"The Stormcat?" Clay says. "Wait, I've heard that name. Of course. The Broad Brook Caern."
"What's that?" you ask.
Clay sighs, and for a moment, you see him as he used to be, through the monstrousness of his ruined form.
"A great pack once reigned to the east of here," the old wolf says. "They believed they could stop the Apocalypse. That they could show us all a better way. Arrogant bastards, right? But for years, they did. The lands they ruled were bright and clean; Garou and spirits and even humans found equilibrium, maybe even peace. Scarper never trusted them, but when I suspected you might be one of us, I considered sending you there."
Ash drifts off the bed.
"But around the time of your First Change, the Broad Brook Caern fell so suddenly that we didn't even dare investigate. Their galliards fell silent, their theurges ceased their rites, and the skies east of here turned pale, as if the spirit world had retreated in shame and horror."
"The Bane could have come from there! We could track it."
"I spoke with a spirit called the Stormcat. An exile from Broad Brook, maybe?"
"How did they fail?" And if they failed, what hope do we have?
"Give me permission to go there and learn what happened."
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