It is currently 19:13 Pacific Time on Sat Jan 7 2006.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (54% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 42 degrees
      Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.89 and rising, 
      and the relative humidity is 83 percent. The dewpoint is 37 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)

Barnyard

The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it widens
      into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which encircle it 
      on three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the landscape: an 
      open-sided structure which serves as a garage and the big barn, empty of 
      livestock, to the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb garden furrows 
      the land south of the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of rocks, of 
      similar consistency to the gravel of the lane, rests a few yards south of 
      the garage.

North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a
      conversion from farmland to natural prairie. A sliding glass door allows 
      admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds 
      in a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the 
      southwest. The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a 
      faint path into the woods towards the southeast.

Stacey grins. "They're certainly handy once they're in line." She turns to Poe.
      "You're right. Tons of good luck to you, in that case!"

Dillen is kicked back, enjoying a tankard of mead as he talks to Stacey about
      Poe and Andrew. "Cubs are for clean-up. Thanks guys." He is still 
      munching on some of the food as the cubs work on tidying up the used 
      dishes.

Cole takes another long swig of his mead. "Hey, since I've got a number of
      folks gathered here at the moment, I have a question to ask of you. It 
      has something to do with my Fostern challenge, so any help you guys have 
      to give would be awesome."

Andrew just closes his eyes as he is mentioned. He grabs another dish, as he
      stops to listen to Cole first before moving again towards the kitchen to 
      unload his duty.

The growl of a well-honed car engine is audible coming up the lane at the front
      of the house, accompanied by the rattle of gravel under tires.

Poe glances back over his shoulder as he heads towards the farmhouse, arms full
      of dishes, "You'll be mopping the ground with my face soon enough. No 
      problem." he chuckles, and dissapears for a few moments.

Stacey sits up, looking interested, as the Fianna mentions the challenge. "Of
      course, Cole, what's the question? I'll do what I can to help."

Dillen rests his elbows on a table, leaning in to look at Cole. "Help you get
      advancement? Hell no." Then he grins and takes another swig of mead. 
      "What's the question?"

Cole looks up, holding up a hand. "Wait up a second, guys. Who's this in the
      car?" He squints at the vehicle for a moment, and continues on, in a 
      slightly hushed voice. "Oh, and I'll remember you said that, Dillen." He 
      smirks. "Okay, the challenge is all about the history of your Elder, 
      Stacey. Questions from Alicia's past. So far, I've had to figure out who 
      killed her father, and what her second cubname was." He shakes his head. 
      "Slow going, but interesting stories."

Andrew hears Cole as he drops his dishes off, and returns back outside. "Ooh.
      Probably stuff I shouldn't hear...though I don't know it." as he makes 
      for getting more plates there.

Anyone who'd been around the farmhouse during Grey's month of enforced Guardian
      duty would recognize the dirt-brown Ford Torino with the Washington 
      plates. Though it hasn't been spotted since the Glass Walker returned to 
      the city.

Dillen cranes his neck to look for the car. He blinks some as he sees the one
      pull up. "Holy shit..." Dillen says in a low voice. "It's Grey." He gives 
      a chuckle and looks back to Cole, "Well, I know nothing about Alicia so I 
      am pretty well not the person to ask."

Stacey raises her brows and then speaks in childish frankness. "I don't know
      her cub name, which seems odd, and I don't know if they killed him or 
      not, but when she first found me she told me that Furies brought his 
      balls in a plastic bag to her."

Cole winces. "I wasn't...aware of that part of the tale. Nicely grusome. Thank
      you. It was Helen. Her father was a monster. Not a Kinfolk, for whatever 
      reason her mother saw in him. He did things that made Helen take things 
      into her own hands. As for her cub name, it was not used much. 
      Blooms-In-Her-Pain. As for the question, now. Which Garou did she give 
      back their sight?"

Grey extinguishes his cigarette before letting himself out of the car. He's not
      dressed for a wedding party (or any party, for that matter), and the way 
      he peers over toward the gathering, mismatched eyes narrowed and mouth 
      pulled into the characteristic frown, suggests that he didn't expect to 
      run into one. Still, after a moment or two, he starts toward them at a 
      measured, stalking pace.

