'Seeks the Long Road' part 2

My Sept was in the Connecticut heartland, and as such we were often invited to other, less *Ahem* fortunate Septs on official visits. On one such occasion, my mentor, a rather stuffy Athro by the name of Nikolai 'Grey Back' asked me to come along with him, and I leapt at the chance. I had never really had the opportunity to study the other tribes I had learned about during my time as a cub, and as an anthropologist, I found each of their sub-cultural distinctions fascinating.

The Sept I was taken to was in upstate New York , a Sept called Cold Winds, an apt name for a place located in such a desolate and empty landscape. We were welcomed with mostly open arms, and while my mentor made his rounds, greeting and speaking with the higher ranked members of this multi-tribal sept, I began to jot down my own observations. I fully intended to share them with Nikolai later on, and get his take on what I had observed.

Though the Sept was considered multi-Tribal, I noticed a larger proportion of them were children of Fenrir. I was wary of the Get of Fenris, having learned that most were boisterous bullies with a love of battle and war. Though I was no slouch in a fight, I preferred the idyllic peace of a library to the bloody clash of battle. I chose to limit my interaction with them, and observe from afar. I wish I could say that my preconceptions of the Get were false, but for the most part, this was not the case. There were a few rare exceptions however, and one, a young Get theurge by the name of Freya's Grace caught my eye. I resolved to speak with her later, and compare my notes against her perceptions of her tribe.  

I soon noticed that I was not the only one giving the Get a wide berth. Several ladies, who by their closeness I could tell were a family group, seemed to avoid the Get as though they were plague carriers. It took some time to find out their tribe, but it was eventually confirmed that these were Black Furies, a tribe made up almost entirely of women. From an anthropological point of view, their way of life was particularly interesting to me. How had they come about this way of living for the most part without men? This group would also need further investigation, and I made furious notes in my journal about my observations of them.

Tribe after Tribe fell under my scrutiny, and soon, my journal was almost full with my extensive notations. I was fortunate that I had packed a second, and third notebook, as I would surely need them. There were representatives from almost every tribe in this Sept, in greater or lesser numbers, and to me, this place was a treasure trove of information.

There were however one group of wolves who I just didn't understand. They were little, scampering, urchin types known in the nation as Bone Gnawers. I knew a little of their history from my studies but could not understand what led them to live in the lower classes of human society as they did. In fact, as a Silver Fang, I could not fathom a reason why anyone would choose to live with the homeless and destitute, as these Garou were said to do. Their history had once been a noble one, traced back, or so the legends said, to ancient Egypt , but they all seemed to have forgotten this history. Now, they were just pathetic creatures who scavenged scraps at the tables of more noble tribes such as my own, like dogs waiting for their master to throw them a bone. Reasoning that there must be some reason for this behavior, I resolved to investigate this tribe, and discover the truth for myself.

It took little time for me to insinuate myself into their group, for they were welcoming and amiable little fellows. I discovered that there seemed to be little concern paid between them in regards to rank or status, and in fact found it difficult to tell who held what rank. In my home Sept, we all knew who was above and below us, and aside from certain special individuals like myself, whose breeding marked me as one who deserved preferential treatment, but amongst the Gnawers, such concerns seemed to be of little matter to them. This intrigued me. A group with no leaders, with no ruling class was the ultimate goal of communism, a system that had failed miserably in my homeland, but seemed to be thriving amongst these lowliest of Garou. Perhaps when one had nothing, it was easier to be equal with another, equally penniless individual.

I soon made the acquaintance of an individual known as Scamper, who I managed to discern was a Ragabash. He was a weasle faced little Gnawer, with a wiry, but stooped body, dressed in the filthiest clothes he could have managed to scavenge from a charity pickup station. It was with his guidance that I moved about his tribe without making too many waves. As I said earlier, the Gnawers were a talkative bunch, and Scamper was no exception. He seemed to have an opinion about almost everything and everyone, but feared little in the way of retribution for voicing these opinions. The Ragabash always gleaned a little immunity from the wrath of our fellow Garou, a fringe benefit of our role within Garou society as investigators, but Scamper seemed to take it to the extreme.

It was Scamper who introduced me to many of his tribe until I had a notepad almost full with observations about this tribe alone. Despite their lack of interest in rank and status, members of their tribe were treated with respect by other tribes, though I could not understand why.

Eventually, I had done the rounds with my ever present guide at my side. It was then that I made the comment that was to color my life for the next year and a half. Foolishly some might say, I made my distaste for the Bone Gnawer way of life known by word and attitude. I told Scamper that I could see no good use for the Bone Gnawers. That they were a useless people with no obvious use or purpose, and that we would do better to either amalgamate the tribe into one of the others, or simply do away with them all together. My comment was made more to myself than it was to any who might hear. In truth, my companion Scamper had become like an ever present boil on my backside, I was aware of him, but was doing my best to ignore him, and that was my error.

Scamper rose to his full height, and I saw in him what I had not before. Hidden beneath the dirt and deluge of a life on the streets was a regal bearing, an age and wisdom that had been well hidden before, and I knew instantly that my misspoken words were about to land me in trouble. He turned and addressed the gathered Garou, who could sense that something was about to happen and were drawn to us like moths to a flame.

"'Seeks The Long Road', Homid Cliath, Ragabash of the Silver Fangs. You who believe the Bone Gnawers are a useless people," Scamper began, his voice, like his new stature, regal and proud, booming in a way I had not heard through his earlier wheedling affectations, "must learn to appreciate all that we do for the Garou. You claim to be a student of culture, but you fail to see ours, choosing instead to elevate yourself over us simply because we don't conform to your ideals. I am known as 'Scamper In The Dark Places', Homid Elder, Ragabash of the Bone Gnawers and I charge you thus. For one year and one day, you will walk in our footsteps. You will live as a Bone Gnawer; you will dress as a Bone Gnawer; you will take on a Bone Gnawer name, and will only interact with other Garou as befits your rank forgoing your vaunted Silver Fang pure blood."

I wanted to rail against this punishment, of course I did. But what could I do? This edict came from an Elder of the nation, one who had lived long enough to survive battles I could only have nightmares about. And when I looked to my mentor Gray Back to rescue me, I saw only agreement with my punishment in his eyes.

And so began what I would once have referred to as a year of hell, but what actually became my awakening into a more complex world than I could ever have guessed.