impatience displayed clearly in how she moves, no matter that she forces herself to keep a close eye on the creature's movements rather than go immediately on the offensive.
It's abundantly clear when she's ready to do so, however, the screech met with a sharp snarl straight back in the Wymish insect's face as she surges up to her massive war form, ~Knock it on its back!~ barked at the other Garou present, though she doesn't for a moment take her eyes off the creature itself. Better for it to take this - and all of the Mother Tongue's razor-blade growling - as a threat display, and keep its attention centered. ~Weak points between the scales! And for god's sake, watch out for those spines!~

There is a roar, a rumble that the silvery-grey beast emits as it stretches and grows, the young Fenrir lifting back up onto his legs with his shift to Crinos, ears still flat against the head as he peers down onto his enemy. ~Poor choice~, he rumbles at the caterpillar as he starts to attack it from its side now that it decided to face the Shadow Lord, searching for a place on this critter to attack it properly.

The excitement he showed going into the chase hasn't left the Gnawer, either, and he bursts up into the warform as well. Flip it over, huh? The creature looks kind of tricky to just shove, but you'd want to try that from the bottom anyway and with the head up like that... He darts in low, aiming for the part of the underside bared by the creature raring up, and the scale-borders that reveals. If he's lucky, maybe he can get his claws in there for purchase and hurt it; maybe he can use that and his bulk to help push it up and over if the Fenrir gets the other end going. Small for a Crinos is still pretty big.

Speaks-Truth-To-Power gives a glance to those at either side, and then lunges in, calling on the power of her gift as she bites hard at one of the legs, ducking under the spikes as well as she can.

The shovel-like maw opens and closes, its focus on Sandra, another screech sounding. Perhaps it forgot there were others here, as well, as it doesn't seem to have been prepared for the attacks that come to leg, chest, and side. Chugs manages to sneak in, getting a claw between the broad scales on the chest and digs deep into the squishy mass beneath. For her part, Heather finds that her jaws do little to the solid armor on the leg, cracking, but not severing the carapace. Unlike the Get of Fenris, though, she manages to avoid the sharp spines. Delivers the Verdict is a little more successful in his attack, finding a place to dig in between the plates of armor, but unlike the others, he feels the full force of the spikes the drive through his forearm. It seems the creature has a little more control than simply raising and lowering its defensive weapons.

There's a palpable surge of rage to come from the Shadow Lord once that screech echoes through the forest, a sharp, feral snarl dragged from her muzzle before it's abruptly cut short. What was most assuredly a flash point gets choked back, but rather than let that anger go to waste, Winter's Bite surges into the fray, herself. She'll get in a slash of her claws if she can - she *is* dealing with the front, bitey end of this thing - angling for the soft points that she saw earlier, but the bulk of her efforts are focused on keeping the creature's attention on her, rather than anyone else.

The Fenrir twitches as if struck by lightning, a yowl escaping him as those spines drive themselves into his forearm, if briefly, before it is replaced by a snarl as he keeps his claws at the armor plates, prying them apart to reach the softer insides, claws digging and pulling to find a way past the critter's defenses. He tugs and rips at the beast, trying to get it to either expose its softer underside or, in an attempt to protect it, give him access to a weak spot in the armor plates protecting that soft, gooey flesh inside.

In all his massive Hispo glory, the Gatekeeper comes tearing in from the forest via the general direction of the road. His footfalls can be heard before his arrival and the huge beast's tail is the target of the warrior. Reflection's-Howl pounces with a roar, attempting to hook fang and one claw, then the other in violent, successive attack, under an armouring plate. The next move if successful is to rip that armour from the body of the monster.

Chugs-Mystery-Brew rips hard at the scale he's gotten beneath, trying to bare more of that soft, squishy inside to plunge his claws further into and rend; the yank is aimed so that it can work with any pushing that might be happening from the others in trying to overbalance the thing, but with the rest that's going on, there's more focus in digging in as deep and sharp as he can manage. There's probably something resembling a throat in there he could tear out, right? How do caterpillars even work?