Andrew works on more dishes, most gone by this point as he says to Poe. "I'll
      take the rest in and start on cleanup."

"Hey, Grey. Want some food and mead? I got married!" Dillen yells out to the
      elder Garou. "Come on in and have a seat, talk."

When the boy cleans up, he sure cleans up well. Dillen wears a mandarin color
      tuxedo shirt with a black satin band right up around his neck. The collar 
      and sleeves are sewn with Norse runes, taught to him by Gunnar to bring 
      prosperity and the like to the marriage. He wears a pair of black tuxedo 
      pants and a pair of polished dress shoes. His blonde hair is fixed nicely 
      against his head and he is clean shaven. Even the usual leather collar is 
      missing from around his neck, hoping that his battle scar will not cause 
      any undue stress on this day. He looks to be in his late teens and almost 
      six feet tall. His blue grey eyes are as clear as the ocean.

Stacey frowns and shakes her head. "I can't recall if I heard that story or
      not."

"Really," says the scarred Glass Walker, eyeballing Dillen neutrally for a
      second before inclining his head. "Congratulations. I owe you a gift, 
      then."

Cole considers for a moment. "Huh. No such luck, then." He crosses his arms.
      "How 'bout you?" This is asked of Grey. "Can I ask you a question?"

Andrew moves a bit more, then is gone, into the kitchen as he apparently starts
      to clean up from in there.

"Glad you happened to come by." Dillen bows his head in respect. "Hope your
      life has been going better. As far as the gift goes, always will take 
      one."

Andrew slides the glass door at the rear of the farmhouse open, and walks
      inside.

A large tent has been set up between the Farmhouse and the barn making sure
      that all that travel between keep from the persistent rains. Tables line 
      the covered walls and are filled with food. Any manner of meat and cheese 
      can be found all around as well as loads of fresh fruit. A large cask of 
      mead sits to the end of one table and around it are many tankards for 
      filling and drinking. Several tables and chairs sit about for lounging.

Grey takes a seat that's been vacated by some earlier guest and helps himself
      to an orphan apple. His eye goes to Cole, and fixes the Fianna with a 
      dour, narrow stare for a few seconds before he says, flatly, "Yes?"

Cole flashes a white grin in the half-darkness. "You've been around here for a
      while longer than us spring chickens, so I'm betting you know something 
      about the Sept. This sounds like it was big news when it happened, but I 
      haven't been able to hear from anyone who witnessed it first-hand. My 
      question is, do you know which Garou Alicia-rhya gave their sight back?"

	 He looks to be in his early twenties, this young man. A careful eye might
      notice subtle signs that he's perhaps younger than he looks, however. 
      There's a sense of energy about him, barely contained, that often 
      disappears a good while before one reaches adulthood, as he has. He 
      stands an inch under six feet in height, with the build of someone who is 
      familiar with a hard day's work or makes regular visits to the gym. 

 	 He looks like he could be the poster child for Irish-American today, if such
      a publication existed. His skin is mostly pale, with a spattering of very 
      faint freckles visible on the bridge of his nose. His hair is a warm 
      shade of auburn, and from all appearances, it's very well cared for, cut 
      short and styled in a nonchalant manner. His features are expressive, a 
      smile coming just as easily as a glare from his grey eyes. He's handsome, 
      with the strong features one might expect to find on the silver screen. 
      He wears a simple black tee over his broad shoulders, the slogan 'Can I 
      be a mongoose-dog?' in neon green over the picture of a comically vacant 
      cartoon canine. A pair of new bluejeans are tucked into a pair of hiking 
      boots that seem to have seen more wear and tear than the rest of the 
      outfit combined. A necklace spans his throat, with an iron pendant in the 
      shape of fire at the end of the chain. 

 	 He carries himself with an unconcious grace and even nobility, easy to spot
      when he's not slouched with youthful disregard.

Grey pulls a black-handled pocket knife out of his coat and starts cutting a
      slice off the apple. The manner with which he looks at Cole remains 
      distinctly chilly. "Mm," he says. "Possibly."

Dillen chuckles and rises from his seat. He walks over to the cask of mead and
      pours Grey a tankard, returning with it to set it in front of the man. 
      "This, I want to hear.":

Cole winces at the tone, even if the news isn't exactly bad. "You might? Well,
      that's a damn sight better than I've gotten so far." He shoots a glance 
      to the others around him, showing it's not meant as a slight to them. 
      "I'd love to hear the story, if you remember the details."

