Bld was blded that day. Our Kin fe fiercely upon us, farmers become wicked wights. Ruin red was delivered onto our Kin-line. TThhee BBaarrrrooww BBoorrnn Writing — Bi Bridges Art — John Bridges How had this hoor come here? Hding the whispers of the once-breathing ones, I had hied over mr and whitecap to Orkney. “A Silent One,” they say when they spy me. Boderia. Gray Mane the Grim, bearer My line is lost! of Bane’s Wroth, spear Hogbn! Your Kin, caught to spiteful spirits. Baow ghost, why in calamity... have you come to me? Theurge to whom the dead disclose themselves. There! Long leagues away lies my mound. Lk through my bones... I s... a baow broken... farmers faen... from the sky a shadow scrching. No rest wi your Kin reap, no slp can you sk, until slaughtered is the shadow. The wrestlers I sought, Do Garou play games when the liermates long in claw. The the Wyrm walks? Would you Mactire, duty-sworn to defend wrestle a rightful foe? Or the ancestor’s dens. must brother best brother? Red Mangler and Stone Face, wolves of rough renown. A fight, old Gray Mane? Aye! We’re there! The Boarhide clan — our Kin — lie dead. The fires burn balefuy from their blackened barns, beckoning us to red reckoning. Hold! Why ki the last of the living? A goat sti stands! At least something has won through. A lich fowl has sucked Be not fled untenderly at these teats. by its bleating. The milk is sown with its sourne. The stench! More than dead bones Yet in we lie in there. must go. Not bent on two legs... ...on four we run! The siblings tk their native forms. On le sure legs I foowed fastly. When we saw what waited C H there, with haste we wore H HH our bale-forms. RRRRRR Chhhhrrrrrrr You have bn promised to me. It is wrien in the — a, earth, in the whorls of my Howlers. ebon stone. Rawhrrr! Hold! The lich fowl taunts you! No lion lies before us! Our totem yet stands. Our totem — defeated and caion-fed. A lie! And yet... a black fate I sensed, a shadow not faen from the sky but risen from the earth. The vile corpse bird spoke prophecy. Hogbn! Rouse Our Kin spirit — coupted! to our side! Hd The Kin-line rendered baen. Escape the not the rale No more cubs in Orkney. bane’s shadow! of the nightjar! Fight with the Howlers! Fight with No more Howlers your wolfen Kin! to hold the isles. We caot save this K a r r O O M ! place! It must fa! Cc-rack! I ca on the ancestors to stir, to rage, to shake the stones — to bury this mound! The slpers of the baow, our Kin ancestors, were lost to us, but the earth would swaow the evil. We’re not alone! The Boarhide clan — they’re fomori! Join your family... you caot fight Our Kin, changed your own... into creatures of rot and putrefaction. Creatures we must ki. Red ruin delivered R a a W K ! onto our Kin-line. Bld must be blded. The fiend is dead! The spiral road... turns... turns... The Pit is We have won! your destiny! ... CCCHHHRRRRRR... No. It has laid a dm upon us... ...upon a the tribe. I s darkne... I fl stone underft... I am diy with the endle turning. splutChh! The lich fowl’s curse... what can it mean? Bah! None can Would that it is stand before the so. Great Lion, White Howlers! make it so O ! O O r h h A Yet sti the nightjar’s rale I hear, and lk for a shadow rising. By Jess Hartley