Animus walks through the Circle of Creation, pensive. Pondering what Bravo had said, and the last few months. It was time to talk to West about his decision.

Finally, his wanderings take him to the practice yard, where he finds West and Tug tossing a football back and forth. If I'm going to talk, I may as well join in. The new Hierarch takes up a spot roughly equidistant from his Cabal-mates, calling out "Hey, throw it here."


Tug had been troubled since the encounter with Hellen's Phalanx. The Heirarch, Magister, and Councilor were strong mages, each more than capable of handling themselves in a fight. Tug had signed up for the Arrows to protect his fellow mages, but he was starting to get the impression his cabal-mates were protecting him. There were other mages in Sacramento that could use his help more than the Neidan, especially considering there are two Thyrsus already.

It went deeper, too. The star athlete was used to being the center of attention, the big man on campus, and with the Neidan, he was starting to feel the runt of the litter. He was chafing in obscurity here. Despite his inner turmoil, Donnie finds a grin for Animus and tosses a tight spiral to his breadbasket. "Hey, man. How's it goin?"


Animus catches the ball almost reflexively before snapping it off to West. It would seem his disinterest in football has nothing to do with the degree of natural talent.

"I've been thinking, wondering if perhaps I might fit better in the Arrow than the Ladder." He glances from West to Tug, waiting to see their reactions. Will I catch them by surprise, or is this something they've seen for months?


West catches the ball, and arcs it to Tug. His throw is crisp and precise, although not powerful, the product of practice and studying form and fundamentals. The only unusual bit is that the ball stays still in his hands from catch to throw: the customary spin to line his fingers up with the laces is absent.

"Well, fuck it then, quit beating around the bush and say what you gotta say," West laughs at Animus' lack of preface.

"What is it you think Arrows do, and why would it be a better fit?"


Preface was fluff, it didn't add meaningful content. His Cabal-mates knew him, social niceties weren't going to make a huge difference in their opinion. So why waste breath on them?

"The simple answer is that Arrows fight the battles others cannot, and defend the Consilium from threats. But of course there's more. If there's anything that defines the Arrow, it's honor. Willingness to follow your word, and to do what is right.

"I've risen through the ranks politically, Herald, Councilor, now Hierarch. Model Thearch, right? But it isn't about personal ambition. I lead because the Consilium needs leaders, and so few are up to the task. I saw what a lack of effective leadership did, and I mean to proect the Consilium from that. And I fight for the same reason; it's a way I can serve the Consilium."

Animus takes a deep breath. "But that's only part of it. And this may be the wrong reason, but some of the things I did around the time I became Hierarch scared me. Not immediately; later, when I realized. Like I'd been slipping away from my own moral code. And that may have been the closest I've come to the 'typical' Thearch. And maybe the Arrows' sense of honor is exactly the bulwark I need to make sure I don't slip again at some point."

It seems the football isn't quite a talking stick after all.


There's a comment on the tip of his tongue about not need an Order to tell right from wrong, but West swallows it. It's not entirely true, and the Thyrsus sounds as if he's at a crossroads where criticism might seem like rejection, rather than instruction.

"The Adamant Way is based upon five precepts: the Hand. Each finger is a Phalanx," he says, looking expectantly at Tug.


Tug looks stunned. He doesn't know what to say, exactly. That the Hierarch abandoning his Order for the Arrow could look like he was being influenced was surely something Animus had considered. Tug wanted to protest that there was value, and honor, in every point of the Pentacle, that the Ladder is second in sneakiness only to the Guardians, so don't sweat having to be a nasty sonuvabitch sometimes. He thought about telling him that honor wasn't a characteristic that could be learned or enforced from without, that the Arrows were warriors first, leaders when they had to be, and a Hierarch has to be a leader all the time, so he could never truly devote himself to war as an Arrow does.

But West seems to approve, so Tug shrugs. "Man, me and West were just getting ready to transfer to the Ladder, though," the big guy chuckles. He holds his hands out to catch the football from Animus, goading him to toss it his way. "The Brilliant Road teaches first that Existence is War; all things strive, and through the conflict, are refined. Second, that Enlightenment is Honor; when you act with honor, despite temptations and weakness, your soul grows closer to the Supernal. Third, that Adaptability is Strength; a warrior who is strong with only one weapon may lose it, but a warrior who has mastered many types of conflict is always effective. Fourth, that the Supernal is Self; only humans Awaken, because our bodies, minds, and souls are a reflection of all reality writ small. The last Phalanx teaches that Service is Mastery. True power is not found in titles, or offices, so we do not seek such. It is found in action, and those that are called upon to act are those that serve."

Tug smiles at West, glad he had been studying. "Right, boss?"


West nods. He didn't doubt Tug knew them, but was pleased he didn't just drop the lines without any explanation.

"I think the past year has taught you the First, and that you know the Fifth," West said, looking at Animus seriously. "You'll struggle with Fourth, as grounded as you are in the Lie, and it's reflections."

"Does the Adamant way sound true to you?"

There was the crux of it; a person who believed in all but the Second might be a fine Guardian; one who believed in all but the Fifth, a Thearch.


Animus tosses the ball to Tug absently. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. Then he listens to Tug's explanations, internalizing, committing to memory. Each seemed intuitive, right. Although West was right, the seeming focus on humans alone implied by the fourth did catch in his throat slightly. So much of what I am was shaped by dealing with spirits. There has to be something deeper here than 'they don't matter'. But that would be something to come to grips with later.