"Thank you," Grey says to the new groom, perfectly courteous. He sets the apple
      aside to take a sip of mead, and then turns his attention back to the 
      apple and the Fianna. "Our current Voice of the Goddess has healed a 
      great number of Garou, preventing both death and crippling injury." He's 
      taking his time, obviously, and after slicing a portion off the apple, 
      eats it.

Cole nods, finding himself a seat. "I've seen her at work, heard stories of
      what she's done. Hell, she saved my life during the Wyld spirit's attack 
      last year." He speaks when Grey's eating, not willing to interrupt.

Dillen just relaxes back, basking in the tales and the end of a very long day
      for the Galliard.

Grey eyeballs Cole again, and it's fairly clear that he doesn't like the
      freckly young man. "Let me think," he says, and slices another piece off 
      the apple.

Cole's shoulders hunch, his expression hardening a bit when he recieves the
      hairy eyeball. He buries his face in the tankard, rather than allow his 
      mouth to wander into unfriendly territory. He only nods, once he's done.

Dillen watches between the two and gives a slight chuckle at the animosity
      between the two. He toys with the fang dagger that was given to him by 
      Brom. OF course, the spirit is long gone now, but the sentiment is there.

Sarah comes out of the woods to cross the fields, both arms wrapped around her
      body to protect her from the chilly breeze. She stops a moment when she 
      sees the tent and hears the voices; for a time she stands in the 
      darkness, watching.

The one unquestionable truth about the young woman is her Native American
      ancestry. Copper-brown skin, straight black hair, and black eyes, along 
      with the set of her features, tell any observer that much. She doesn't 
      have the round-faced look of the northwest and far northern tribes, but 
      rather the straight-line nose and slightly elongated features of the 
      mid-continent. She is not particularly tall, at about five feet and four 
      inches; her build is lean and fit, neither muscled nor skinny. Attractive 
      by almost any standards, she has peculiar eyes: almost black in any 
      light, and occasionally touched with a reddish-brown when the sun hits 
      them from a certain angle. Those eyes have an intensity about them, as if 
      she sees into things--and when interest sparks in them, they seem to drag 
      the rest of her features into animation. The rest of the time, her face 
      seems inclined toward a watchful, inscrutable expression, masking her 
      mood and thoughts. 

Her clothes are simple: a deerskin tunic from the North Plains traditions,
      fringe reaching down almost to her knees, the long sleeves loose around 
      her wrists. Fraying jeans descend into battered hiking boots of brown 
      leather.

Grey looks up from the apple he's cutting pieces from, and his eyebrows flick
      skywards at the new arrival. "Sarah?" The cold, neutral mask slips, 
      giving way to an expression of mild astonishment.

Cole looks over when Grey turns his face, raising a brow. He doesn't say
      anything, though he looks, if anything, slightly more reserved in front 
      of the stranger.

Dillen turns to see who Grey speaks to and rises to his feet. "One of us?"
      Dillen asks in hushed tones.

The sight of a familiar face is enough to overcome her reluctance; the girl
      walks into the lit space beneath the tent. Her expression changes 
      slightly, something almost like a smile softening the mask. "Mister 
      Grey... It's been a long time." She steps to the man, offering a hand. 
      She looks decidedly out of place in her leathers and muddied boots.

"So it has," the Walker answers Sarah. Grey sets down his apple as he stands up
      from his chair and clasps hands with the woman. Despite the fact that his 
      return smile's almost to faint to see, his manner toward her is far 
      warmer than it's been toward the others. "Dillen, Cole, this is Sarah 
      Berard, kin of the Wendigo." He introduces the others as well. "Cole, of 
      the Fianna, and Dillen of the Get." Nodding toward the latter, he adds, 
      "He's just gotten married."

Sarah glances over to Dillen, giving him a nod. "Congratulations," she offers
      soberly. "I wondered what was going on."

Dillen gives a quick bow of his head to the kin. "We still have some food and
      some mead if you'd like some." Dillen gestures into the tent, "Get warm 
      and all. Share in a great day for me." A warm smile to a person who looks 
      a tad out of sorts.

