Date: 8 Oct 2001
Place: The Caern of the Hidden Walk
Moon Phase: Waning Half

By the waterfall, Dena is crouched by the waterfall, coiled energy in her 
  movements, cupping her hands for a drink.

A near pitch-black wolf lopes easily down the path leading into the caern, 
  then pauses, one golden eye glinting. He gives the air a rather casual 
  sniff, then shifts smoothly up into human form.

By the waterfall, By the time he shifts, he's had Dena's attention for some 
  time. Letting the rest of the water slide through her hands, she rises to 
  her feet and gives the man an assessing look. Then she raises her voice. 
  "Hello." It's not a challenge, but it does contain a query.

"Good evening." Salem has hardly shifted before he's moving away from the 
  steam vents, striding into the caern with the confidence of one who knows 
  exactly where he is and knows he belongs there. Dena's face, of course, is 
  not one he recognizes. "Salem, Philodox of the Glass Walkers. Human born, 
  Cliath rank." The introduction is smooth, his manner reserved but pleasant 
  enough.

[Dena]
        Energy is the first thing that registers, looking at this woman. A 
  restless energy that suffuses her rangy, lanky form, an energy that somehow 
  draws the attention even if the rest of her is fairly unexceptional. In her 
  early 30s, she's about 5'10" tall, and while there's no spare padding on her 
  frame, she could not be called thin, not by modern standards. She has bones, 
  and hips, and muscles, and other attributes of a woman who isn't a stick 
  figure, but all of those are on constant standby, ready to move at a 
  moment's notice. 
         Her face matches the rest of her: a little weathered, but mobile and 
  aware. She's got black hair that's cut short, buzzed in back and long enough 
  for a strand or two to occasionally fall into her face, in front. Her eyes 
  are brown, warm and open, constantly aware of her surroundings. 
         She's got hiking boots on, fairly long shorts, and a green t-shirt. 
  She's got a short, lightweight jacket on over all that.

Briefly, Dena's eyebrow raises in surprise, but then, there's Aryan John the 
  Glass Walker in St. Claire, so Slavic Salems get hardly an eyeblink. "I'm 
  Ardenas Kytheras Kostenas, myself, but call me Dena. Known to the Garou as 
  Serendipity's Shadow and Guards the Desolate Shore. I'm new come to this 
  place, having led a Pegasus pack in California for a few years. I'm Black 
  Fury, ahroun, and Adren." She herself is comfortable here; she /fits/. 
  "Haven't seen you around, though. You new?"

It's true that the Glass Walker looks far more like a Shadow Lord, but yes, 
  stranger things have happened. Salem's gaze dips in acknowledgement of the 
  other's greater rank. "I've been away," he explains, folding his arms across 
  his chest. "This is only the first opportunity I've had to visit the caern 
  again." A touch of dry humor insinuates into his voice. "I'm glad to see 
  it's still here."

Dena leans back slightly, on her heels, and looks around. Gaze returning to 
  Salem, she admits, "Well, I would have missed it, had it been gone." After a 
  moment, she asks, "Where did you go?"

"Here and there." One side of Salem's mouth quirks upward in a rather 
  self-mocking way. "I didn't quite manage to hit _every_ Sept from here to 
  the east coast and back, though I did try." The half-grin fades a little. "I 
  met one of your sisters outside of Boulder. Fire's Hope?" His good eye 
  studies Dena to see if the name rings any bells.

Dena narrows her eyes. "That," she finally says, "Would be my ex-packmate's 
  cousin. I met her once, in Alaska, of all places. Bit of a firebrand, at the 
  time."

Salem's tone gets very, _very_ dry. "Still is, or was when I met her." He 
  arches a brow. "She mentioned something about 'Demeter's Bracelet'. I 
  gathered that it was a fetish she was searching for, but she was rather, ah, 
  reluctant to part with the details."

Dena says, "Ah. That," a little flatly. "Thought she'd given up on it long 
  ago." She doesn't, however, fill Salem in on it. "Glad to know she's still 
  /alive/, at least. Was worried about her, when I met up with her."

Salem nods once. "If it helps, she seemed well enough when I met her. A little 
  fixated, perhaps, but otherwise fine."

Dena inclines her head. "I do like to keep track. Promised Angie I would." She 
  adds, after a moment, "So why the wandering?"

There's a minor -- barely a few seconds' worth -- pause before Salem answers 
  that, and his smile definitely withers somewhat. But he does answer. "I lost 
  control of my rage and broke the Veil. There were... several deaths." His 
  one-eyed gaze shifts away briefly, touching the waterfall itself before it 
  returns to the Fury. "Afterwards, it was thought better that I stay away for 
  a time, and so I did."

Dena regards him for a long moment. "Well." There's another long pause, and 
  then she extends her hand. "That took balls."

Salem arches a brow. Both of them, actually. Caught thus off-guard, he 
  hesitates, then takes the proffered hand with a rather bemused expression; 
  his grip's firm and somewhat calloused. "Admitting a mistake or fleeing the 
  area?"

Dena's shake is firm, if brief. "Admitting the mistake /right off/. Fleeing 
  the area, that was pissant, but you can't have everything. So, you ever get 
  judgement on all this, or'd you just keep running?"

Salem refolds his arms across his chest, looking rueful. "Bowen took my claws. 
  Not that it was permanent, but, well." He half-smiles wryly. "It wasn't 
  particularly pleasant."

Dena looks blank, though the punishment makes her grit her teeth. "Who's 
  Bowen?"

Salem looks down, examining the well-trimmed nails of his left hand as if 
  remembering. "A Fostern of my tribe who was a member of the Sept at the 
  time. This was about two years ago."

Dena nods, slowly. "Might want to ask a halfmoon anyway. Since you're back 
  where it happened, and all."

Salem purses his lips, looking thoughtful at the suggestion. "Mm. You're 
  right, of course. I should have considered that myself."

Dena quirks a small grin. "Oh, I'm sure more people examining you is /just/ 
  what you want. But, well." She shrugs. "Life's sort of annoying like that." 
  She glances upward, and then sighs. "Gotta get. Go with the Mother, hey?"

Salem returns the grin, if crookedly, and dips his head. "And yourself, too."

Dena is into a long, loping trot in the space of a few strides, heading out 
  through the vents.