Finally, after a long moment, his focus returns outward, to West. "It does, indeed, have the ring of truth to it."


Tug nods. If this is where the Hierarch's soul is leading him, they should set his feet on the path. "Alright. Well, we oughtta show you what being an Arrow is all about, huh?" He looks to West and grins. "It's not all as glamorous as it looks, right?"


West looks thoughtful, then nods.

"All right, why... don't you hang out with Tug for a bit, and consider the Adamant Way. In a couple of weeks, or a month, we'll get back together and see if this is something you want to do. In all fairness, you should probably speak to Eclipse, and see what his thoughts are," West said.

He gave Tug a glance as he spoke; no, he wasn't talking about them hanging out at furniture store openings or radio station club nights.


Animus flashes Tug a weak smile. "Trust me, it's not glamor I'm looking for. And I think having firsthand experience first is entirely reasonable."


Tug laughs at the look West gives him. "Right, right. Real Arrow stuff. Gotcha." He nods at Animus. "Okay. We'll take a patrol together." Tug looks awkward for a moment, then blurts out, "Look, guys, I appreciate you reachin' out to me after Tom died, y'know. But, uh...after that thing with those guys from out of town, y'know? You guys are all above my pay grade. You know what I'm trying to say?" He looks at West. "Arrows ought to be protecting other mages, but you, Ankh, Animus...you don't need my help. There's plenty younger willworkers in the city that do. So I think I ought to leave the Neidan." He was worried about how Animus would take it; he had so many cabals fall apart on him. This was different, though, right? Tug would still be around.


After continually throwing himself into the wolf's mindset, sometimes for an escape, sometimes just to study, and consciously shaping his soul to become more like them, it had hardly been surprising when some of the wolf's mentality began to bleed across, take hold even when Animus returned to his own shape. Bonds of devotion and trust had formed between him and the others; to him they were pack. And even though it hurt, he had quickly understood and accepted that the others couldn't share the same instincts.

But that acceptance could not prepare him for Tug's news. At first his eyes show only confusion. What was Tug saying, what was he building up to? His mind fights the conclusion, refusing to believe it until the last possible instant, when Tug flatly states his intention. Then comes the pain, as if a piece of his heart is being torn away. Animus stiffens, turmoil reflected in his eyes even as the animal characteristic to his movements, always just beneath the surface, becomes blatantly visible, impossible to ignore.

For the longest moment, the Thyrsus is silent. Words simply won't form. Finally he manages to find his voice. "Tug, please, no, we've been through too much ..." Breaths come in short gasps as he fights to stem the tide of emotion coursing through him. "It's more than a Cabal."


Donnie cursed himself as he saw Animus' expression. He hadn't expected him to take it this hard. "Yeah, I know. You guys are like family to me. It's not an easy decision, but the way things are out there...well, I ought to be where I can do the most good, Animus. I don't think that's here." He looks the new Hierarch in the eyes. "If you guys ever need my help with anything, you know you can count on me to be there."


West kept silent as the two men spoke; this had been his main misgiving about Tug joining the Neidan.

As things stood, not only was he a bit redundant, it would be easy for the proud attention seeker to become resentful of the others. Even if he managed to keep that from happening -- a good chance, given his sunny, resilient personality -- there would still be the fact that he was stifled. With the others, there would be less motivation to push himself and grow as an individual.

He did nod slightly, to let the big man know that he understood.


Anguish, pain, grief, betrayal. Violent waves of emotion coursed through Animus, triggered by the snapping bond. He wanted to scream, or Shapechange and howl, maybe even lash out, something to give vent to what he was feeling.

Instead he rides tthe waves as best he can, forcing some level of control, even though it feels like his insides are being shredded in the process. And then the larger Thyrsus' words penetrate. Family. Perhaps he does have an idea of how much he asks. And maybe we are smothering him.

Animus' breath still comes in ragged gasps as he speaks, and his eyes still reflect a great deal of pain, but at least he's coherent now. "I think ... I can live with that. But after this, I'm definitely going to have to hit the bag."

That punching bag is likely to find itself with a drastically reduced life expectancy.


The look in Animus' eye...the Hierarch looks like he'd like to have a go at Tug for a minute. He realized then that the Neidan reciprocated his sentiments of family; he wasn't just some pity case they took in after his brother died. The understanding makes things harder, and easier, too. You can trust your family to be by your side when it truly matters.

Tug catches West's nod and is glad the Magister gets it. When his fellow Thyrsus finally speaks again, Donnie tells him, "Sure, man. I get that." It seemed like now was either the time for awkward conversation and assurances, or for the three men to go their separate ways to be alone with their thoughts. Tug's good for the second, thanks. "Right, so. I'm gonna split, I got this thing Marty set up for me," Tug grins at West, "new shoe store opening in a strip mall. Look, thanks again for...just, thanks." Tug offers a genuine, reassuring smile to his friends and hangs on a bit to see if anyone had anything else to say.


West doesn't mind that suddenly Tug's a mind reader, and that they can stop the awkward bus and get off with their man cards still in hand.

"Hey... if they have any old Air Zoom Vicks...," he says, patting his chest.

That's right.

Those dogs were just figments of the Lie, anyway.