Cole ventures a smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Berard," he offers. He lifts
      his tankard in greeting and contents himself with another swig. "Luckiest 
      day in your life, Dillen."

Grey remains standing until Sarah herself sits down. His mouth thins out at
      Cole's remark, and his eye flicks, briefly, toward the Fianna again.

The barest hint of a smile is given to the Get and the Fianna; Sarah gives a
      small nod, and turns toward the tables. She heads over to the punch bowl 
      to get a drink, and before long returns to the small group, to drop into 
      a chair at Grey's side. "Problem?" she asks softly.

"Not for me. Happiest man on earth." Dillen beams at the kin and refills his
      mead.

Cole smiles with one side of his mouth. "No, none," he responds. He looks back
      to meet Grey's eye, clearing his throat and settling in.

Grey shakes his head at Sarah as he resumes his seat. The smile he gives Dillen
      is tight but otherwise enigmatic. He turns back to the woman, either 
      ignoring or not noticing Cole's attempts to snag his attention. "How have 
      you been?"

A small touch of embarassment flickers across the Kin's face--the question,
      meant for Grey, was not meant to be overheard. She lowers her eyes and 
      drinks, her brow furrowing slightly at the taste. "Well enough, thank 
      you," she says quietly.

Cole's features ice over into the realm of perfect neutrality. He settles into
      his seat even further, intent on listening to the conversation.

"Are you still studying at SCCU?" Grey asks the woman, taking another slice
      from his apple.

Sarah answers with a small nod. "Yes. One more year."

Dillen looks to Cole and cannot help but let out a quick laugh as the man is
      bursting to beg Grey to tell him and all the man does is small talk with 
      the kin.

Grey arches an eyebrow at Dillen.

Sarah glances sharply to Dillen, a flicker of nervousness crossing her face.

Dillen sips at the mead. "Just laughing at my day. So happy. Sorry."

Cole looks to Dillen as well at the laugh, a brow rising. It's the only sign of
      emotion from the Fianna the moment. Aside from that clench of his jaw. 
      Yeah, hard to keep from blurting out 'encouragement' for Grey. 
      "Understandable."

Grey gives the Get a strange look and shakes his head slightly. "Of course. I
      imagine that the drink has helped, too." He manages something mildly like 
      a light, conversational tone.

A faint line appears between the Kin's brows. She looks to Grey, then. "Your
      tribe is well?"

Cole nods. "Yeah, but Dillen never really could hold his liquor. Well, not for
      long, anyhow." A faint grin cracks the ice as he looks toward Dillen.

Dillen looks at Cole and gives a wide smile. "At least I don't cheat. I can
      hold it just fine." He gulps down what is let in his tankard, the 
      slapping it to the table.

Grey shrugs at Sarah, looking wry. "We survive, we adapt. Do you know about the
      most recent safehouse?"

Sarah shakes her head minutely. "No... I know there have been changes."

Cole shrugs, turning a grin on Dillen. "It's not cheating. It's called using
      what we've been given." A smirk, and then he turns back to the Wendigo 
      and Walker.

Dillen looks at Cole with a raised brow and then shakes his head, "Right." He
      then eyes the two that discuss at the table, disappearing into deep 
      thought for a time.

Grey sets down the half-eaten apple to fish out a notepad and pen to write down
      the address. "It was set up after we lost the Dominion." /That/ still 
      rankles a little, obviously, but it's an old, minor wound. "A portion's 
      set up for the Sept's general use, though we ask those who stay for an 
      extended period to pitch in somehow." As he hands it to the kin, he 
      studies her face. "How's /your/ tribe?"

Sarah glances away, her eyes slightly lowered. "I wouldn't know," she says
      quietly.

Grey frowns. "Jacinta hasn't contacted you?"

The mask softens slightly. "She has. We've spoken." She takes a drink, her eyes
      veiled.

Cole leans forward, sensing at least the beginning elements of a story.
      Granted, not the one he wants, but...

Dillen leans back, awaiting the story. After all, he is a galliard.

