The Winter King of Los Angeles had spoken, briefly, of the unorthodox methods of the Sacramento Freehold. He hadn't gone into specifics, but he had made it clear that the usual Freehold Pledge was not the standard operation. Now Sven could appreciate what he had alluded to, vague thoughts and feelings which inadequately described the odd mineral that radiated Wyrd and sucked in Glamour like a sponge.
There was a vague feeling of safety, of acceptance, as his gaze fixed on it. The other Changelings were talking, and their words hit the Darkling's ears as he gazed at the Wyrdstone, but he only half-registered their meaning. After about half a minute the sentences formed in his mind and he rapidly blinked, as if throwing off a haze. "Yes." He said simply, slowly stretching a hand towards the object.
As his palm made contact with the alien totem, he felt a measure of Glamour leave his body, transferred from the physical contact into the Wyrdstone. It was... exquisite. No, that was an insufficient description, but then, he could not articulate a better way of describing how he felt when he touched it. There was a feeling of acceptance, comradery, as the unnatural energies from beyond the Hedge assured him that by sharing his own Glamour with the Freehold, the Freehold would protect him and know him to be true.
Of course, Sven could put none of this into words, certainly not so soon after making contact with the Wyrdstone. He settled for this, "I, Svelte Sven, Flowing Page of the Winter Court, formerly pledged to the Freehold of Los Angeles, do solemnly swear to uphold the laws and traditions of the Courts of Sacramento so long as I shall rest in its boundaries."
As if awakening from a trance, he shakes his head and color rushes to his cheeks before he retracts his hand. "That is to say, thank you all for having me here."