We sing our songs (For Anca Cordovan)
... the gathered Acolytes crouched in the darkness of the forest. No light touched their flesh but the thinnest streams of starlight which fought through the dense trees, creating only the barest ripples of shadow within the inky blackness of night. Even their keen hunter's eyes could not pierce that absolute dark, and so they were guided by more primal things, by smell and taste and sound. They crouched in a tight circle, hands and bare feet pressed into the earth and loam, swaying back and forth in absolute silence. There was no signal, no spoken word or ringing bell that warned of the change, but suddenly each and every monster there reached deep inside themselves and grasped onto the Beast. Each intensified the Beast within, throwing it out into the night air in an utterly silent scream to lay challenge to each and every other voiceless cry. A rushing wave and tide of psychic energy that caught all within its sweeping force, magnifying and the combined energy of their wills as they clashed together in the most primal of combats.
One by one, the gathered Acolytes fell, until only one remained. She stood from where she had crouched, the alpha among alphas, and reached her taloned hands towards the darkness above. One by one, her sisters regained their feet from where they had fallen, the first whispered words punctuating the night air. The ritual was over, and the Kindred of the Circle of the Crone were born anew.
Anca stood among her sisters, only just containing the fierce pride she felt. She had done well, for a neonate, the strength of her Beast overpowering many of her more experienced sisters before she had fallen to older blood. The aura that had finally taken her had been a competitive one, and she could feel the aftershocks of it moving through her body in waves. She could not see her fellow Acolytes in the absolute blackness, but she could hear and smell them, and her unbeating heart sang to know them for what they truly were.