Grey is disappointing, though; he's about to inquire further, it seems, when he
      notices the attention of the two Galliards. He sets his glass down and 
      adds a telephone number to the scrap of paper with the safehouse address, 
      saying only, "Let me know if you need anything." Then, turning to Cole, 
      he fixes the Fianna with a steady look. "Why are you digging after 
      Alicia?"

Cole leans back, as if surprised that he's being spoken to again (which
      honestly, he probably is). "I'm on my Fostern challenge," he replies, 
      simply. "Those are the terms of the challenge. Though if I'd known there 
      was a story like this out there, I would have looked for it sooner. 
      Restoring the sight of a blinded Garou? Doesn't happen all too often." 
      He's plain-spoken, for once. No frills.

Dillen is relaxed now, settled back and almost drifting off to sleep.

Sarah watches, her expression saying nothing.

Grey's face goes quite still. "No," he says. "No, it doesn't." He really /does/
      seem to think now, though barely more than a few moments.

Cole's smile returns, a pitiful ghost of its normal self. He's silent, his gaze
      drifting into some middle distance. But from the set of his shoulders, 
      the way he's leaning forward, there's no doubt that he's listening keenly.

At that moment, the chair slides out from under Dillen. The Get goes down like
      a ton of bricks and is up quite quick, like the cat that falls and then 
      looks around as if to say, I did nothing wrong. He gives a an almost 
      silent chuckle and says, "I should head for bed." As he looks about, "All 
      the food is up, finish the mead."

Sarah almost laughs, ducking her head. "Yes, perhaps you should."

Grey jerks his head to squint at Dillen and then snort. He shakes his head and
      turns back to Cole, his expression mildly resigned. "The name of the 
      blinded Garou was John Smith, known as Walks-Thin-Ice." He shrugs and 
      looks down at the last remainder of his apple, which gets sliced in half. 
      "I wasn't there, nor even in town, when it happened... but I packed with 
      both of them and heard about the incident."

Sarah looks over to Grey, startled.

Andrew comes back outside from the kitchen, an umbrella over his head as he
      walks, careful not to step in puddles and the like.

Grey, Sarah, and Cole are still sitting under the tent, with the food and mead;
      Dillen seems to have slipped away while Andrew was off washing dishes.

Cole's laugh dies before it's ever uttered as Grey begins to explain. His words
      cut off, and he gapes just a bit. "I've heard that name before," he 
      utters, and then his brows furrow deeply. "That's just...incredible." He 
      leans back, looking as if he's just eaten a five course meal. "Thank you 
      for the story, Grey-yuf. Do you know any more about it?"

Sarah murmurs something under her breath, a quiet benediction for the fallen.

Grey gives the Fianna a intent glower. "You /should/ know the name. It's
      included in the burial markers. The man was elder of his tribe and one of 
      the most intelligent, effective Ahrouns I have ever known. Were he alive, 
      he would be Alpha of this Sept." The 'goddamn' before Sept goes, 
      thankfully, unspoken.

Andrew hmms softly as he makes his way, his hands seem like they've been doing
      some scrubbing as they look red and pruney. He looks towards Grey, and 
      says nothing.

Sarah's brow furrows slightly, and she lowers her eyes. Surprisingly, the
      Wendigo Kin says nothing to contradict Grey; she only murmurs, "He was a 
      good warrior."

Her expression remains stern, darkly thoughtful.

Cole meets Grey's glower calmly. "I hadn't heard anyone speak of him in that
      manner before. I'd just heard that he was a good man, that's all. 
      Unfortunately, people around here tend to be closemouthed about the past 
      unless they're asked a direct question." He laces his hands together 
      around the tankard of mead. "Do you know how he was blinded, by any 
      chance?"

Grey grunts, turning away from Cole to glower at the last slice of his apple
      instead. "Glass elemental. Tainted. It had attacked another Garou, but 
      don't ask me who." With that, he pops the slice into his mouth and chews.

Andrew moves on a bit closer, as he hears the talking. He still dosn't say much
      as he finds a chair to sit in. He'd have taken ground if it wasn't wet.