The Fury seems somewhat perplexed by the results of her bite, and she doesn't immediately attack again. Instead, she backs off, circling, studying, all of her focus intent on the creature.
Pain does different things to different creatures. Garou are known for using it to fuel their rage, their purpose in battle. This creature, whatever it is, seems similar at least in this regard. It turns its attention from the Shadow Lord to the Bone Gnawer, once again letting out that piercing shriek, and it seems to shiver, a rippling undulation carrying all the way down its flank.
Chugs manages to keep digging through that weak point he found, at least until that sound reaches his ears.
Brings Winter's Bite is able to make use of that shift in focus to get her claws into the flesh beneath the thing's eye, and they rip through the softer skin where the chitin is lacking. It doesn't come without a cost; the shorter spines near the face pierce her palm. It isn't so dramatic as what Frederick faced a moment before, but the blood flows freely.
For his part, the younger Get of Fenris quickly learns that these spines have a mind of their own. His claws may do some damage, but not nearly what he suffers in response. His arms and chest are pierced, and one of the glistening points just barely misses his eye, plunging through his muzzle instead.
The elder Get comes up toward the rear of the creature, though it doesn't have a tail, as such. Like his tribemate, he finds a place where he can pull at the chitinous scales, but he pays the price as the spines pierce his paws and limbs.

Reflection's-Howl roars out as the pain takes hold but rather than succumb he takes a moment to focus his will and rise up to the Crinos form. As he does, the great chimeric spear he is often see with forms in his raised hands. His body blurs further with motion as he brings the point of what looks to be a tree-turned-weapon into the hole he just made.

Another flash of rage, weaker this time, floods through the Shadow Lord as her hand is pierced. There's an almost instantaneous recoil, but the brief, pained snarl that leaves her is followed almost immediately by one of pure fury.
Don't look now, but her Fenrir colors are showing.
And shining quite brightly, thank you very much. So far as she's concerned, this is no time to be careful, her claws hooking into the chitin of the creature's faceplating and biting as deep as it can go, her aim to make use of every painful attack being rained down on it by all the other combatants. There is nothing subtle about this: she wants this things head torn off, and if she has to start with the face, she will.
This isn't without its downsides. Those spines bite deep at the mere attempt, turning the actions less directed, more feral, for the single heartbeat it takes for her eyes to start losing focus. It's regained just as swiftly, a roar erupting from her throat as she digs her clawed feet into the soil, and - assuming she's gained any purchase in the first place - wrenches at the beast with every ounce of strength she's got.

Eventually, as the spines strike his muzzle now, the younger Fenrir lets go of the caterpillar, paw clawing at his face, his chest, looking at his pierced and probably poisoned paw to gauge the damage to the arm that was the main target of the creature's defensive action. He grips his arm and squeezes it as he watches the beast, snarling between his teeth and slowly crouching down as he still holds his arm, teeth gritted at the creature.

Chugs-Mystery-Brew looks quite satisfied as he gets further into the thing's soft insides, at least until that shriek gets a quite obvious wince -- like someone listening to fingers on a chalkboard. It draws a deep growl from him as he steels himself against the noise, thrusting his claws in harder beneath the carapace as if in retaliation. Which it probably is. ~Don't quit your day job,~ the Galliard mutters, and does what he can to help weaken parts of the beast the Shadow Lord's wrenching ought to be putting all that stress on.

Whatever she was looking for, Speaks-Truth-To-Power seems to come to a decision, and she rejoins the others with a sudden lunge, once again biting hard at the leg she cracked, before.

Several things happen at once, without any chance to separate cause and effect. The theurge's spear finds a home in the soft, gelatinous flesh of the creature, his aim true as he homes in on the missing scale he'd clawed free a moment before. The Fury's teeth finish the job she started before, completely crushing the creature's leg. Chugs and Sandra seem to be working in concert, whether intentionally or not, because as the creature tries to twist away from one, it moves directly into the path of the other's attack.
It isn't that the Garou are immediately victorious, nor that this final push allows them to come away unscathed. The burrowing caterpillar strikes back for all that it is worth, twisting and writhing, screeching its pain and rage at all of those nearby. Those mole-like claws strike out, hitting the Bone Gnawer across the chest, tearing through fur and flesh and breaking the bones beneath with the force of the blow. He, at least, is spared the bite of the spines that find all the rest, even the theurge finds himself close enough that his leg tastes that pain again. In the end, the force is too much and the creature falls, taking Chugs to the ground beneath its bulk.

