It is currently 13:43 Pacific Time on Sat Jan 21 2006. Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.28 and steady, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (53% full). Shore Around Half Moon Pool The shadowy canopy of evergreens recedes here, opening into a small clearing. The grass underfoot is a vibrant young green, luxurient and seemingly soft to the touch; small flowers, some purple and others blue or yellow, add to the spread of color. Immediately to the east, the ground rises into a small, rocky outcropping, at the base of which stands a large pool of crystal clear water; the barest rivulet of a stream wends its way south and west from the pool across the clearing, losing itself in the forest. This whole area has about it a sense of peace and silence; the air is cool and fresh, the scent of the flowers pleasant, the colors of the forest in seemingly perfect balance. Anything not pristine or natural seems almost a world away to you here. The half-moon shaped pool lies just to the east. A faint trail seems to follow the little stream southwest into the forest. It's mid-afternoon on this breezy and rainy day. Most have the sense to be indoors or under trees - Sabina on the other hand is at the Half Moon Pool, watching the pattern of raindrops hitting the fan-shaped lake, observing the ripples and counter-ripples. A scarred, grizzled male wolf prowls out of the forest, his dark fur wet through. Somehow, the effect makes him appear dangerous rather than pathetic... though that could simply be a by-product of the seething anger that comes off him like a heat-shimmer. In his teeth, he holds a slender black cord, the end of which is wrapped and elaborately tied around a smooth quartz stone. Black fur covers much of this adult male wolf, the dark pelt mixed with chocolate brown hairs throughout and pale white and grey hairs around his muzzle and eyes; this premature greying touches his paws as well. An irregular patch of medium grey covers his chest. Like all his species, he is long-limbed and athletically built, powerful and relentless in his motions, a true predator. Rarely does this the animal truly relaxed, and often a murderous anger seems to rage just under the surface, violence held in check only by a near-iron control. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins. One feral golden eye glints with a more than animal intelligence, but the other is blind and white, all but lost within the twisted maze of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face. There's a secondary scarred area on his right shoulderblade that looks like it might once have been some kind of glyph, but more claw-scarring has removed all meaning from it. The scars on his belly are more random, a badge from some battle or another, like the ones marring his face. However, the claw-made scars on his forearms -- the glyph for Charach on the right, the one for Dishonor on the left -- appear nothing but deliberate. Looking up as movement registers in the corner of one eye, Sabina watches the lupine approach. Her expression is difficult to read; neutral to the extreme, even lacking thoughtfulness. Just neutral. "Zdravo," she greets politely when the wolf is closer, eyeing the cord briefly. If there is a certain feminine allure to Sabina, it does not come from her looks. Standing average in every way, at 5'6 and of medium build, slighly-darker-than-caucasian skin and elbow-length dark brown hair, there is little of her that could truly be called pretty, though by the same token she is not repulsive either. Her face is mostly rounded and perhaps slightly gaunt, sharp cheekbones and thin lips taking away any notion of beauty, though her sharp green eyes do show a surprising amount of intelligence and wry humour should one look at the right time. Her body is likewise nondescript, the woman carrying slightly more weight than the 'ideal' but not getting into the realms of fat, perhaps even a shade more muscular than most women, sadly though she'll never make a living as a model. She is wearing a somewhat eclectic blend of clothing, thrift-store chic being the wardrobe she ascribes to. A plain white shirt begins at her throat with a roll-neck and runs all the way to her wrists and waist, tucking in there to a plain pleated grey skirt that ends just above the knee. Her legs are completely hidden by a pair of opaque tights in chocolate brown, which in turn are hidden from the ankle down by a pair of sturdy Doc Martins, slightly worn but still usable. Her hair is nipped back into a plait that reaches to between her shoulderblades, tied with a grey ribbon. You, the wolf greets, brusque and angry. Rearing upwards, he twists back into human form, right forepaw turning into a hand and taking the stone and string from his mouth. "What's this about a decision to murder my kin?" says Thomas Grey, without bothering with niceties like 'hello' or 'how are you?'. "You had the choice to be at the Moot," Sabina voices. "The decision is not final, but most of us are in agreement that your Kinsman, Jeremy Winters, is too dangerous to be tolerated." Her tone is even and controlled, though there's something in her eyes briefly suggesting she's not overly happy about the lack of manners. Grey takes a step toward her, his body language dominant and aggressive. The stone vanishes into a coat pocket. "No one," he says thickly, "bothered to inform me when this moot was. No one bothered to /speak/ to me about my kinsman, though I am the only Philodox of his tribe and despite the fact that I have known Jeremy for longer than most, if not all, Garou of this Sept. And I am telling you, here and now, that he is /not/ a danger to the Sept and he is /not/ a danger to the Veil, and he is /not/ a danger to the caern." "Despite threatening a proven Gaian Garou with a gun loaded with silver, then telling him that he would start a war that Garou could not win, and also that he was crazy, that said Garou didn't want to mess with him." Sabina states the facts plainly. "Sounds really safe to me. If I were you, I would be asking what the hell your Tribe is doing letting him pack silver." "Because he has served Gaia and tribe faithfully and well," Grey snaps back. "As long as or longer than that so-called 'proven' Garou who has only /recently/ joined this Sept, who has done little but offend its members and Guardians, and who was, as I understand it, in clear violation of another pack's territory." He takes another step forward. "Only /once/ has Jeremy's silver been used against a Gaian Garou. Once. When it was /stolen/ from him by a Garou. He has never used deadly force against any member of this Sept." Sitting back, Sabina asks, "And you would be willing to wait until he's actually used it? You would prefer him to kill one of your own blood before you see him for the threat he is? He's a credit to Gaia if he's served as long and as well as you say, but even the good can go bad. You don't wait for the rot to spread, you cut it out before it can." "<>" Grey bursts out in perfect, if vulgar, Serbian. He jabs a finger at her aggressively, his mismatched eyes boring down into hers. "<>" Replying in the same language - perfectly phrased, if slightly rusty, and clipped thanks to her underlaying rage, Sabina snaps, <> She doesn't bother standing up, ruthlessly crushing the urge to snap at the finger jabbed in her direction. "<>" snarls the Glass Walker. "<>" Sitting back, Sabina murmurs quietly, <> It's an odd request to make, half invitation and half dismissal. Grey's eyes narrow. "<>" Turning his back on her, he shifts back down to lupus and stalks off.