Standing a few inches short of six feet tall, Andrew seems at first look to be
      a bit of the goth punk loner. He wears black denim jeans that flare near 
      the ankles, and a pair of old beat-up shoes on his feet. His shirt is a 
      navy blue solid in color, without any sort of corporate logo or name 
      brand visible. Over that, is a black denim jacket with silver barbed wire 
      patches hanging over it. Around his neck is a scar, one that looks like 
      it was made by fire of some sort, and in the shape of a necklace. He has 
      blue-green eyes and short black hair, sideburns and a bit of trimmed 
      beard. His general posture seems to be one of being laid back, and 
      there's often a black and green backpack not too far from the teen.

Cole winces at the explanation for the injury. "Alright, I'll remember that.
      Last question for you, Grey-yuf. Has Alicia-rhya talked to you about the 
      Challenge? If she has, there's another question that she needs answered. 
      The fourth, actually."

What's left of Grey's apple is little more than the thinnest core. He sets it
      aside and takes a swallow of mead. "You need to find out how Alicia 
      received her Rite of Wounding," he says, and then eyeballs Andrew, head 
      cocked slightly to favor his good eye. "Who's this?"

Andrew bows his head, quickly saying "Andrew, Works-from-the-Ground-Up,
      Children of Gaia Ragabash cub." He looks towards Grey's feet, as to not 
      look challenging.

Cole's smile is at last full-blown, and genuine. "Thank you, Grey. You've been
      of great help to me. Honestly, I appreciate it." He lifts his tankard in 
      salute to the Walker, before nodding toward Andrew. "I hadn't heard your 
      cubname before this. It sounds...reasonable. I want to speak to you of 
      something. Something important."

Sarah studies Andrew for a moment, before looking back to Grey. "He is
      collecting stories?" she asks, softly.

"Thomas Grey," the tall, scarred man tells the cub. "Philodox of the Glass
      Walkers." He downs another swallow of his drink and turns to Sarah with a 
      shrug. "More or less. More like collecting rare gossip, as a test of his 
      skill as a Galliard."

Andrew ahhs, "A pleasure to meet you then, Mr. Grey-Rhya." before he gives a
      look to Cole, "Yes Cole-Rhya, you know I wouldn't deny you. Just say when 
      and where." he offers, keeping his hands at his side.

Cole's expression flickers when Grey refers to his task as 'gossip', though
      it's quickly clamped down. "Grey, Sarah? Will you excuse me and young 
      Andrew here for just a moment?"

Sarah's brow furrows slightly as she studies the cub. "Sure..." she says softly.

Grey gives Cole a cool look and nods.

Andrew hmms? Nodding his head, he stands up as he gives a nod to Grey. Looking
      towards Cole, he follows after.

Cole stands up, setting his tankard down, and heads once more for the evening
      towards the fields. He doesn't look behind him to see if Andrew follows, 
      merely stalking off.

Grey watches them go with a dark look, then shakes his head and leans back in
      his chair. "To be blunt," he tells the kinswoman frankly, "I hate 
      weddings." His mouth twists, half bitter, half wry.

Sarah's brow furrows. "You do? Why?"

"I'm a bitter son-of-a-bitch," says Grey, and then shrugs dismissively.
      "Nevermind." He looks at the glass in his hand, and then puts it down. 
      "Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Sarah glances over to him, half-surprised, smiling a little. "Sure... you could
      drop me off at Kent Crossing, if you want."

Grey pushes his chair back and stands. "I came looking for someone, but they
      don't seem to be here, and..." He eyes the remains of the day's merriment 
      with a wrinkled nose. "And, eh." He shrugs yet again.

Sarah tips her head, rising as well. "Who were you looking for?"

"Kaz," he says. "She's in charge of the farmhouse, for now."

Sarah's brow furrows. "Which tribe? The name sounds familiar... do I know her?"

"Bone Gnawer." He looks thoughtful for a second, brow furrowing. "You /might/
      know her. Hair in her face, rather strange eyes?" He almost smiles. "If 
      you don't know her, you should. She is, perhaps, the sanest Garou in this 
      Sept."

Sarah actually smiles, the expression lighting up her long face. "Except for
      you, of course?"

Grey snorts with cynical humor. "Me? I'm not sane. I just cope better than most
      of the zoo." He tugs up his coat and gestures her invitingly toward the 
      dull brown car parked nearby. "After you, madame."

You paged Sarah with 'http://www.lionking.org/~black/art/ford torino.jpg'.

Sarah offers a faint smile, and gets into the car.