For every yank of its head, the Shadow Lord just pulls harder, leaning her considerable weight in a counter motion every chance she can get. The more she tries, the more it *hurts*, and the more it hurts, the harder she tries. Her blood mingles with whatever septic secretions this thing lays claim to, but like hell is she letting go.

More snarls from Chugs, ripping everything he can out of the creature -- and then a definite yelp, as it tries to return the favour and doesn't do half-badly, either. It draws a definite flare of Rage from the Gnawer, who dives back into the attack; the effort is at least as strong as before, but his arms aren't quite as cooperative as a minute ago, and anger isn't the only thing making him grit his teeth.

It's only once the plating is off entirely that she goes back in to plunge a bloodied, clawed hand about as deep into the bared flesh as it can go, whatever she can seize ripped straight back out. Then, and only then, does she loose another roar in what's left of its face, as if to sharply declare 'yeah, that's what you *get*.'

There's just long enough for it to become clear that they've won, the Galliard's teeth baring in the equivalent of what would probably be one of his more feral grins in breed form, before his highly-experience-based grasp of physics kicks in, which, in turn, is just long enough for his eyes to widen slightly and an abortive move aside which, alas, does not prevent him from finding himself suddenly beneath a couple-few hundred pounds of dead caterpillar-thing. Right across most of the ripped-open, fractured chest.
~Ow.~
There is, unsurprisingly, no protest at all to the healing or the Theurge's plan for getting him out.

The Gatekeeper growls through clenched fangs with the pain that still somehow pushes through his gift, quite grateful for what protection it does offer. He pulls the spear out from the inards of the creature and into the ground, sticking up like a flag pole. The Crinos moves over to Chugs and kneels down. He seems to ignore the body of the monster for a moment and places his hands on the exposed portion of his ally's chest. ~You two! Get some branches and get to pushing!~ With that, he focuses his will and pushes his hands around the wounds in semi-circular patterns, generating a healing energy.

The Shadow Lord's hands are trembling by the time she's calmed down, her attention snapping to the Godi abruptly. With the orders, there comes just one heartbeat of hesitation, the reason why communicated in that tremble spreading up through her forearms-- forearms she now forces herself to put to use, going for the thickest branch that'll offer the most leverage.
As carefully as possible.

Reflection's-Howl looks up to the others as they get into position, ~Well fought. I know there is a pain in you right now that you have never felt before. It is a lie. Focus your will. There is a job to do. You can hurt later.~ He gets behind Chugs and says, ~When I say, shift down to the wolf.~ He gets his hands on the arms and shoulder areas he know will remain in his grasp after the shift. ~Start lifting!~

Brings Winter's Bite merely nods an affirmative to the Theurge's coaching, both she and the Fury moving into position with the largest branches that could be retrieved, both throwing as much of their strength as they can into not only shoving the branches beneath that mass, but lifting as smoothly and quickly as they're able. It's-- not a happy experience, but save a few deep, gutteral, but ultimately choked off whines from the Shadow Lord indicating that it, indeed, is not, she does her damndest to perform her duty without complaint, involuntary sounds, shakes, and all.

~Got it,~ comes somewhat muffledly from beneath the corpse, and when he gets the word from Reflection's-Howl, Chugs-the-Mystery-Brew does as instructed and shifts down to lupus. It probably doesn't need as much lifting as it might otherwise, then, and he's probably easy to extract -- he's not a very large wolf, as they go.
Once he's out, there's a moment of just breathing without being compressed before he looks to the others in turn, with an expression of gratitude. Thanks.

Pulls just enough to free the Gnawer and then looks immediately to his tribesmate who seems to be in another realm of pain and injury. Before actually attending to Fred, he looks the Shadow Lord over and asks, ~You will heal?~

It'd be hard to miss the slight tearing-up in the corners of the Philodox's eyes, or the increased trembling in her hands when the branch is practically thrown back to the ground, but with a few short breaths to steel herself, she gives a curt, affirmative nod. ~Yes,~ she says, sounding a touch winded as a result of all of it, her fingers flexing experimentally as if this might actually help, not-- hurt more. ~It won't last.~

Felix sits for a moment, then shifts to his breed form; the Theurge's work has sorted his wounds out completely, it seems. He reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket, coming out with a flask, which he offers in the Shadow Lord's general direction. Hey, alcohol's been used as a painkiller for millennia, right? Though it probably won't work as well as it might in her current form.
"So... guess we got another tunnel to fill," he observes, glancing back toward Edgewood. Not, presumably, right now -- or at least not by the rest of them. "Any of y'all ever run into somethin' like that one before?"

The Godi tends to his fellow Fenrir as the others chat. The question gets him thinking and he melts down to the homid form, what injuries he has seeming not to be much of a bother... or at least he isn't letting that show. "Not exactly, but the Wyrm's corruption has caused so many mutations in so many innocent creatures that it is not a surprise to have seen this monster." Here, he lays hands on his tribesmate, focusing for a moment and several of the most serious wounds soon look more superficial than hampering.

Brings Winter's Bite remains as she is, a glance cast in the direction of the offered flask which is, ultimately, rejected with a low grunt through gritted (but not bared) teeth. If there's a 'thanks' in there, it's a fairly muted one. Then, after a while: ~If there are more like it,~ she says, carrying on the Godi's thought, ~then its breed is a rare one.~ This, with a certain note of conviction to it. ~None--~ she begins-- pauses; takes another slow breath, and says, ~nonetheless, we should have a small group run the length of the tunnel. Ensure there are no more to follow-- and ensure that there isn't a clutch waiting for it in whatever cesspit it calls home.~

Felix shrugs and tucks it back where it came from; for himself, he tugs the Coke bottle he'd stuffed into his pocket out of it, and has a drink from that instead. "Yeah, that'd be a shitter," he says, with another glance toward the tunnel, this one a bit more speculative, and then to the massive body beside them. "Prolly oughta try an' send folks know the trick for resistin' poison an' shit. ...ain't no way that turns into a butterfly or somethin', right? I mean, when it ain't dead."

Letting the younger Fenrir's tension out with all the pain, the elder among the two turns back to Felix and the Shadow Lord. He tilts his head a couple of different directions, cracking his neck and then looks over at the tunnel. With an displeased sigh and a reluctant nod he offers, "Likely it would have undergone metamorphosis and become something entirely too unpleasant. It is good that you discovered it now." Jamethon looks to Edgewood and then seeming to remember something, to Felix. He reaches out and gives a 'gimme' gesture towards the flask.

The anger this form is known for mixes rather poorly with the Shadow Lord's pain, ~Shouldn't have let it get this far in the first place,~ growled under her breath, as if she has no choice but to say it aloud. She shakes her head, then, and looks back in the direction of Edgewood itself. ~I'll howl for scouts,~ she says. ~I assume I'll see you both at the moot tomorrow.~ Though she turns to leave, she does pause to spare Jamethon a nod, and a more subdued, ~Gatekeeper,~ of acknowledgement. It's only then that she makes her way elsewhere, apparently 'content' to stick to the war form in spite of the pitfalls, fingers still flexing and relaxing intermittently.

Another look at the body, definitely askance; Felix seems to likely be imagining what more unpleasant things it could have turned into. Aside from massive poisonous butterflies. "'spect so," he agrees to the Shadow Lord, "An' I reckon I could handle the howl if you wanna chill. Night." The Galliard looks briefly surprised at Jamethon's gesture, but pulls the flask back out and hands it over to him.

The Theurge doesn't seem to take the Shadow Lord's tone poorly, though he saw much less of the combat this evening and even though a Fenrir, his rage doesn't run as high. He takes the flask and only takes a very small sip, enough just to get the taste of some alcohol it seems, before handing it back. "Sandra is not wrong. We need to bolster the strength of our Guardians. Broaden their expertise. Especially with what will soon be coming." This is offered somewhat cryptically, with no further explanation at this time.

The flask contains whiskey which could best be described as 'quite acceptable'. Probably cheap, but without that being the sole consideration, at least. Felix takes a sip of it himself when it's handed back, then tucks it away once more. "Yeah? I mean, reckon you could argue that's always a pretty good plan, but. What'll soon be comin'?" he asks. If the crypticness was a hint, he's not taking it. He takes a moment then to shift to a form more suitable for howling, and send one off into the air, loud and clear, inviting any scouts that hear it to come on by.

The answer to the question is a single word, "Them." This said, he heads off towards the house with a quick wave of a hand in farewell